_Arch_. At your gate, madam. Drawn by the appearance of your handsome house to view it nearer, and walking up the avenue within five paces of the courtyard, he was taken ill of a sudden with a sort of I know not what, but down he fell, and there he lies. _Lady Boun_. Here, Scrub! Gipsy! all run, get my easy chair down stairs, put the gentleman in it, and bring him in quickly! quickly! {95} _Arch_. Heaven will reward your ladyship for this charitable act. _Lady Boun_. Is your master used to these fits? _Arch_. O yes, madam, frequently: I have known him have five or six of a night. {100} _Lady Boun_. What's his name? _Arch_. Lord, madam, he 's a-dying! a minute's care or neglect may save or destroy his life. _Lady Boun_. Ah, poor gentleman!--Come, friend, show me the way; I 'll see him brought in myself. [_Exit with Archer_. _Dor_. O sister, my heart flutters about strangely! I can hardly forbear running to his assistance. {107} _Mrs. Sul_. And I 'll lay my life he deserves your assistance more than he wants it. Did not I tell you that my lord would find a way to come at you? Love's his distemper, and you must be the physician; put on all your charms, summon all your fire into your eyes, plant the whole artillery of your looks against his breast, and down with him. _Dor_. O sister! I 'm but a young gunner; I shall be afraid to shoot, for fear the piece should recoil, and hurt myself. _Mrs. Sul_. Never fear, you shall see me shoot before you, if you will. {119} _Dor_. No, no, dear sister; you have missed your mark so unfortunately, that I shan't care for being instructed by you. _Enter Aimwell in a chair carried by Archer and Scrubs and counterfeiting a swoon; Lady Bountiful and Gipsy following_. _Lady Boun_. Here, here, let's see the hartshorn drops.-- Gipsy, a glass of fair water! His fit's very strong. --Bless me, how his hands are clinched! _Arch_. For shame, ladies, what d' ye do? why don't you help us?--[_To Dorinda_.] Pray, madam, take his hand, and open it, if you can, whilst I hold his head. [_Dorinda takes his hand_. _Dor_. Poor gentleman!--Oh!--he has got my hand within his, and squeezes it unmercifully-- {130} _Lady Boun_. 'Tis the violence of his convulsion, child. _Arch_. Oh, madam, he's perfectly possessed in these cases--he'll bite if you don't have a care. _Dor_. Oh, my hand! my hand! _Lady Boun_. What's the matter with the foolish girl? I have got his hand open, you see, with a great deal of ease. _Arch_. Ay, but, madam, your daughter's hand is somewhat warmer than your ladyship's, and the heat of it draws the force of the spirits that way. {140} _Mrs. Sul_. I find, friend, you're very learned in these sorts of fits. _Arch_. Tis no wonder, madam, for I 'm often troubled with them myself; I find myself extremely ill at this minute. [_Looking hard at Mrs. Sullen_.