Frederick.
What ſhall I do? She is dying. My mother is dying—Pray for her, good people!
Agatha.
Make yourſelf eaſy, dear Frederick, I am well, only weak—Some wholeſome nouriſhment—
Frederick.
Yes, mother, directly—directly. [Aſide] Oh! where ſhall I—no money—not a farthing left.
Wife.
Oh, dear me! Had you not paid the rent yeſterday, huſband—
Cottager.
I then, ſhould know what to do. But as I hope for mercy, I have not a penny in my houſe.
Frederick.
Then I muſt—[Apart, coming forward]—Yes, I will go, and beg.—But ſhould I be refuſed—I will then—I leave my mother in your care, good people—Do all you can for her, I beſeech you! I ſhall ſoon be with you again. [Goes off in haſte and confuſion.]
Cottager.
If he ſhould go to our parſon, I am ſure he would give him ſbmething.
[Agatha having revived by degrees during the ſcene, riſes.]
Agatha.
Is that good old man ſlill living, who was miniſter here ſome time ago?
Wife.
No—It pleaſed Providence to take that worthy man to heaven two years ago.—We have loſt in him both a friend and a father. We ſhall never get ſuch another.
