Volume Iv Part 23 (1/2)

L. _Fan._ 'Tis that, 'tis that, my Dear, that makes me weep. Alas, I never hear this fatal Noise, but some dear Friend dies.

Sir _Pat._ Hah, dies! Oh, that must be I, ay, ay, Oh.

L. _Fan._ I've heard it, Sir, this two Days, but wou'd not tell you of it.

Sir _Pat._ Hah! heard it these two Days! Oh, what is't a Death-watch?--hah.--

L. _Fan._ Ay, Sir, a Death-watch, a certain Larum Death-watch, a thing that has warn'd our Family this hundred Years, oh,--I'm the most undone Woman!

_Wit._ A Blessing on her for a dear dissembling Jilt--Death and the Devil, will it never cease?

Sir _Pat._ A Death-watch! ah, 'tis so, I've often heard of these things--methinks it sounds as if 'twere under the Bed.-- [Offers to look, she holds him.

L. _Fan._ You think so, Sir, but that 'tis about the Bed is my Grief; it therefore threatens you: Oh wretched Woman!

Sir _Pat._ Ay, ay, I'm too happy in a Wife to live long: Well, I will settle my House at _Hogsdowne_, with the Land about it, which is 500_l._ a Year upon thee, live or die,--do not grieve.-- [Lays himself down.

L. _Fan._ Oh, I never had more Cause; come try to sleep, your Fate may be diverted--whilst I'll to Prayers for your dear Health.-- [Covers him, draws the Curtains.] I have almost run out all my stock of Hypocrisy, and that hated Art now fails me.--Oh all ye Powers that favour distrest Lovers, a.s.sist us now, and I'll provide against your future Malice.

[She makes Signs to _Wittmore_, he peeps.

_Wit._ I'm impatient of Freedom, yet so much Happiness as I but now injoy'd without this part of Suffering had made me too blest.--Death and d.a.m.nation! what curst luck have I?

[Makes Signs to her to open the Door: whilst he creeps softly from under the Bed to the Table, by which going to raise himself, he pulls down all the Dressing-things: at the same instant Sir _Patient_ leaps from the Bed, and she returns from the Door, and sits on _Wittmore's_ Back as he lies on his Hands and Knees, and makes as if she swooned.

Sir _Pat._ What's the matter? what's the matter? has Satan broke his everlasting Chain, and got loose abroad to plague poor Mortals?

hah--what's the matter?

[Runs to his Lady.

L. _Fan._ Oh, help, I die--I faint--run down, and call for help.

Sir _Pat._ My Lady dying? oh, she's gone, she faints,--what ho, who waits?

[Cries and bauls.

L. _Fan._ Oh, go down and bring me help, the Door is lock'd,--they cannot hear ye,--oh--I go--I die.-- [He opens the Door, and calls help, help.

_Wit._ d.a.m.n him! there's no escaping without I kill the Dog.

[From under her, peeping.

L. _Fan._ Lie still, or we are undone.--

Sir _Patient_ returns with _Maundy_.

_Maun._ Hah, discover'd!

Sir _Pat._ Help, help, my Lady dies.