[Exit with Archer.
Dor. O sister, my heart flutters about strangely! I can hardly forbear running to his assistance. [107]
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. [119]
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 Scrubs and counterfeiting a swoon; Lady Bountiful and Gipsy following.
Lady Boun. Here, here, let's see the hartshorn drops.— Gipsy, a glass of fair water! His fit's very strong. —Bless me, how his hands are clinched!
Arch. For shame, ladies, what d' ye do? why don't you help us?—[To Dorinda.] Pray, madam, take his hand, and open it, if you can, whilst I hold his head.
[Dorinda takes his hand.