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| 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.
| Ld. Toll. | Though p'raps I may incur your blame, |
| Ld. Mount. | And I may say I think the same; |
| Phyl. | Then free me, pray; be mine the blame; |
| Willis. | Accept, O Friendship, all the same, |
| All. | 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.
Recit.—Lord Chancellor.
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!
Song.—Lord Chancellor.
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,