Honeyw. Will nobody hear me? Was there ever such a set, so blinded by passion and prejudice!—(To the Postboy). My good friend, I believe you'll be surprised when I assure you——
Postboy. Sure me nothing—I'm sure of nothing but a good beating.
Croaker. Come then, you, madam; if you ever hope for any favour or forgiveness, tell me sincerely all you know of this affair.
Olivia. Unhappily, sir, I'm but too much the cause of your suspicions; you see before you, sir, one, that with false pretences has stept into your family, to betray it: not your daughter—
Croaker. Not my daughter!
Olivia. Not your daughter—but a mean deceiver—who—support me, I cannot—
Honeyw. Help, she's going! give her air.
Croaker. Ay, ay, take the young woman to the air; I would not hurt a hair of her head, whoseever daughter she may be—not so bad as that neither.
[Exeunt all but Croaker.
Croaker. Yes, yes, all's out; I now see the whole affair; my son is either married, or going to be so, to this lady, whom he imposed upon me as his sister. Ay, certainly so; and yet I don't find it afflicts me so much as one might think. There's the advantage of fretting away our misfortunes beforehand, we never feel them when they come.