Volume Iv Part 116 (2/2)

Sir _Row._ But where's the Bride-groom, Madam?

Enter _Roger_.

How now, _Roger_, what, no news yet of _George_?

_Rog._ Alas! none, Sir, none, till the Rubbish be removed.

Sir _Row._ Rubbish--What--what, is _George_ become the Rubbish of the World then?

[Weeps.

_Tw.a.n.g._ Why, Man is but Dust, as a Man may say, Sir.

L. _Blun._ But are you sure, _Roger_, my Jewel, my Sir _Moggy_ escap'd?

_Rog._ The Watch drew him out of the Cellar-window, Madam.

L. _Youth._ How, Mr. _Tw.a.n.g_, the young Gentleman burnt--Oh-- [Falls in a Chair.

_Ter._ Alas! my Grandmother faints with your ill News.--Good Sir _Rowland_, comfort her, and dry your Eyes.

Sir _Row._ Burnt, Madam! No, no, only the House fell on him, or so-- [Feigns Chearfulness, and speaks to Lady _Youthly_.

L. _Youth._ How! the House fell on him--Oh!

Sir _Row._ Ah, Madam, that's all; why, the young Rogue has a Back like an Elephant--'twill bear a Castle, Madam.

L. _Youth._ Alas, good Man: What a Mercy 'tis, Mr. _Tw.a.n.g_, to have a Back like an Elephant!

L. _Blun._ Of what wonderful Use it is upon occasion--

Sir _Row._ Ay--but--but I shall never see him more, Back nor Breast.

[Weeps.

_Tw.a.n.g._ Good Sir, discomfort not my Lady--Consider Man's a Flower--

Sir _Row._ Ay, but _George_ was such a Flower! He was, Mr. _Tw.a.n.g_, he was the very Pink of Prentices. Ah! what a rare rampant Lord Mayor he wou'd have made! And what a swinging Sheriff-- [Cries.

_Ter._ What, cry, so near your Wedding-day, Sir Rowland?

Sir _Row._ Well, if he be gone--Peace be with him: and, 'Ifaks, Sweet-heart, we'll marry, and beget new Sons and Daughters--but--but I shall ne'er beget another _George_.

[Cries.

_Ter._ This is but a Scurvy Tune for your hymenical Song, Sir.

Sir _Row._ Alas! Mrs. _Teresia_, my Instrument is untun'd, and good for nothing now but to be hung upon the Willows.

_Cry within._ Murder, Murder, Murder!

Enter Footman. Sir _Merlin_ with his Sword drawn, and Sir _Morgan_.

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