_Mrs. Sul._ I'm provided to receive him, I warrant you; away! [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ LADY BOUNTIFUL _and_ MRS. SULLEN, DORINDA _meeting them_.
_Arch._ Where, where is my Lady Bountiful?----Pray which is the old lady of you three?
_Arch._ O madam, the fame of your ladyship's charity, goodness, benevolence, skill, and ability, have drawn me hither, to implore your ladyship's help in behalf of my unfortunate master, who is at this moment breathing his last.
_Arch._ At your gate, madam: drawn by the appearance of your handsome house, to view it nearer, and walking up the avenue, within five paces of the courtyard, he was taken ill of a sudden, with a sort of I know not what: but down he fell, and there he lies.
All run, get my easy-chair down stairs, put the gentleman in it, and bring him in quickly, quickly.
_Arch._ Heaven will reward your ladyship for this charitable act.
_Lady B._ Is your master used to these fits?
_Arch._ O yes, madam, frequently--I have known him have five or six of a night.
_Arch._ Lord, madam, he's dying; a minute's care or neglect may save or destroy his life.
_Lady B._ Ah, poor gentleman! come, friend, show me the way; I'll see him brought in myself. [_Exit with_ ARCHER.
_Dor._ Oh, sister, my heart flutters about strangely; I can hardly forbear running to his assistance.
_Mrs. Sul._ And I'll lay my life he deserves your assistance more than he wants it: did not I tell you that my lord would find a way to come at you? Love's his distemper, and you must be the physician; put on all your charms, summon all your fire into your eyes, plant the whole artillery of your looks against his breast, and down with him.
_Dor._ O, sister, I'm but a young gunner, I shall be afraid to shoot, for fear the piece should recoil, and hurt myself.
_Mrs. Sul._ Never fear, you shall see me shoot before you, if you will.
_Dor._ No, no, dear sister, you have missed your mark so unfortunately, that I shan't care for being instructed by you.
_Enter_ AIMWELL, _in a Chair, carried by_ ARCHER _and_ SCRUB; LADY BOUNTIFUL, GIPSEY. AIMWELL _counterfeiting a Swoon_.
_Lady B._ Here, here, let's see--the hartshorn drops--Gipsey, a glass of fair water, his fit's very strong.--Bless me, how his hands are clenched!