SCAN. Do. I’ll die a martyr rather than disclaim my passion. But come a little farther this way, and I’ll tell you what project I had to get him out of the way; that I might have an opportunity of waiting upon you. [Whisper. Foresight looking in the glass.]
FORE. I do not see any revolution here; methinks I look with a serene and benign aspect—pale, a little pale—but the roses of these cheeks have been gathered many years;—ha! I do not like that sudden flushing. Gone already! hem, hem, hem! faintish. My heart is pretty good; yet it beats; and my pulses, ha!—I have none—mercy on me—hum. Yes, here they are—gallop, gallop, gallop, gallop, gallop, gallop, hey! Whither will they hurry me? Now they’re gone again. And now I’m faint again, and pale again, and hem! and my hem! breath, hem! grows short; hem! hem! he, he, hem!
SCAN. It takes: pursue it in the name of love and pleasure.
MRS. FORE. How do you do, Mr. Foresight!
FORE. Hum, not so well as I thought I was. Lend me your hand.
SCAN. Look you there now. Your lady says your sleep has been unquiet of late.
FORE. Very likely.
MRS. FORE. Oh, mighty restless, but I was afraid to tell him so. He has been subject to talking and starting.
SCAN. And did not use to be so?
MRS. FORE. Never, never, till within these three nights; I cannot say that he has once broken my rest since we have been married.