F.This is my ruin, Richard:

It means that I must be away to-night;

And that prevents my meeting Laura; and that

Leaves the field to my rival.

Re-enter St. Nicholas.

R.Hush! see, he comes.

N. That paper you are in doubt of, gentlemen,

Is, I opine, the poem which I have lost:—

You picked it up in the garden?—a private trifle

Which I’d recover gladly.