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Ld. Toll. (looking at her). Well, I don't believe it is!
Ld. Mount. Nor I. The sacred ties of Friendship are paramount.

Quartette—Mountararat, Tolloller, Phyllis, and Willis.

Ld. Toll.

Though p'raps I may incur your blame,
The things are few
I would not do
In Friendship's name!

Ld. Mount.

And I may say I think the same;
Not even love
Should rank above
True Friendship's name!

Phyl.

Then free me, pray; be mine the blame;
Forget your craze
And go your ways
In Friendship's name!

Willis.

Accept, O Friendship, all the same,
This sacrifice to thy dear name!

All.

Oh, many a man, in Friendship's name,
Has yielded fortune, rank, and fame!
But no one yet, in the world so wide,
Has yielded up a promised bride!

[Exeunt Mountararat and Tolloller, lovingly, in one direction, and Phyllis in another.]

Enter Lord Chancellor, very miserable.

Recit.—Lord Chancellor.

Love, unrequited, robs me of my rest:
Love, hopeless love, my ardent soul encumbers:
Love, nightmare like, lies heavy on my chest,
And weaves itself into my midnight slumbers!

Song.—Lord Chancellor.

When you're lying awake with a dismal headache, and repose is taboo'd by anxiety,
I conceive you may use any language you choose to indulge in, without impropriety;
For your brain is on fire—the bedclothes conspire of usual slumber to plunder you:
First your counterpane goes, and uncovers your toes, and your sheet slips demurely from under you;
Then the blanketing tickles—you feel like mixed pickles—so terribly sharp is the pricking,

And you're hot, and you're cross, and you tumble and toss till there's nothing 'twixt you and the ticking.