Page:Dramas 2.pdf/361

Rh

Them wandering foreigners, Madam, have no nightcaps: they are no better than savages in that and many other respects. (Pointing to the handkerchief on his head.) It is, to be sure, an unchristian-looking rag: I could scarcely bear to let him say his prayers in it. [A loud rap is heard at the street-door.]

It is Lady Worrymore.

Be quiet, poor child! I'll soon carry her away with me: she sha'n't tease you long.

Lovely darling! O how I grieve to find you still so ill! What can I do to make you well?

Stay away: dat shall best make me well.

Stay away! how can I do so, my angel, when I am so interested—so grieved? Nobody knows how much I grieve for him.