|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.
Though p'raps I may incur your blame,
And I may say I think the same;
Then free me, pray; be mine the blame;
Accept, O Friendship, all the same,
Oh, many a man, in Friendship's name,
[Exeunt Mountararat and Tolloller, lovingly, in one direction, and Phyllis in another.]
Enter Lord Chancellor, very miserable.
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!
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,