 her, or his
Estate, which he would not give him; but upon Recollection, he afterwards
excepted his Fox-hounds, the Chevalier, and Miss Slouch (for so he called his
favourite Mare).
    All Fears for Sophia being now removed, Jones became the Object of the
Squire's Consideration. »Come, my Lad,« says Western, »D'off thy Quoat and wash
thy Feace: For att in a devilish Pickle, I promise thee. Come, come, wash
thyself, and shat go Huome with me; and wel zee to vind thee another Quoat.«
    Jones immediately complied; threw off his Coat, went down to the Water, and
washed both his Face and Bosom: For the latter was as much exposed, and as
bloody as the former: But tho' the Water could clear off the Blood, it could not
remove the black and blue Marks which Thwackum had imprinted on both his Face
and Breast, and which, being discerned by Sophia, drew from her a Sigh, and a
Look full of inexpressible Tenderness.
    Jones receiv'd this full in his Eyes, and it had infinitely a stronger
Effect on him than all the Contusions which he had received before. An Effect,
however, widely different; for so soft and balmy was it, that, had all his
former Blows been Stabs, it would for some Minutes have prevented his feeling
their Smart.
    The Company now moved backwards, and soon arrived where Thwackum had got Mr.
Blifil again on his Legs. Here we cannot suppress a pious Wish, that all
Quarrels were to be decided by those Weapons only, with which Nature, knowing
what is proper for us, hath supplied us; and that cold Iron was to be used in
digging no Bowels, but those of the Earth. Then would War, the Pastime of
Monarchs, be almost inoffensive, and Battles between great Armies might be
fought at the particular Desire of several Ladies of Quality; who, together with
the Kings themselves, might be actual Spectators of the Conflict. Then might the
Field be this Moment well strewed with human Carcasses, and the next, the dead
Men, or infinitely the greatest Part of them, might get up, like Mr. Bayes's
Troops, and march off either at the Sound of a Drum or Fiddle, as should be
previously agreed on.
    I would avoid, if possible, treating this Matter ludicrously, lest grave Men
and Politicians, whom I know to be offended at a Jest, may cry Pish at it; but,
in reality, might not a Battle
