Omnes. Joy! joy! joy!
Miss Ogle. If he's a sample of Bridegrooms, keep me single!—A younger Brother, from the Funeral of his Father, could not carry a more fretful countenance.
Flut. Oh!—Now, he's melancholy mad, I suppose.
Lady Fran. You do not consider the importance of the occasion.
Vill. No; nor how shocking a thing it is for a Man to be forced to marry one Woman, whilst his heart is devoted to another.
Mrs. Rack. Well, now 'tis over, I confess to you, Mr. Doricourt, I think 'twas a most ridiculous piece of Quixotism, to give up the happiness of a whole life to a Man who perhaps has but a few moments to be sensible of the sacrifice.
Flut. So it appeared to me.—But, thought I, Mr. Doricourt has travelled—he knows best.
Doric. Zounds! Confusion!—Did ye not all set upon me?—Didn't ye talk to me of Honour—Compassion—Justice?
Sir Geo. Very true—You have acted according to their dictates, and I hope the utmost felicity of the Married State will reward you.
Doric. Never, Sir George! To Felicity I bid adieu—but I will endeavour to be content. Where is my—I must speak it—where is my Wife?