Hark! forward, hark! forward,
Hark! forward, &c.
Yoicks!
Arise the burthen of my song;
This day a stag must die!”
[Exit, F.E.L.
Miss Sna. What a strange turn in affairs, and what a singular lady is that Miss Skylark.
Boss. How does she get on with her bashful beau, Pinkey?
Miss Sna. Nothing decided yet, she tells me. He still continues writing the most glowing letters that ever were penned. I am to see a few of them shortly; but when the poor fellow is in her presence, he can scarcely utter a word, and though he has written nearly fifty most passionate billets, he has never once verbally alluded to the state of his feelings.
Boss. (L.) And whenever they meet, of course the lady looks for a declaration.