Andrews, said my good master; and in
twelve days time, I hope, will be my wife.
O flatter me not, good your honour, said he: It cannot be! it cannot be!
--I fear you have deluded her with strange hopes; and would make me
believe impossibilities!--Mrs. Jewkes, said he, do you tell my dear
Pamela's good father, when I go out, all you know concerning me, and your
mistress that is to be. Meantime, make much of him, and set out what you
have; and make him drink a glass of what he likes best. If this be wine,
added he, fill me a bumper.
She did so; and he took my father by the hand, and said, Believe me, good
man, and be easy; for I can't bear to see you tortured in this cruel
suspense: Your dear daughter is the beloved of my soul. I am glad you
are come: for you'll see us all in the same story. And here's your
dame's health; and God bless you both, for being the happy means of
procuring for me so great a blessing! And so he drank a bumper to this
most obliging health.
What do I hear? It cannot surely be! said my father. And your honour is
too good, I hope, to mock a poor old man--This ugly story, sir, of the
bishop, runs in my head--But you say I shall see my dear child--And I
shall see her honest.--If not, poor as I am, I would not own her.
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