Wife. Some one has hung up a lamp in my brain—and the light sways and flickers—I cannot bear it!
The Man. My beloved Mary, be calm and tranquil, as you were wont to be!
Wife. Poets never live long.
She faints.
The Man. Help! Save her! Help!
Several women rush in.
The Wife of the Physician. Pills—powders—no. She can swallow nothing solid; a fluid potion is the best.
Margaret, run for the apothecary!
Speaking to the Count.
This is all your fault, and my husband will be very angry.