Y. Pot. Oppressed by the tyranny of an abbot, persecuted by the jealousy of a count, the betrothed husband of my sister languishes in a loathsome captivity. Her lover is fled no one knows whither—and I, her brother, am torn from my paternal roof, and from my studies in chirurgery, to seek him and her, I know not where—to rescue Rogero, I know not how. Comrades, your counsel—my search fruitless—my money gone—my baggage stolen! What am I to do? In yonder abbey—in these dark, dank vaults, there, my friends—there lies Rogero—there Matilda's heart——
Scene II.
Enter Waiter.
Waiter. Sir, here is a person who desires to speak with you.
Beef. [goes to the door, and returns with a letter, which he opens—on perusing it his countenance becomes illuminated, and expands prodigiously.] Hah, my friend, what joy!
[Turning to Puddingfield.
Pudd. What? tell me—let your Puddingfield partake it.
Beef. See here— [Produces a printed paper.
Pudd. What? [With impatience.
Beef. [in a significant tone.] A newspaper!