University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Travers' Lodgings. Ruffler, Travers, and Goldstraw, discovered.
Travers.
Your plot comes hardly, Ruffler.

Ruffler.
Not at all:
But, as you say, if the old lady's follies
Could reach the end they aim at, she would find
A keen repentance following her success.
She must be married; that 's the starting-point.

Goldstraw.
“Married!” Nay, that 's the ending-point, I fear.
For, in a furious outburst of her folly,
Or by the coming of some needy fellow,
Of handsome person and adroit designs,
She may be cozened to clap up a match,
Either with one who dangles in her train,
Or an adventurer who will spend her wealth,
Rob my poor cousin of her heritage,
And break both hearts together.

Trav.
A shrewd fear.
For, Guy, suppose yourself a ruined man;
How easy would it be to mend your rents
With Lady Goldstraw's patches!

Ruf.
True enough.

Trav.
'T is well all sharpers have not your address,
Or heaven protect rich widows!

Ruf.
Hum! Suppose
That I should marry her.

[Laughing.]
Trav.
He takes the bait.
[Aside.]
'Sdeath! what a life you 'd lead her! It would cure
Her amorous fancies till her dying day.
Lord! how she 'd shy, and try to throw you off,
And how you 'd cling and spur! I understand:
Married in jest, by Darkly, or some knave
With reverend face;—just for a day or so?
'T would work like poison. Ah! you cunning dog,
What nimble wits you have!

[Laughing.]
Gold.
Yes; how they skip,
When Travers pulls the wires! [Aside.]


Ruf.
Well, there 's my plan;
Born by due course of nature, as you see,
Without the aid of doctors.

Trav.
Brava, wife!
No; pshaw! you gull us. What, you will not dare
To carry out your artful project, man?
I doubt your courage. Hal, what think you, Hal?

Gold.
I would be loath to see her ladyship
The victim of a plot.

Trav.
Yet, after all,
Could it exceed the antics of to-day—
The lovers, and the sonnet, and the swoon?
And why not touch her feelings, and awake
The torpid heart that smothers in her follies,
And makes her monstrous? Ruffler's scheme is good—
Excellent, exquisite, without a flaw—
And easily practised.

Ruf.
Ay, simplicity,
That 's your true mark of genius!

Gold.
I'll consider.

Ruf.
Nay, now, you shall consent. I will not have
The travail of my brain miscarry quite
Through stupid counsel. 'T is the only way;
And if you shrink, I'll offer no more plans.
Live on, and suffer by your obstinacy.

Gold.
What think you, Travers?

Trav.
Soberly, I think
The plot a sound one: and, besides, if he
Wring the old lady past her sufferance,
We can remit; for then the cure will be,
Beyond a doubt, accomplished.

Gold.
I consent.
But deal as a good surgeon; give no pain
Where pain is needless; cut the cancer out,
But spare the patient.

Ruf.
Mark me, gentlemen;
I'll have no interference; you must be
But instruments, not artists, in my work.
Prepare yourselves for orders.

Trav.
We'll obey.

[Ruffler struts up the stage.]
Gold.
Travers, I never saw such vanity—
Of all complexions, shapes, and shades—in man.
He takes your thoughts out of your very teeth,
Swallows, and casts them up, as carelessly
As though your brain were his.

Trav.
(Laughing.)
And so it is.
His weakness does not hide his nobler parts
From my respect. We'll hit upon some way
To cure both patients with one medicine.

(Enter Darkly.)
Ruf.
(Seizing him.)
Where have you tarried? By the holy rood,
I feel like basting you!

Darkly.
Swear Christian oaths!
Do not afflict me with the filth of Rome—
The bells, the candles, or the holy rood—
The graven images, or painted saints—
The monks, or bulls, or other hornéd beasts—
The—

Trav.
Peace! you hypocrite, you sightless mole,
Who burrow in the dirt and lees of things,
Nor see the flowers that root in the decay
Of Roman greatness, to delight our time!
Peace, wretch! that ancient church held up a torch,
To light our fathers through the utter gloom
Of feudal ignorance! Learning lived in her;
Her cloisters saved the wondrous minds that made
Greece beautiful and Rome imperial.
What if she lag behind this rapid age?
Is she not old? and age claims man's respect.
What if the daylight show the torch's smoke?
Did it not serve us in the middle night,
And light us towards the morning? Rome, thou fool!
There 's not a church, from Luther to George Fox,
That on her broad foundations is not built!

