Sam. Let the editor and his relations go to Spain; and do you go to Spain with your relations; and do you start this minute! (Betsey looks frightened, gathers up her calico, and moves toward the door, and says):
Bet.
I do not mind my cold rebuffs,
To be turned out with bedquilt stuffs,
Philosophy would ease my smart,
Would say, Oh! peace, sad female heart.
But, oh! this is the woe to me,
She would not listen unto he.
CURTAIN FALLS.