N. There’s some mistake; Laura with Frederick!

Why, we were to be married!

G. Fly! fly! St. Nicholas, else ’twill be too late.

[Exit N.

The man’s a dolt: he’ll never be in time,

And I that call him fool, why what am I?

With my grey hairs—and such an idiot,

Not to have seen! And if I had only known

That Frederick loved my Laura, and she him....

Why did they never tell me? My dearest Laura, ...