Ruf.
You hurl a thunderbolt against a gnat.
Peace, father Will!

Trav.
You heard the villain prate.
I am no Papist, yet it angers me
To see that noble bulwark of our faith
Touched with irreverent hands.

Ruf.
Well, sirrah, well!
Where have you been?

Dark.
I tarried round the house
Of the gay gentile, near the offices,
Over against the backside of the court;
And there I saw her handmaids and her men
Bear the repast to its allotted place.

Ruf.
(Mimicking him.)
And, peradventure, thou didst enter in,
To fill thy inward man with broken meats.
Yea, and I marvel that thou didst not burst
Thy hide with stuffing. For, bethink thee, brother,
It falls on fast-day, when it is thy use
To cram thee grossly, just to scorn the church.

Dark.
Yea, verily.

Ruf.
Out, glutton!

Dark.
And it chanced,
A maid of comly mien, and smooth of skin—

Ruf.
How did you know the texture of her skin?

Dark.
In divers ways.

Ruf.
Ugh, losel!

Dark.
And I called,
And said unto the maid, in modest tongue—

Ruf.
With a most filthy leer.

Dark.
Whose habitation,
Or whose dwelling-place, dost thou abide in?
And she answered me, “The Lady Goldstraw's,
Widow to a mayor of mighty London;
A brave and portly dame, stricken in years,
But full of amorous blood.” And who the damsel?
I questioned; and she made reply, “Young Madge,
A child of twenty summers.” So I rose,
And came my way.

Ruf.
Unconscionable liar!
You have been nobbing in stale beer with her,
Eating cold pasties; and, for after cates,
You stole a brace of kisses. Come, put on
Your sanctimonious garb, and follow me.—
Are you prepared?

[To Travers and Goldstraw.]
Trav.
Yea, verily!

Gold.
In sooth!

Dark.
O, O, alas! how the profane ones scoff!

[Exeunt.]

SCENE II.

An Ante-Room in Lady Goldstraw's house. Enter Travers and Madge.
Travers.
So love died long ago?

Madge.
When Venus died,
With her three Graces, and the Golden Age
Came limping downward to these prosy days
Of gain and reason. If we marry now,
'T is this lord's park wedding that lady's field;
Or this man's money-bags and that dame's plate,
Joined at compounded interest; or John's arm
Mated to Polly's thrift. Or give the theme
A wider scope—throw wealth and sense aside—
And then 't is folly caught by beauty's glare;
Or base desire asking the church's seal,
To sin by charter; or sad loneliness
Seeking companionship; or simple malice
Seizing a helpless victim to torment,
While the law nods approval; or—or—or—
For any motive, good or bad, you please,
But not for love. Love has no motives, sir,
No purposes, no aims, no selfish wish;
Love is its own reward.

Trav.
Indeed! then love
For nothing sighs—for nothing groans and weeps—
For nothing wrings his hands, and tears his hair;
Or with this nothing being enraged, for nothing
He fires a house, or cuts a rival's throat,
Or leads the Greeks into a ten years' war,
And tumbles blazing Ilium o'er her walls:
And all for nothing!

Madge.
Then was love a god;
Men demi-gods, who stalked through history
A head and shoulders taller than the world:
Ah! there were heroes then!

Trav.
And heroes now.
Are heroes proven by the knocks they take?—
Is blood the only livery of renown?
I knew a sickly artisan, a man
Whose only tie to life was one pale child,
His dead wife's gift. Yet, for that single tie,
He bore a life that would have blanched the face
Of arméd Hector; bore the hopeless toil,
That could but scrape together one day's food;
Bore the keen tortures of a shattered frame,
The sneer of pride, the arrogance of wealth;
All the dread curses of man's heritage,
Summed in one word of horror—poverty!—
Ay, bore them with a smile. And all the time,
His ears were full of whispers. In his hand,
The common tools of work turned from their use,
And hinted—death! The river crossed his path,
Sliding beneath the bridge, so lovingly,
And murmuring—death! Upon his very hearth
The tempter sat, amid the flaming coals,
And talked with him of—death! A thousand ways
Lay open, for his misery to escape;
Yet there he stood, and labored for his child,
Till Heaven in pity took the twain together.—
He was a hero!

