Bel. snatches 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.
Bel. She’s gone to Heaven, Sir, for ought I know.
Sir Cau. She was resolv’d to go in a young Fellow’s Arms, I see.
Sir Feeb. Go to, Francis—go to.
L. Ful. Stand back, Sir, she recovers.
Bel. Alas, I found her dead upon the Floor, —Shou’d I have left her so—if I had known your mind—
Sir Feeb. Was it so—was it so?—Got so, by no means, Francis.—