y 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.

_Non_. But my child's dishonour troubles me the most. If I could
but see her well married, before I underwent the labour and peril of
child-bearing!--What would you advise, niece?

_Isa_. That which I am very loth to do. Send for honest Jack
Loveby, and let him know the truth on't: He's a fellow without a
fortune, and will be glad to leap at the occasion.

_Non_. But why Loveby, of all the world? 'Tis but staying 'till
to-morrow, and then Sir Timorous will marry her.

_Const_. Uh!--I swell so fast, I cannot hide it 'till to-morrow.

_Isa_. Why, there's it now!

_Non_. I'll send for the old alderman, Getwell, immediately:
He'll father the devil's bastard, I warrant you.

_Isa_. Fie, uncle! my cousin's somewhat too good yet for an
alderman