I ſhall not trouble you about the raiſing of them of Truncheons or Lops, because I could never find them to take; only ſometimes ſome of the ſmallest Suckers, when the Sap is newly ſtirring in them, if they are ſlipt off from the Tree, will grow

Familiar! Madam, in Troth he’s down-right rude.

Eventually the tale of a stagehand who seemed to be separated from his housebound wife, but, oddly, not when she came to visit, seemed more amusing than appalling, and I learned not to wince at the various (sometimes painfully) young women who arrived breathless and eager for a Showmance—whether or not there was a wife in the background. [sic]

This pride of sponsorship, rather than pride of rating, seems to have been lost in the welter of decimal points and who's-on-firsts.