Madge.
Sir, you sadden me.

Trav.
Is man, then, so degenerate?

Madge.
On my faith,
You prove the thing worth something.

Trav.
Would that I
Could prove it in my person!

Madge.
Why?

Trav.
Fair Madge,
I'd have you love me.

Madge.
Horrors! what a man!
How many houses have you? How much land?
How many guineas? Are your cattle fat?
Could you afford a carriage? Sir, you see,
Having no father, I must look to this,
As you 'd be loved, in my own person. Come;
Set up your claim. What settlement, Sir William,
Can you make good upon my daughter?

Trav.
Sir,
I am a hero of the Golden Age,
Belated in your times. A love like mine
Is its own blessed reward. I nothing seek;
And, therefore, nothing will I give. My love
Is an abstraction, a divine idea,
That settles on your daughter, my good sir,
For want of better habitation.

Madge.
Pshaw!
You'll vex me, shortly: I abhor a quiz.

Trav.
Why, so do I; and hating thus myself,
I leave myself, and cast my love on you.

Madge.
Which love is self-love, by your own confession.

Trav.
And being self-love, of the best quality
Find me, between the poles, such tenderness
As that men lavish on themselves; such sighs
As they can utter o'er their private griefs;
Such tears as their own miseries call forth;
Such perfect and complete oblivion
To all the world, for their own darling selves!
It would shame Hero o'er Leander's corpse,
To hear the anguish that a surgeon's knife
Can waken in his patient.

Madge.
Farewell, sir!
I'll hope to meet you in a graver mood.

Trav.
I shaped my mood by yours.—But one word more.
Suppose me grave; should I have credit, then?
You shake your head. Pray, when will you believe?

Madge.
When I believe in love.

[Exit.]
Trav.
I like thee, Madge:
Would I could love thee, as thou dost deserve;
But love!—O, fie! I'll swear I cannot love.
Yet I must feign it; drop philosophy,
And rave myself into a lunatic.
I like thee, though, beyond a shade of doubt;
And there 's a nature underlays thy mirth
That well approves the feeling. 'T is full time
I should set up a nursery, and prolong
The race of Travers; or my father's bones
Will rise against me. He who wills can win.

[Exit.]
(Enter Dolly Flare.)
Dolly.
My! what a handsome gentleman! How well
He 'd look, if he had Mr. Darkly's way
Of pious conversation! There 's a man
The devil fears, I warrant!

(Enter Darkly.)
Darkly.
Sister Flare,
How is it with thee, sister?

Dol.
Poorly, thank Heaven!

Dark.
O! weaker vessel, dost thou feel the need
Of faith, to steady thee?

Dol.
I fear I do.

Dark.
Um, um! faint soul, thou shalt not ask in vain
The arm of succor, (Embracing her.)
or the guiding hand.
[Taking her hand.]
And, peradventure, it might comfort thee
To taste a morsel of refreshing strength:
[Taking a bottle from his pocket.]
Albeit, the spirit is strong, the flesh is weak,
And cries for aid. (Gives the bottle. She drinks.)
Yea, verily! alas!
How much the poor soul needs! But go thy ways;
My strength is waning, even as thine doth wax.
[Takes the bottle from her.]
When thou dost falter by the way, look up!—
Even though this carnal vial cleave unto thee,
Defy the tempter, and look up, I say!

[Throws back his head, and drinks.]
Dol.
(Taking the bottle.)
I will, indeed. O! sir, you have not left
A drop to try my strength on.

Dark.
Marvel not:
Sore was I tempted. Thou of little faith,
O! frail of purpose, canst thou not look up?

[She looks up, and he kisses her.]
Dol.
(Starting.)
O! O!

Dark.
Does thy strength fail? Look up, I say!
[She looks up, and he kisses her.]
Dost thou feel easier? Is the tempter laid?

Dol.
I could look up forever.

Dark.
Verily,
Thy faith is great, O, blessed sister Flare!
Perchance I may abide beneath this roof;
And if it happen, I will come to thee,
Even to thy chamber, to exhort with thee,
And wrestle with the tempter.

Dol.
Dear, good man!
I don't deserve it, sir, indeed I don't:
I feel so dismal-like, when you are nigh,
And I can see your blessed face. O! O!
I fear I am a sinner, sir!

