ho boast pedigrees.

_Oliver._ Granted: but I've seen what you might, have seen. Your son
don't love Ulrica: he loves my poor dear Agnes!

_Baron._ Granted. Thanks to the countess, I've seen it ever since he
came from the wars; and if Agnes had seen it, she had never seen my
house again; but as she chose to be discreet, she shall now see an union
that will blazon our family hall with Norman, Saxon, Spanish, Danish--in
short, with heraldry never yet seen or heard of.

_Oliver._ Stop--one word. (_Baron breaks from him, and exit._) So this
is love of pedigree: this is because he reckons by titles, not by
character. And if a certain lady, whose name I won't mention, were not
countess Roland, he'd see she was no more than a deep, decoying,
match-making----Plague on't! I hope she won't next hook him into the
noose; for if she had a husband every morning, my life on't, she'd be a
widow before night. Oh lord! poor Agnes, poor young master, and poor old
Oliver. (_Remains in a thoughtful posture._)

_Enter_ Christopher _through the gates._

_Chris._ (_looking round._) Dear, dear, what a nice, sweet, pretty
place! Well, I declare when travellers used to talk of their fine
sights, I used to wink and nod, as much as to say, I believe it's all
bounce. But when I go back, and describe that object (_pointing to the
abbey in the distance_) and this object (_turning round, and running
against Oliver_)--Sir, I beg pardon for calling you an object. But you
see I am just come from the woods, Sir--from the woods about six leagues
off, Sir, where I was hawking with my lord, when he--he--he--od'rabbit
it!--Hit or miss, it will be rare sport.

_Oliver._ What sport? And who are you? (_angrily._)

_Chris._ Why, that's it. I want to know who I am; and perhaps you can
tell me. (_Gets close to him._) Little Solomon, you see, one of our
under falconers, and who has seen all my relations, come t'other day to
this town for a basket of provisions for my lord and his hawking-party;
and as he was staring about, who shou'd he see ushered into a fine
house, and hear being call'd by a fine name, but my aunt Winifred--old
Winifred Winbuttle, the housekeeper! Very well--I cou'dn't say or unsay
this, you know; so I directly gets leave of my lord to come myself, and
stare about; for thinks I, if I _am_ made a fool of, I'm only where I
was, you know. (_With affected simplicity._)

_Oliver._ Certainly, or worse; for to suppose I'll stay chattering here
ab