Everg. Bless me! Lady Handy is ill—Salts! salts!
Sir Abel. [Producing an essence box.] Here are salts, or aromatic vinegar, or essence of—
Everg. Any—any.
Sir Abel. Bless me, I can't find the key!
Everg. Pick the lock.
Sir Abel. It can't be picked, it is a patent lock.
Everg. Then break it open, sir.
Sir Abel. It can't be broke open—it is a contrivance of my own—you see, here comes a horizontal bolt, which acts upon a spring, therefore—
Lady H. I may die, while you are describing a horizontal bolt. Do you think you shall close your eyes for a week for this?
Enter Sir Philip Blandford.