_Tob_. If I must go, I'll not go alone: Ambrose Tinis, the cook, is as bad as I am. _Non_. I think you'll make me mad. Call the rascal hither! I must account with him on another score, now I think on't. _Enter_ AMBROSE TINIS. _Non_. Sirrah, what made you send a pheasant with one wing to the table yesterday? _Amb_. I beseech your worship to pardon me; I longed for't. _Isa_. I feared as much. _Amb_. And I beseech your worship let me have a boy, to help me in the kitchen; for I find myself unable to go through with the work. Besides, the doctor has warned me of stooping to the fire, for fear of a mischance. _Non_. Why, are you with child, sirrah? _Amb_. So he tells me; but, if I were put to my oath, I know not that ever I deserved for't. _Non_. Still worse and worse. And here comes Setstone groaning. _Enter_ SETSTONE. _Set_. O, sir! I have been so troubled with swooning fits; and have so longed for cherries! _Non_. He's poopt too. _Isa_. Well, this is not the worst yet: I suspect something more than I will speak of. _Non_. What dost thou suspect, ha! _Isa_. Is not your lordship with child, too? _Non_. Who, I with child! marry, heaven forbid! What dost thou see by me, to ground it on? _Isa_. You're very round of late;--that's all, sir. _Non_. Round! that's only fat, I hope. I have had a very good stomach of late, I'm sure. _Isa_. Alas, and well you may;--You eat for two, sir. _Non_. Setstone, look upon me, and tell me true: Do you observe any alteration in me? _Set_. I would not dishearten your ladyship--your lordship, I would say--but I have observed, of late, your colour goes and comes extremely. Methinks your lordship looks very sharp, and bleak i'the face, and mighty puffed i'the body. _Non_. O, the devil! Wretched men, that we are all! Nothing grieves me, but that, in my old age, when others are past child-bearing, I should come to be a disgrace to my family. _Const_. How do you, sir? Your eyes look wondrous dim. Is not there a mist before 'em? _Isa_. Do you not feel a kicking in your belly--When do you look, uncle? _Non_. Uh, uh!--Methinks, I am very sick o'the sudden. _Isa_. What store of old shirts have you against the good time? Shall I give you a shift, uncle? _Non_. Here's like to be a fine charge towards! We shall all be brought to-bed together! Well, if I be with devil, I will have such gossips: an usurer, and a scrivener, shall be godfathers. _Isa_. I'll help you, uncle; and Sawney's two grannies shall be godmothers. The child shall be christened by the directory; and the gossips' gifts shall be the gude Scotch kivenant. _Const. Set. Non. Tob. Amb_. Uh! uh! uh! _Isa_. What rare music's here! _Non_. Whene'er it comes from me, 'twill kill me; that's certain. _Set_. Best take a vomit. _Isa_. An't come upward, the horns will choke him. _Non_. Mass! and so they will. _Isa_. Your only way, is to make sure o'the man-midwife.