Dor. Poor gentleman!—Oh!—he has got my hand within his, and squeezes it unmercifully— [130]
Lady Boun. 'Tis the violence of his convulsion, child.
Arch. Oh, madam, he's perfectly possessed in these cases—he'll bite if you don't have a care.
Dor. Oh, my hand! my hand!
Lady Boun. What's the matter with the foolish girl? I have got his hand open, you see, with a great deal of ease.
Arch. Ay, but, madam, your daughter's hand is somewhat warmer than your ladyship's, and the heat of it draws the force of the spirits that way. [140]
Mrs. Sul. I find, friend, you're very learned in these sorts of fits.
Arch. Tis no wonder, madam, for I 'm often troubled with them myself; I find myself extremely ill at this minute. [Looking hard at Mrs. Sullen.
Mrs. Sul. I fancy I could find a way to cure you.
[Aside.