Thank the brave champion of our city.
Julia. Sir!
Tho' one poor simple drop of gratitude,
Amid the boisterous tide of general thanks,
Can little swell the glory of your enterprise,
Accept it freely.—You are welcome, sir.
Rib. Cold does it seem to me.—'Sdeath! this is ice!
Freezing indifference:—down, down, my heart!
[Aside.
I pray you, lady, do not strain your courtesy.