[Exit with Archer.
Dor. Oh, sister, my heart flutters about strangely; I can hardly forbear running to his assistance.
Mrs. Sul. And I'll lay my life he deserves your assistance more than he wants it: did not I tell you that my lord would find a way to come at you? Love's his distemper, and you must be the physician; put on all your charms, summon all your fire into your eyes, plant the whole artillery of your looks against his breast, and down with him.
Dor. O, sister, I'm but a young gunner, I shall be afraid to shoot, for fear the piece should recoil, and hurt myself.
Mrs. Sul. Never fear, you shall see me shoot before you, if you will.
Dor. No, no, dear sister, you have missed your mark so unfortunately, that I shan't care for being instructed by you.
Enter Aimwell, in a Chair, carried by Archer and
Scrub; Lady Bountiful, Gipsey. Aimwell
counterfeiting a Swoon.
Lady B. Here, here, let's see—the hartshorn drops—Gipsey, a glass of fair water, his fit's very strong.—Bless me, how his hands are clenched!
Arch. For shame, ladies, what d'ye do? why don't you help us?—Pray, madam, [To Dorinda.] take his hand, and open it, if you can, whilst I hold his head.
[Dorinda takes his Hand.