[Weeps.]
Dark.
Look up!

[She looks up, he kisses her, and exit.]
(Enter Ruffler and Goldstraw.)
Ruffler.
Here I am, Harry, in my best array.
But where is Travers?

Goldstraw.
Somewhere hereabout:
He strayed off with my cousin. Dolly, girl,
What are you staring at?

Ruf.
A pretty maid!—
Hist, hist! I'll wake her.

[Steals up to kiss her.]
Dol.
(Striking him.)
Out, tempter, out!
Get thee behind me, Satan!

[Exit.]
Ruf.
Blood of mine!
What a she-devil!

[Rubbing his face.]
Gold.
What has come o'er her?

Ruf.
Plague on her handling! Now, I tell you, Hal,
That 's the first check I e'er received from woman.
She 's taken me for you.

Gold.
Without a doubt.
You 're welcome to the error.

Ruf.
Now, suppose
I open on the widow. I intend
To carry the whole matter through by storm.
Who are within?

Gold.
Fools: the same silly crowd.
You 'd better join them.

Ruf.
Mark me put them down,
Clear the whole field, and catch the widow up
Before she can draw breath.—

Gold.
Or hear a word
That sounds like reason.

Ruf.
Ay, ay! Forward, then!
Sound, trumpets! I am armed to win the day!

[Exeunt.]

SCENE III.

A Room in the Same. Lady Goldstraw, Lord Foam, Sir John Pollen, Hopeful, and Marks, discovered.
Hopeful.
Star of our lives, make an election now.
Behold thy four slaves suppliant at thy heels;
[They kneel.]
And all they beg, imperial dame of hearts,
Is that thou 'lt choose, among their number, one,
To make the partner of thy four-post bed.
Would thou couldst honor all, and shame the Turk
By a reversal of his way of life;
Yet since vile law confines thee to but one,
Choose from among us here the worthiest;
And let the remnant of thy slaves depart,
Covering their misery with their handkerchiefs.
As for myself—

[They all start up.]
All.
Hold, Hopeful!

Pollen.
Honor, honor!

Marks.
We chose you spokesman, and not advocate.
You must not speak, or speak for all alike.

Foam.
La! yes; well put!

Lady Goldstraw.
How shall I choose aright,
Where no one seems unworthy? Marry, sirs,
A simple woman, immature in years—
Though wise beyond them—here may hesitate,
And hand upon the syllable of judgment.
I like the martial air of bold Sir John—

Pol.
'Sdeath! yes: at Antwerp—

Hope.
Peace! an angel blabs.

Lady G.
I like the manners of Lord Foam—

Foam.
La, now!

Lady G.
The thrift of Marks; the wild poetic soul
That throbs in Hopeful—

Hope.
Glory to my queen!
She chooses nicely.

Marks.
Cease your braying, ass,
Until she chooses.

Pol.
(To Hopeful.)
Breathe another word,
And I will scour my rapier in your soul!

Marks.
Let us cast lots.

Hope.
Back, merchant! Slave, to thee!—
[To Pollen.]
What! dost thou scorn the poet? Flanders' knight,
He of the lyre is master of the blade;
Nor goes out, like a candle, at thy puff!

Lady G.
Beseech you, gentlemen!—

Hope.
Pray not for him:
His cause doth soil the ruby of thy lip
With present arsenic. On my angry sword
Grim horror sits, and murder is about!
Away!

[The others seize him.]
Pol.
I pray you, hold him; he is mad.

Lady G.
O gentlemen—good gentlemen—

Hope.
Mad for your bleeding!

Foam.
La! be quiet, do!

Marks.
Peace, or I'll trounce you!

Hope.
Dost thou second him,
Thou thing of measures, and plague-bearing rags?
Receive thy wages!

[Strikes Marks. All draw.]
Lady G.
Murder! murder! murder!

Pol.
Murder! I 'm slain!

Foam.
And I!

(Enter Ruffler and Goldstraw.)
Ruffler.
Keep the king's peace!

Hope.
(Rushing at Ruffler.)
Presuming toadstool, die!

[Goldstraw strikes up his sword.]
Goldstraw.
Stand back! you know me.

Hope.
But I regard you not.

Ruf.
Ha! dogs, you snarl,
You show your teeth, you bite, before a lady!

