Lady. Here, sir.
Vapid. There are very few—are there any more of the same kind?
Lady. Yes, plenty.
Vapid. Fetch them,—'tis the only hope—if you have any hartshorn too, bring a little of that.
Lady. I'm quite shocked!
[Exit.
Mari. Well, Mr Vapid, now let's run away—come—why what are you thinking of?
Vapid. My last act, and I fear—
Mari. What do you fear?
Vapid. That it can't be managed—let me see—we certainly run away, and she returns—'faith, I must see her return.