Enter Lucretia weeping.
L. Kno. How now, Lucretia!
Lucr. Oh Madam, give me leave to kneel before, and tell you, if you pursue the Cruelty I hear you’re going to commit, I am the most lost, most wretched Maid that breathes; we two have plighted Faiths, and shou’d you marry him, ’twere so to sin as Heaven would never pardon.
L. Kno. Rise, Fool.
Lucr. Never till you have given me back Leander, or leave to live no more.—Pray kill me, Madam; and the same Flowers that deck your nuptial Bed,
Shall serve to strow my Herse, when I shall lie
A dead cold Witness of your Tyranny.
L. Kno. Rise; I still design’d him yours.—I saw with pleasure, Sir, your reclination from my Addresses.—I have proved both your Passions, and ’twere unkind not to crown ’em with the due Præmium of each others Merits. Gives her to Lean.
Lean. Can Heaven and you agree to be so bountiful?
L. Kno. Be not amaz’d at this turn, [Rotat omne] [fatum].—But no more,—keep still that mask of Love we first put on, till you have gain’d the Writings: for I have no Joy beyond cheating that filthy Uncle of thine.—Lucretia, wipe your Eyes, and prepare for Hymen, the Hour draws near. Thalessio, Thalessio, as the Romans cry’d.