[Exit.
Nar. Then one way or other I must determine.—[To Campley.] Look'ye, Mr. Campley, something has happened which makes me wave ceremonies.—If you mean to apply to my father, remember, that delays are dangerous.
Camp. Indeed!
Nar. I mayn't be always in the same mind, you know. [Smiling.]
[Exit.
Camp. Nay, then—Gad, I'm almost afraid too—but living in this state of doubt is torment. I'll e'en put a good face on the matter; cock my hat; make my bow; and try to reason the Governor into compliance. Faint heart never won a fair lady.
SONG.
Why should I vain fears discover,
Prove a dying, sighing swain?
Why turn shilly-shally lover,