Lady G.
Marry! that they do, sir, and little else.

Ruf.
Are these your manners? This the high respect
A man should show before yon paragon
Of beauty, sweetness, and accomplished worth?
Now, as I live, my heart takes fire indeed
At the bare thought, and I would make you dance
To the harsh music of this rapier!—

Lady G.
No more—if you do love me.

Ruf.
Love you, sweet!
See, one soft word has saved you. Vanish, then!
I banish you her presence, one and all,
Until our wedding-day.

Hope.
Man, dost thou think
Thy clamor scares us?

Pol.
Poh, poh! soldiers, gull,
Afraid of words! In Flanders, 'sdeath! the French
Said ten words to our one.

Marks.
Ha, magpie, ha!
You 'd steal our lady's gold!

Foam.
La! yes, indeed.

Marks.
We'll clip you close enough.

(Enter Travers and Darkly.)
Ruf.
Here come allies.
Draw out your battle; for I have resolved
To drive you out, through yonder door, like thieves.

(Ruffler and his friends range themselves on one side; the suitors on the other.)
Travers.
What is this folly?

Marks.
It has just come in,
Along with you.

Lady G.
Entreat them to desist.
O dear! my hair has gotten all awry;
I must look dreadfully.

[Aside.]
Trav.
Nay, gentlemen—

Marks.
Pish! draw your sword, and sheath your tongue.

Hope.
Ay, slave,
If you be mortal, we will find it out!

Darkly.
(Coming between.)
Or, peradventure, if I might exhort—

Marks.
Out, scarecrow!

[Darkly retreats.]
Trav.
Taste your madness.

[Draws.]
Pol.
Hold, by Mars!
This looks like earnest. (Aside.)
I proclaim a truce.

Hope.
Base-born deserter!

Marks.
Coward!

Foam.
La! and I
Have no idea of getting my clothes spoiled.

[Crosses with Pollen to Ruffler's party.]
Pol.
Why, sirs, we often did it, down in Flanders,
To bury up the dead. A truce! a truce!
A soldier asks it. Or, if you will fight,
Throw down your arms, and beg for quarter.

Marks.
Hopeful,
We are out-matched.

Hope.
I care not, I! Come on!
The world shall witness how a bard goes off!

[Advances.]
Gold.
This mummery has gone far enough. (Coming between.)
Be still,
Mad poetaster; and you, master Marks,
Off to your counter, or I'll call the watch.

Trav.
A good idea.

Pol. and Foam.
Watch! watch!

Marks.
We will submit
To Lady Goldstraw; but the best of you
Shall not dictate at the sword's point to us.

Hope.
Speak, magnet of my heart! thy slaves prepare
To do thy bidding.

Lady G.
Now, I really like
That stranger's counsel, for the stranger's sake.
[Aside.]
Begone! I banish you. Yet, not to kill
Your loving spirits, I'll mix sweet with sour,—
Return again upon my wedding-day.

Marks.
Keep up your spirits: I, for one, have hope
To be alive to see your funeral.

[Exit.]
Lady G.
Ungrateful brute!

Foam.
La! so do I.

[Exit.]
Lady G.
Mean fop!

Pol.
Good-morning to your paint! In faith, I 'd take
The same leave of your face, if 't were in sight.

[Exit.]
Lady G.
Ugh! slanderous warrior!

Hope.
Madness, madness, madness!
A thousand hissing vipers gnaw your soul,
The nightmare lie beside you, and may dreams—
Grimmer than gorgons, hydras, and the like—
Forever mind you of lost Thomas Hopeful!
This marvellous world to me is black as soot!

[Exit.]
Lady G.
Loving, but vicious!

Trav.
(Laughing.)
'T was a fearful scene!

[Apart to Goldstraw.]
Gold.
But all a sham. You saw the cut-throats cool
When “watch” was cried.

Trav.
Yet Ruffler swaggered bravely.

Gold.
Dear aunt, excuse me. This fierce gentleman,
Who saved our lives, is Lord Guy Ruffler; famed
For gallant deeds done in the field of Mars,
And Cupid's, too.

[Introducing them.]
Lady G.
My service to your lordship.

Ruf.
Nay, nay; command me, madam.

Gold.
Aunt, my friend,
Sir William Travers.

Lady G.
(Apart to Goldstraw.)
Are they both at Court?

