in the morning we go to the pump-room (though neither my master nor I drink the waters); after breakfast we saunter on the parades, or play a game at billiards; at night we dance; but damn the place, I'm tired of it: their regular hours stupify me--not a fiddle nor a card after eleven!--However, Mr. Faulkland's gentleman and I keep it up a little in private parties;--I'll introduce you there, Thomas--you'll like him much.
THOMAS Sure I know Mr. Du-Peigne--you know his master is to marry Madam Julia.
FAG I had forgot.--But, Thomas, you must polish a little--indeed you must.--Here now--this wig!--What the devil do you do with a wig, Thomas?--None of the London whips of any degree of ton wear wigs now.
THOMAS More's the pity! more's the pity! I say.--Odd's life! when I heard how the lawyers and doctors had took to their own hair, I thought how 'twould go next:--odd rabbit it! when the fashion had got foot on the bar, I guessed 'twould mount to the box!--but 'tis all out of character
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