a; but they're very strengthening flowers, you
know.

Geo Yes, my lord, you are always right.

Dun Do you know I'm getting to be very robust?

Geo Would I could share that fault with you; but I am so delicate.

Dun If you were robust I should not love you as I do. It would deprive
you of that charm which enchains me to your lovely side, which--which--

Geo Oh, my lord, my lord! I'm going to faint.

Dun And I'm going to sneeze, you faint while I sneeze.

Geo [Taking his arm.] Oh! my lord.

Dun Do you know what a sneeze is?

Geo No, my lord.

Dun She never sneezed. I'll tell you what a sneeze is. Imagine a very
large spider.

Geo [Screams.] Where, my lord?

Dun No, no, I don't mean a real spider, only an imaginary one, a large
spider getting up your nose, and all of a sudden, much to his disgust,
he discovers he has put his foot in it and can't get it out again.

Geo That must be very distressing.

Dun For the spider, yes, and not very pleasant for the nose.

Geo Oh! my lord, do take me to mamma.

Dun No, you lovely sufferer, let's walk a little more.

Geo I can't my lord, I'm _so_ delicate.

Dun Well, then, exercise, imitate that little hop of mine. [Hops.] It
isn't a run, it's a--

Geo What is it?

Dun No, it isn't a what is it. Well, let me suppose I get you an oyster.
[Georgina shakes her head.] Oh! then suppose I get you an oyster.

Geo No, my lord, I'm too delicate.

Dun How would you like the left wing of a canary bird?

Geo No, my lord, it's too strong for me.

Dun Let me ask you a widdle--why does a duck go under water? for divers
reasons. Now I'll give you another--why does a duck come out of the
water? for sundry reasons. No! No! see, you live on suction, you're
like that bird with a long bill, they call doctor, no, that's not it,
I thought it was a doctor, because it has a long bill--I mean a
snipe--yes, you're a lovely snipe. [Exeunt, R.]

Asa [Looking after them.] There goes a load of wooden nutmegs. Hello,
here comes somebody else.

Enter Florence, R., with paper.

Flo. [Reads.] ``One who still remembers what he ought long since to have
forgotten, wishes to speak with Miss Trenchard.'' Florence scratched
out, ``on matters of life and death, near the orel, in the west
gallery,'' Written upon a dirty sheet of paper, in a hardly legible
hand. What does this mean; it opens like one of Mrs. Radcliffe's
romances. Well, here I am, and now for my correspondent.

Enter Murc