_Worn_. Heavens reward your ladyship!--I have two little babies too that are piteous bad with the graips, an't please ye. {30} _Mrs. Sul_. Put a little pepper and salt in their bellies, good woman. _Enter Lady Bountiful_. I beg your ladyship's pardon for taking your business out of your hands; I have been a-tampering here a little with one of your patients. _Lady Boun_. Come, good woman, don't mind this mad creature; I am the person that you want, I suppose. What would you have, woman? _Mrs. Sul_. She wants something for her husband's sore leg. {40} _Lady Boun_. What's the matter with his leg, goody? _Worn_. It come first, as one might say, with a sort of dizziness in his foot, then he had a kind of laziness in his joints, and then his leg broke out, and then it swelled, and then it closed again, and then it broke out again, and then it festered, and then it grew better, and then it grew worse again. _Mrs. Sul_. Ha! ha! ha! _Lady Boun_. How can you be merry with the misfortunes of other people? {50} Mrs. Sul, Because my own make me sad, madam. _Lady Boun_. The worst reason in the world, daughter; your own misfortunes should teach you to pity others. _Mrs. Sul_. But the woman's misfortunes and mine are nothing alike; her husband is sick, and mine, alas! is in health. _Lady Boun_. What! would you wish your husband sick? _Mrs. Sul_. Not of a sore leg, of all things. {59} _Lady Boun_. Well, good woman, go to the pantry, get your bellyful of victuals, then I 'll give you a receipt of diet-drink for your husband. But d'ye hear, goody, you must not let your husband move too much? _Worn_. No, no, madam, the poor man's inclinable enough to lie still. [_Exit_. _Lady Boun_. Well, daughter Sullen, though you laugh, I have done miracles about the country here with my receipts. {69} _Mrs. Sul_. Miracles indeed, if they have cured anybody; but I believe, madam, the patient's faith goes. farther toward the miracle than your prescription. _Lady Boun_. Fancy helps in some cases; but there's your husband, who has as little fancy as anybody, I brought him from death's door. _Mrs. Sul_. I suppose, madam, you made him drink plentifully of ass's milk. _Enter Dorinda, who runs to Mrs. Sullen_. _Dor_. News, dear sister! news! news! _Enter Archer, running_. _Arch_. Where, where is my Lady Bountiful?--Pray, which is the old lady of you three? {80} _Lady Boun_. I am. _Arch_. O madam, the fame of your ladyship's charity, goodness, benevolence, skill and ability, have drawn me hither to implore your ladyship's help in behalf of my unfortunate master, who is this moment breathing his last. _Lady Boun_. Your master! where is he?