To lose her thus!—to see disease so wear her!—
And when a little nourishment——She's starving!
Eust. Go on;—no tears;—I hate them.
Old Man. She has had no nourishment these four days.
Eust. [Affected.] Death! and—well?
Old Man. I care not for myself;—I should soon go,
In nature's course;—but my poor darling child!
Who fifteen years has been my prop—to see her
Thus wrested from me! then, to hear her bless me;