Gregory. 'Faith, madam, for that matter, I am but a blue-bottle of fortune's myself; and, though sorrow is dry, they say, this is a sort of soaking it does not care to be moistened with. If it would rain good barrels of ale, now, sorrow would not so much mind being out in the storm. [Thunder again.] No; sorrow would be disappointed there too: this rumbling is enough to flatten the finest beer shower, a man would wish to take a whet in.—Lud! lud! madam! let's get out ou't, if there's a hollow tree to be found. [Thunder.
Adeline. The thunder rolls awful on the ear, and strikes the soul with terror. The plunderer, too, perhaps catching the sulphurous flash, explores his wretched prey, and stalks to midnight murder.
Gregory. Mercy on us, madam, don't talk of that!—now I think on't, if we were to pick and chuse, for a twelvemonth, we couldn't have pitched upon a more convenient place to be knocked down in. Shelter! dear madam! shelter.
Adeline. Is it thus you stand by me, Gregory? I, at least, hoped you had valour enough to—
[Robbers appear behind, and slowly advance.
Gregory. Exactly enough; but not a morsel to spare. So we'll e'en look out for a place of safety. Not that I'm afraid though.—Stand by you?—egad, if half a dozen, now, of stout, raw-boned fellows were to dare to molest you, I would make no more of whipping this [Drawing his Sword.] through their dirty lungs, than I would of——
[Robbers surround Adeline and Gregory.
1 Rob. Stand!
Gregory. O mercy! mercy! I'm as dead a man as ever I was in my life. [Drops his Sword, and falls.