Interest, Lady, Rut, Item.
Int. I'm sure, the Rogue o' the house went all that way;
She was with Child, and Mr. Compass got it.
Lad. Why, that you see is manifestly false,
H' has married the other; our true Niece, he says:
He would not woe 'em both : he is not such
A Stallion, to leap all. Again, no Child
Appears, that I can find with all my search,
And strictest way of inquiry, I have made
Through all my Family. A fit o' the Mother,
The Women say he had, which the Mid-wife cur'd,
With burning Bones and Feather: Here's the Doctor.
Int. O, noble Doctor, did not you, and your Item,
Tell me our Niece was in labour?
Rut. If I did,
Int. And that Mother Mid-night
Was sent for?
Rut. So she was; and is i' the House still.
Int. But here has a noise been since, she was deliver'd
of a brave Boy, and Mr. Compass's getting.
Rut. I know no rattle of gossips, not their noises.
I hope you take not me for a Pimp-errant,
To deal in Smock affairs? Where's the Patient?
The infirm Man, I was sent for, Squire Needle?
Lad. Is Needle sick?
Rut. My 'Pothecary tells me
He is in danger; how is't Tim? where is he?
Ite. I cannot hold him down. He's up, and walks,
And talks in his perfect sleep, with his Eyes shut,
As sensibly, as he were broad awake.
See, here he comes. He's fast asleep, observe him.
Rut. He'll tell us wonders. What do these Women here?