Volume Iii Part 63 (1/2)

_Let_. Alas, I heard, my _Bellmour_, thou wert dead.

_Bel_. And was it thus you mourn'd my Funeral?

_Let_. I will not justify my hated Crime: But Oh! remember I was poor and helpless, And much reduc'd, and much impos'd upon.

[Bellmour _weeps_.

_Bel_. And Want compell'd thee to this wretched Marriage--did it?

_Let_. 'Tis not a Marriage, since my _Bellmour_ lives; The Consummation were Adultery.

I was thy Wife before, wo't thou deny me?

_Bel_. No, by those Powers that heard our mutual Vows, Those Vows that tie us faster than dull Priests.

_Let_. But oh my _Bellmour_, thy sad Circ.u.mstances Permit thee not to make a publick Claim: Thou art proscribed, and diest if thou art seen.

_Bel_. Alas!

_Let_. Yet I wou'd wander with thee o'er the World, And share thy humblest Fortune with thy Love.

_Bel_. Is't possible, _Leticia_, thou wou'dst fly To foreign Sh.o.r.es with me?

_Let_. Can _Bellmour_ doubt the Soul he knows so well?

_Bel_. Perhaps in time the King may find my Innocence, and may extend his Mercy: Mean time I'll make provision for our Flight.

_Let_. But how 'twixt this and that can I defend My self from the loath'd Arms of an impatient Dotard, That I may come a spotless Maid to thee?

_Bel_. Thy native Modesty and my Industry Shall well enough secure us.

Feign your nice Virgin-Cautions all the day; Then trust at night to my Conduct to preserve thee.

--And wilt thou yet be mine? Oh, swear a-new, Give me again thy Faith, thy Vows, thy Soul; For mine's so sick with this Day's fatal Business, It needs a Cordial of that mighty strength; Swear--swear, so as if thou break'st-- Thou mayst be--any thing--but d.a.m.n'd, _Leticia_.

_Let_. Thus then, and hear me, Heaven! [_Kneels_.

_Bel_. And thus--I'll listen to thee. [_Kneels_.

_Enter Sir_ Feeble, _L_. Fulbank, _Sir_ Cautious.

Sir _Feeb_. _Lette, Lette, Lette_, where are you, little Rogue, _Lette_?

--Hah--hum--what's here--

_Bel_. s.n.a.t.c.hes her to his Bosom, as if she fainted.

_Bel_. Oh Heavens, she's gone, she's gone!

Sir _Feeb_. Gone--whither is she gone?--it seems she had the Wit to take good Company with her--

[_The Women go to her, take her up_.