Volume Iv Part 9 (2/2)

_Wit._ Most wonderfully.

Sir _Pat._ Alter'd, hah--why, where, why, how alter'd?--hah, alter'd say you?

_Wit._ Lord, how wildly he stares!

Sir _Pat._ Hah, stare wildly!

_Rog._ Are you not very sick, Sir?

L. _Fan._ Sick! oh, Heavens forbid!--How does my dearest Love?

Sir _Pat._ Methinks I feel myself not well o'th' sudden--ah--a kind of s.h.i.+vering seizes all my Limbs,--and am I so much chang'd?

_Wit._ All over, Sir, as big again as you were.

L. _Fan._ Your Face is frightfully blown up, and your dear Eyes just starting from your Head; oh, I shall sound with the apprehension on't.

[Falls into _Wittmore's_ Arms.

Sir _Pat._ My Head and Eyes so big, say you: oh, I'm wondrous sick o'th'

sudden,--all over say you--oh, oh--Ay, I perceive it now, my Senses fail me too.

L. _Fan._ How, Sir, your Senses fail you?

_Wit._ That's a very bad sign, believe me.

Sir _Pat._ Oh, ay, for I can neither feel nor see this mighty growth you speak of.

[Falls into a Chair, with great signs of Disorder.

_Wit._ Alas, I'm sorry for that, Sir.

_Rog._ Sure, 'tis impossible, I'll run and fetch a Gla.s.s, Sir.

[Offers to go.

L. _Fan._ Oh, stay, I wou'd not for the world he should see what a Monster he is,--and is like to be before to morrow.

[Aside.

_Rog._ I'll fit him with a Gla.s.s,--I'll warrant ye, it shall advance our Design.

[Exit _Roger_.

Enter _Maundy_ with the Clothes, she starts.

_Maun._ Good Heaven, what ails you, Sir?

Sir _Pat._ Oh--oh--'tis so.

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