Bel. A Treasure thou so easily threw’st away; A Riddle simple Love ne’er understood.
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 Circumstances Permit thee not to make a publick Claim: Thou art proscribed, and diest if thou art seen.
Bel. Alas!