JACK.
Pshaw! that's nothing at all. His guardian, Mr. Fairplay, has been with father to-day, and says, he is certain that he can set all to rights in a trice.
CHARLOT.
Well, Jack, when that point is determin'd, it will be time enough to—
JACK.
Then! Lord of mercy! why, sister Charlot, it is my private opinion that if you don't give him some crumbs of comfort, he won't live till Midsummer term.
CHARLOT.
I warrant you. Either Cupid's darts were always but poetical engines, or they have been lately depriv'd of their points. Love holds no place in the modern bills of mortality. However, Jack, you may tell your friend, that I have observ'd his frequent walks in our street.
JACK.
Walks! Why one should think he was appointed to relieve the old watchman; for no sooner one is off, but the other comes on.