WIFE.
Run, husband, run, and fetch a bottle of wine from the landlord of the inn.
FREDERICK.
No, no—his wine is as bad as his heart: she has drank some of it, which I am afraid has turned to poison.
COTTAGER.
Suppose, wife, you look for a new-laid egg?
WIFE.
Or a drop of brandy, husband—that mostly cures me.
FREDERICK.
Do you hear, mother—will you, mother? [Agatha makes a sign with her hand as if she could not take any thing.] She will not. Is there no doctor in this neighbourhood?
WIFE.
At the end of the village there lives a horse-doctor. I have never heard of any other.
FREDERICK.
What shall I do? She is dying. My mother is dying.—Pray for her, good people!
AGATHA.
Make yourself easy, dear Frederick, I am well, only weak—Some wholesome nourishment—
FREDERICK.
Yes, mother, directly—directly. [Aside] Oh where shall I—no money—not a farthing left.
WIFE.
Oh, dear me! Had you not paid the rent yesterday, husband—