Frederick.
For me. Why do you aſk? Why don’t you make haſte?
Landlord.
Well, well, Mr. ſoldier: but can you pay for it?
Frederick.
Here is money—make haſte, or I’ll break every window in your houſe.
Landlord.
Patience! Patience! [goes off.
Frederick [to Agatha].
You were hungry yeſterday when I ſat down to a comfortable dinner. You were hungry when I partook of a good ſupper. Oh! Why is ſo much bitter mixed with the joy of my return?
Agatha.
Be patient, my dear Frederick. Since I ſee you, I am well. But I have been very ill: ſo ill, that I deſpaired of ever beholding you again.
Frederick.
Ill, and I was not with you? I will, now, never leave you more. Look, mother, how tall and ſtrong I am grown. Theſe arms can now afford you ſupport. They can, and ſhall, procure you ſubſiſtence.
[Landlord coming out of the houſe with a ſmall pitcher.]
Landlord.
Here is wine—a moſt delicious nectar. [Aſide.] It is only Rheniſh; but it will paſs for the beſt old Hock.
Frederick [impatiently ſnatching the pitcher].
Give it me.
