Char. How does your master, Jarvis?
Jar. I am old and foolish, madam; and tears will come before my words—But don't You weep. (To Mrs. Beverley.) I have a tale of joy for you.
Mrs. Bev. What tale? Say but he's well, and I have joy enough.
Jar. His mind too shall be well; all shalt be well—I have news for him that shall make his poor heart bound again!—Fie upon old age! how childish it makes me! I have a tale of joy for you, and my tears drown it.
Char. Shed them in showers then, and make haste to tell it.
Mrs. Bev. What is it, Jarvis?
Jar. Yet why should I rejoice when a good man dies? Your uncle, madam, died yesterday.
Mrs. Bev. My uncle!—O heavens!
Char. How heard you of his death?
Jar. His steward came express, madam: I met him in the street, enquiring for your lodgings. I should not rejoice, perhaps; but he was old, and my poor master a prisoner—Now he shall live again—O, 'tis a brave fortune! and 'twas death to me to see him a prisoner.