Volscius the Great this dire resolve embrac'd:
His servants he into the country sent,
And he himself to Piccadilly went;
Where he's inform'd by letters that she's dead.
Ush. Dead! is that possible? dead!
Phys. O ye gods! [Exeunt.
Bayes. There's a smart expression of a passion: O ye gods! that's one of my bold strokes, egad.
Smith. Yes; but who's the fair person that's dead?
Bayes. That you shall know anon, sir.
Smith. Nay, if we know at all, 'tis well enough.