Mary Price; or, The Adventures of a Servant Girl — page 11: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

8 MARY PRICE. [ACT I. and in such society! I sought you first at your master’s, Mr. Mathews, but learned from him that you had left his house, and gone he knew not whither; and, but for this poor idiot, I had not known where to find you. Tom. Though Tommy’s lost himself, he knows where to find everybody else; but he don’t like bad company—not likely, not likely. Mary. Brother, are you mad, that you act thus? If you forsake the path of honesty, and associate with characters such as these, what think you will become of you? Nick. Well, I’m blowed! Bitu. I'd have you to know, miss, or marm, or whatever else you cali yourself, that (MARY turns her back on him) Tom. Don’t be afraid, Mary ; I'll muzzle the Bulldog. (puts his hand on BILu’s mouth) Mary’s not fond of Bulldogs—not likely, not likely. Mary. If you will return with me to your master’s, I will intercede for you; and, rely on it, all will be forgiven, all forgotten. RopertT. Return! He struck me—disgraced, dishonoured me bya blow. Bid me not then return, for I might kill him to avenge the insult. Mary. Brother, such language freezes my very blood! Oh! reflect in time—pause on the precipice on which you stand— beware! one false step hurls you to perdition! Bitt. Oh! [say now, Miss Price, no preaching ; we don’t come to the ale house to hear a sermon. Tom. And I’m sure you never go to church to hear one: — the fox don’t like to be told it’s werry wicked to prig the geese—not likely, not likely. Mary. Brother, pray be warned! Let a sister’s love prevail with you. Think of the happy days of innocence we passed as children in our parents’ cottage !—come to our mother’s grave, kneel with me, and over her dear remains renew the vows you made beside her dying bed, to lead a life of honesty and virtue. Tom. Good advice, Bob; but you won’t follow it—not likely, not likely. RosertT. Mary, you are a dear good girl, and I do promise to—to think of what you say. Ina few days, no doubt, we shall meet in London: I intend to look after work there, and— and I'll try and follow your advice. Mary. Come with me now. I'll pay your fare to London, and find you a lodging till you do get work. Pray remain not here another moment: to see you in this place, associating with these men, fills my soul with terror indescribable. (BILL and Nick are a little up, BR.) EORMICLOOKS. GO mM —