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 Shores 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 damn’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—