(Lord Worrymoreand his Lady, hand-in-hand, advancing from the bottom of the stage.)
LORD WORRYMORE.
Give me joy, give me joy, my friends! Lady Worrymore has pardoned our frolic; and I believe there is nobody here, who will think less favourably of her taste and her judgment for the mistakes of this day.
LADY SHREWDLY.
Assuredly not. A wife who has taste and capacity enough to admire the talents and genius of her own husband, is most happily endowed.
LORD WORRYMORE.
Well said; he—he—he! very happily endowed. (ToLady Worrymore.) Don't you think so, my love?
LADY WORRYMORE (gravely and demurely).
I suppose she will be reckoned so.
[Scene closes.
END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.
London:
Printed by A. Spottiswoode,
New-Street-Square.
