el very weak--very weak, indeed! Don't you
think I might eat something, my dear Mrs Jellybags?

_Jel._ Eat, my dear Mr Cadaverous!--how can you ask me, when you know
that Doctor Gumarabic says that it would be the death of you?

_Cad._ Only the wing of a chicken,--or a bit of the breast----

_Jel._ Impossible!

_Cad._ A bit of dry toast, then; anything, my dear Mrs Jellybags. I've
such a gnawing. Ugh! ugh!

_Jel._ My dear sir, you would die if you swallowed the least thing
that's nourishing.

_Cad._ I'm sure I shall die if I do not. Well, then, a little soup--I
should like that very much indeed.

_Jel._ Soup! it would be poison, my dear sir! No, no. You must take your
pill and your draught.

_Cad._ Oh dear! oh dear!--Forty-eight pills and forty-eight draughts
every twenty-four hours!--not a wink of sleep day or night.

_Jel._ (_soothingly._) But it's to make you well, you know, my dear Mr
Cadaverous. Come, now. (_Hands him a pill and some water in a tumbler._)

_Cad._ The last one is hardly down yet;--I feel it sticking half-way.
Ugh! ugh!

_Jel._ Then wash them both down at once. Come, now, 'tis to make you
well, you know.

[_Cadaverous takes the pill with a wry face, and coughs it up again._

_Cad._ Ugh! ugh! There--it's up again. Oh dear! oh dear!

_Jel._ You must take it, my dear sir. Come, now, try again.

_Cad._ (_coughing._) My cough is so bad. (_Takes the pill._) Oh, my poor
head! Now I'll lie down again.

_Jel._ Not yet, my dear Mr Cadaverous. You must take your draught;--it's
to make you well, you know.

_Cad._ What! another draught? I'm sure I must have twenty draughts in my
inside, besides two boxes of pills!

_Jel._ Come, now--it will be down in a minute.

[_Cadaverous takes the wine-glass in his hand, and looks at it with
abhorrence._

_Jel._ Come, now.

[_Cadaverous swallows the draught, and feels very sick, puts his
handkerchief to his mouth, and, after a time, sinks back in the chair
quite exhausted, and shuts his eyes._

_Jel._ (_Aside._) I wish the doctor would come. It's high time that he
made his will.

_Cad._ (_drawing up his leg._) Oh! oh! oh!

_Jel._ What's the matter, my dear Mr Cadaverous?

_Cad._ Oh! such pain!--oh! rub it, Mrs Jellybags.

_Jel._ What, here, my dear sir? (_Rubs his knee._)

_Cad._ No, no!--not there!--Oh, my hip!

_Jel._ What, here? (_Rubs his hip._)

_Cad._ No, no!--higher--higher! Oh, my side!

_Jel._ What, here