Exit Editor.
Bet. Ketch hold of me, Josiah Allen’s wife, ketch hold of me. I am on the very point of swooning.
Sam. Ketch hold of yourself.
Bet. One of my dearest gazelles is a dying. One of my fondest hopes is a withering.
Sam. Let ’em wither. Betsey Bobbett, this gazelle is married, and there hain’t no use in your followin’ on that trail any longer. Do ’ry and behave till meetin’ is out.
Peedick. We will now sing on page 99. Sing the words on page 99 to the tune of old Northfield.
All.
We’re sinners wandering every day,
Pre-sum-shu-ous, and bold.
We all are sheep—