Just. What, does he say I must row in a boat to Fulham?

Rosy. He says he’ll undertake to cure you for three thousand pounds.

Mrs. Bri. Three thousand pounds! three thousand halters!—No, lovee, you shall never submit to such impositions; die at once, and be a customer to none of them.

Just. I won’t die, Bridget—I don’t like death.

Mrs. Bri. Psha! there is nothing in it: a moment, and it is over.

Just. Ay, but it leaves a numbness behind that lasts a plaguy long time.

Mrs. Bri. O my dear, pray consider the will.

Enter Lauretta.

Lau. O my father, what is this I hear?

O’Con. Quiddam seomriam deos tollam rosam.

Rosy. The doctor is astonished at the sight of your fair daughter.

Just. How so?

O’Con. Damsellum livivum suvum rislibani.

Rosy. He says that he has lost his heart to her, and that if you will give him leave to pay his addresses to the young lady, and promise your consent to the union, if he should gain her affections, he will, on those conditions, cure you instantly, without fee or reward.

Just. The devil! did he say all that in so few words? What a fine language it is! Well, I agree, if he can prevail on the girl.—[Aside.] And that I am sure he never will

Rosy. Greal.

O’Con. Writhum bothum.

Rosy. He says you must give this under your hand, while he writes you a miraculous receipt.

[Both sit down to write.

Lau. Do, mamma, tell me the meaning of this.

Mrs. Bri. Don’t speak to me, girl.—Unnatural parent!

Just. There, doctor; there’s what he requires.

Rosy. And here’s your receipt: read it yourself.

Just. Hey! what’s here? plain English!

Rosy. Read it out; a wondrous nostrum, I’ll answer for it.

Just. [Reads.] In reading this you are cured, by your affectionate son-in-law, O’Connor.—Who in the name of Beelzebub, sirrah, who are you?

O’Con. Your affectionate son-in-law, O’Connor, and your very humble servant, Humphrey Hum.