L. Ful. Oh, ‘tis too late for business—let to morrow serve.
Gay. By no means—the Gentleman is to go out of Town.
L. Ful. Rise the earlier then—
Gay.—But, Madam, the Gentleman lies dangerously—sick—and should he die—
L. Ful. ‘Tis not a dying Uncle, I hope, Sir?
Gay. Hum—
L. Ful. The Gentleman a dying, and to go out of Town to morrow?
Gay. Ay—a—he goes—in a Litter—’tis his Fancy, Madam—Change of Air may recover him.
L. Ful. So may your change of Mistress do me, Sir—farewel.
[Goes out.
Gay. Stay, Julia—Devil, be damn’d—for you shall tempt no more,
I’ll love and be undone—but she is gone—
And if I stay, the most that I shall gain
Is but a reconciling Look, or Kiss.
No, my kind Goblin—