Gold.
Yes, both in office; and Lord Ruffler, aunt,
Is of great wealth, and greater expectation.

Lady G.
He seems to like me.

Gold.
Like you! Ah! I fear,
'T is more than liking.

Lady G.
Pshaw, you foolish boy!
Well, well, I cannot see, but so it is,
The men will fancy something in me still.
A lonely widow; only I have worn
Better than most, and youth yet lingers here
With some small show of charms.

Gold.
I never saw
Years touch one lighter; all the gayety
Of youth is yours, without youth's rudeness, madam.

Lady G.
O fie! you flatter.

Gold.
(Apart to Ruffler.)
I have smoothed your way:
Her heart is open now to all mankind.

Lady G.
Lord Ruffler.

[Goldstraw and Travers walk up the stage.]
Ruf.
Madam.

Lady G.
You are from the Court.

Ruf.
'T is true, my lady.

Lady G.
Are there many there
Of greater beauty than our city belles?

Ruf.
You jest.

Lady G.
How then?

Ruf.
I trust you know the worth
Of the transcendent beauty stored in you;
Your glass must brighten with it every day.
Those eyes, that flash upon me, are not blind,
Or heaven belies its light.

Lady G.
O dear! my lord,
You are so sudden! I could scarce expect
To hear such words at once. You frighten me.—
See how my hand is shaking.

Ruf.
(Taking her hand.)
Precious hand,
That trembles at my lips; then, at my lips,
Tremble forever.

[Kisses it.]
Lady G.
O, O, let me go!
'T is cruel to use your strength; and I so weak!

Ruf.
I love you madly!

Lady G.
Ah! you fib, you do—
You know you do—you naughty, naughty lord!

Ruf.
By those bright eyes I swear—and by that brow
Of Parian whiteness—and those curving lips
That match and rival the vermilion dye
Brought from Cathay—and by those cheeks that blush
The Persian rose to paleness—by this hand,
Which now I hold, and never will release,
I swear—and hear me Venus and young Love—
To win a title that shall make it mine!

Lady G.
(Struggling.)
Indeed, my lord, I'll call for help, I will,
If you presume so. You are crushing me—
A poor weak woman—O, unhand me, O!

Gold.
(Advancing.)
What is the matter?

[As he advances, Ruffler releases her.]
Lady G.
Nothing, goose,—begone!
[Goldstraw retreats.]
I must retire a while, indeed I must.
Stay, if you will—I cannot help it—stay;
But don't expect to see me. Lack-a-day!
The fellow 's squeezed me out of shape, I know.

[Aside, arranging her dress.]
Ruf.
Shall I not hope?

Lady G.
Hope is the guest of all;
I cannot help it if you hope. Adieu!
Sweet ruffian!

[Aside. Exit.]
(Travers and Goldstraw advance.)
Ruf.
Talk of wooing girls, forsooth!
Hang me, if aught compares with wooing widows.
The hopeful ease, the careless certainty,—
Ah! that 's the thing to whet one's heart upon.

Gold.
She took it kindly?

Ruf.
“Kindly!” that 's no word.
But I am trammelled with another scrape.

Trav.
How 's that?

Ruf.
Why, look ye, as we came along,
We met the pretty Madge, and, as I live,
She gave me that same stare.

Gold.
She spoke to me.

Ruf.
Ay, but she looked at me. And let me tell you—
For I know all about these woman's ways—
A look goes further with them in a day,
And means more too, than fifty thousand words.

Gold.
The boundless coxcomb! Madge, too!

[Aside.]
Trav.
(Laughing.)
Ha, ha! Guy,
Keep your belief; you'll need it by and by.

Ruf.
What do you mean?

Gold.
Pish! sirs; let us go in.
I have a cork to draw.—My cousin—'sdeath!—
[Aside.]
A jolly bottle of an ancient house,
Ice to the lips, but fire within the blood;
A liquid joy, that, in its native grape,
Basked a whole summer through in old Provence,
And rolled its pulpy fatness in the sun,
And caught the spirit of the Troubadour,
To kindle song amid our colder age!

Ruf.
Come, Travers, come, and crack the bottle. Ugh!
This ancient love-making is somewhat dusty.
I 'm dried up to a cinder with my flames.
Where is the wine, Hal? Quick, my throat 's afire!

[Exeunt.]