Sir Dav. My dear! my dear! my dear!
L. Dunce. Who's that calls? my love, is't you?
Sir Dav. Ay, some comfort or my heart's broke! are there any hopes yet? I've tried to say my prayers, and cannot: if he be quite dead, I shall never pray again! Neighbour, no hopes?
Sir Jol. Truly little or none; some small pulse I think there is left, very little: there's nothing to be done if you don't pray: get you to prayers whatever you do. Get you gone; nay, don't stay now, shut the window, I tell you.
Sir Dav. Well, this is a great trouble to me; but good-night. [Retires.
Sir Jol. Good-night to you, dear neighbour.—Get ye up, get ye up, and begone into the next room presently, make haste. [To Beaugard and Lady Dunce.] But don't steal away till I come to you; be sure ye remember, don't ye stir till I come—pish, none of this bowing and fooling, it but loses time; I'll only bolt the door that belongs to Sir Davy's lodgings, that he may be safe, and be with you in a twinkle. Ah—so, now for the door; very well, friend, you are fast.
[Bolts the door and sings.
Bonny lass, gan thoo wert mine,
And twonty thoosand poonds aboot thee, &c. [Exeunt.
FOOTNOTES:
[41] Louis XIV.