Aim. Brother to the man whose title I usurped, but stranger to his honour or his fortune. [39]
Dor. Matchless honesty!—Once I was proud, sir, of your wealth and title, but now am prouder that you want it: now I can show my love was justly levelled, and had no aim but love.—Doctor, come in.
Enter Foigard at one door, Gipsy at another-, who whispers Dorinda.
[To Foigard.] Your pardon, sir, we shan't want you now.—[To Aimweil.] Sir, you must excuse me—I 'll wait on you presently. [Exit with Gipsy.
Foi. Upon my shoul, now, dis is foolish. [Exit.
Aim. Gone! and bid the priest depart!—It has an ominous look.
Enter Archer.
Arch. Courage, Tom!—Shall I wish you joy? [50]
Aim. No.
Arch. 'Oons, man, what ha' you been doing?