quite right: but keep your mouth closer.
You have a muscle or two which you have no command of, between your
cheek-bone and your lips, that should carry one corner of your mouth
up towards your crow's-foot, and that down to meet it.

There! Begone! Be in a plaguy hurry running up stair and down, to fetch
from the dining-room what you carry up on purpose to fetch, till motion
extraordinary put you out of breath, and give you the sigh natural.

What's the matter, Dorcas?

Nothing, Madam.

My beloved wonders she has not seen me this morning, no doubt; but is too
shy to say she wonders. Repeated What's the matter, however, as Dorcas
runs up and down stairs by her door, bring on, O Madam! my master! my
poor master!

What! How! When!--and all the monosyllables of surprize.

[Within parentheses let me tell thee, that I have often thought, that the
little words in the republic of letters, like the little folks in a nation,
are the most significant. The trisyllables, and the rumblers of syllables
more than three, are but the good-for-little magnates.]

I must not tell you, Madam--My master ordered me not to tell you--but he
is in a worse way than he thinks for!--But he would not have you
frighted.

High concern took possession of every sweet feature. She pitied me!--by
my soul, she pitied me!

Where is he?

Too much in a hurry for good manners, [another parenthesis, Jack! Good
manners are so little natural, that we ought to be composed to observe
them: politeness will not live in a storm]. I cannot stay to answer
questions, cries the wench--though desirous to answer [a third
parenthesis--Like the people crying proclamations, running away from the
customers they want to sell to]. This hurry puts the lady in a hurry to
ask, [a fourth, by way of establishing the third!] as the other does the
people in a hurry to buy. And I have in my eye now a whole street
raised, and running after a proclamation or express-crier, as if the
first was a thief, the other his pursuers.

At last, O Lord! let Mrs. Lovelace know!--There is danger, to be sure!
whispered from one nymph to another; but at the door, and so loud, that
my listening fair-one might hear.

Out she darts--As how! as how, Dorcas!

O Madam--A vomiting of blood! A vessel broke, to be sure!

Down she hastens; finds every one as busy over my blood in the entry,
as if it were that of the Neapolitan saint.

In steps my charmer, with a face of sweet concern.