EMILIA.
The cat has eat my sweet canary-bird. I did love it—you gave it me, it sung so charmingly, and was so tame.
CHARLES.
It is a pity, I acknowledge; but you are not to grieve for the loss of a bird, as if you had lost a parent. You have lost a plaything, not a friend; it gave you pleasure, excited your tenderness, but without esteem affection soon dies: any new favourite will supply its place.
WILLIAM.
You took such care of it, how could it happen?
EMILIA.
I had, as I often did, let the bird out of the cage to eat out of my hand. My mamma sent for me, I went to her for a moment, and in the mean time, the maid had let the cat slip into the chamber, who instantly seized and devoured my poor little creature. I shall never forgive myself for not putting it into its cage. And as to the careless maid, I hope my mother will soon part with her.
CHARLES.
She did not do it on purpose, I am sure; and, Emilia, your carelessness was more inexcusable because you loved the bird.