FREDERICK. Good people have you nothing to give her? Nothing that's
nourishing.

WIFE. Run, husband, run, and fetch a bottle of wine from the landlord
of the inn.

FREDERICK. No, no--his wine is as bad as his heart: she has drank
some of it, which I am afraid has turned to poison.

COTTAGER. Suppose, wife, you look for a new-laid egg?

WIFE. Or a drop of brandy, husband--that mostly cures me.

FREDERICK. Do you hear, mother--will you, mother? [Agatha makes a
sign with her hand as if she could not take any thing.] She will not.
Is there no doctor in this neighbourhood?

WIFE. At the end of the village there lives a horse-doctor. I have
never heard of any other.

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.