Mrs. Bri. Stay!—Now you’re in such a hurry—it is some canting scrawl from the lieutenant, I suppose.—[Takes the letter.—Exit Servant.] Let me see:—ay, ’tis signed O’Connor.

Just. Well, come read it out.

Mrs. Bri. [Reads.] Revenge is sweet.

Just. It begins so, does it? I’m glad of that; I’ll let the dog know I’m of his opinion.

Mrs. Bri. [Reads.] And though disappointed of my designs upon your daughter, I have still the satisfaction of knowing I am revenged on her unnatural father: for this morning, in your chocolate, I had the pleasure to administer to you a dose of poison!—Mercy on us!

Just. No tricks, Bridget; come, you know it is not so; you know it is a lie.

Mrs. Bri. Read it yourself.

Just. [Reads.] Pleasure to administer a dose of poison!—Oh, horrible! Cut-throat villain!—Bridget!

Mrs. Bri. Lovee, stay, here’s a postscript.—[Reads.] N.B. ’Tis not in the power of medicine to save you.

Just. Odds my life, Bridget! why don’t you call for help? I’ve lost my voice.—My brain is giddy—I shall burst, and no assistance. —John!—Laury!—John!

Mrs. Bri. You see, lovee, what you have brought on yourself.

Re-enter Servant.

Ser. Your worship!

Just. Stay, John; did you perceive anything in my chocolate cup this morning?

Ser. Nothing, your worship, unless it was a little grounds.

Just. What colour were they?

Ser. Blackish, your worship.

Just. Ay, arsenic, black arsenic!—Why don’t you run for Dr. Rosy, you rascal?

Ser. Now, sir?

Mrs. Bri. Oh, lovee, you may be sure it is in vain; let him run for the lawyer to witness your will, my life.

Just. Zounds! go for the doctor, you scoundrel. You are all confederate murderers.

Ser. Oh, here he is, your worship.

[Exit.

Just. Now, Bridget, hold your tongue, and let me see if my horrid situation be apparent.

Enter Doctor Rosy.

Rosy. I have but just called to inform—hey! bless me, what’s the matter with your worship?

Just. There, he sees it already!—Poison in my face, in capitals! Yes, yes, I’m a sure job for the undertakers indeed!