L. Fan. My dearest Husband dying, Oh! Weeps.
Lean. How hard he struggles with departing Life!
Isab. Father, dear Father, must I in one day receive a Blessing with so great a Curse? Oh,—he’s just going, Madam.— Weeps.
L. Fan. Let me o’ertake him in the Shades below, why do you hold me, can I live without him? do I dissemble well?— Aside to Wit.
Sir Pat. Not live without me!—do you hear that, Sirrah? Aside to Lean.
Lean. Pray mark the end on’t, Sir,—feign,—feign.—
L. Kno. We left him well, how came he thus o’th’ sudden?
Lean. I fear ’tis an Apoplexy, Madam.
L. Fan. Run, run for his Physician; but do not stir a foot. Aside to Roger.
Look up, and speak but one kind word to me.