Dor. Oh, stay a moment——Rascal! is she not——
Flut. Who, she? O Lard! no—'Twas quite a different person that I meant.—I never saw that Lady before.
Dor. Then, never shalt thou see her more. [Shakes Flutter.]
Mrs. Rack. Have mercy upon the poor Man!—Heavens! He'll murder him.
Dor. Murder him! Yes, you, myself, and all Mankind. Sir George—Saville—Villers—'twas you who push'd me on this precipice;—'tis you who have snatch'd from me joy, felicity, and life.
Mrs. Rack. There! Now, how well he acts the Madman!—This is something like! I knew he would do it well enough, when the time came.
Dor. Hard-hearted Woman! enjoy my ruin—riot in my wretchedness. [Hardy bursts in.]
Har. This is too much. You are now the Husband of my Daughter; and how dare you shew all this passion about another Woman?
Dor. Alive again!
Har. Alive! aye, and merry. Here, wipe off the flour from my face. I was never in better health and spirits in my life.—I foresaw t'would do—. Why, my illness was only a fetch, Man! to make you marry Letty.