Sir Geo. Never heed circumstances—the result—the result.
Mrs. Rack. No, no; you shall have it in form.—Mr. Hardy performed the Sick Man like an Angel—He sat up in his bed, and talked so pathetically, that the tears stood in Doricourt's eyes.
Flut. Aye, stood—they did not drop, but stood.—I shall, in future, be very exact. The Parson seized the moment; you know, they never miss an opportunity.
Mrs. Rack. Make haste, said Doricourt; if I have time to reflect, poor Hardy will die unhappy.
Flut. They were got as far as the Day of Judgement, when we slipt out of the room.
Sir Geo. Then, by this time, they must have reached Amazement, which, every body knows, is the end of Matrimony.
Mrs. Rack. Aye, the Reverend Fathers ended the service with that word, Prophetically——to teach the Bride what a capricious Monster a Husband is.
Sir Geo. I rather think it was Sarcastically—to prepare the Bridegroom for the unreasonable humours and vagaries of his Help-mate.
Lady Fran. Here comes the Bridegroom of to-night.
Enter Doricourt and Villers.—Villers whispers Saville, who goes out.