Jul. Heavens! which way?
Mor. Nay, who can tell the ways of fickle Women—in short, Sir, your Sister Marcella was to have been married to this noble Gentleman,—nay, was contracted to him, fairly contracted in my own Chappel; but no sooner was his back turn’d, but in a pernicious Moon-light Night she shews me a fair pair of heels, with the young Baggage, your other Sister Cornelia, who was just come from the Monastery where I bred her, to see her Sister married.
Jul. A curse upon the Sex! why must Man’s Honour Depend upon their Frailty? —Come—give me but any light which way they went, And I will trace ‘em with that careful Vengeance—
Oct. Spoke like a Man, that understands his Honour; And I can guess how we may find the Fugitives.
Jul. Oh, name it quickly, Sir!
Oct. There was a young Cavalier—some time at Viterbo, Who I confess had Charms, Heaven has denied to me, That Trifle, Beauty, which was made to please Vain foolish Woman, which the brave and wise Want leisure to design.—
Jul. And what of him?
Oct. This fine gay thing came in your Sister’s way, And made that Conquest Nature meant such Fools for: And, Sir, she’s fled with him.
Jul. Oh, show me the Man, the daring hardy Villain, Bring me but in the view of my Revenge,—and if I fail to take it, Brand me with everlasting Infamy.
Oct. That we must leave to Fortune, and our Industry. —Come, Sir, let’s walk and think best what to do,—