John. Ay, I wish for nothing more before I die.
Harf. Here he is—here he is! My dearest, best benefactors! Here I am, to pay some of the great debt of kindness I owe you. (Clasps Mary round the neck, and kisses her.)
Mary. What—this gentleman my Ned! Ay, it is, it is—I see it, I see it!
John. Oh, my old eyes!—but I know his voice now. (Stretches out his hand, which Harford grasps.)
Harf. My good old man! Oh that you could see me as clearly as I do you!
John. Enough—enough—it is you, and I am contented.
Mary. O, happy day! O, happy day!
Harf. Did you think I could ever forget you?
John. Oh, no; I knew you better; but how long it is since we parted!
Mary. Fifteen years come Whitsuntide.