La. Alas, 'tis Hartlove, 'twill but feed his melancholy.
To let him see Maria, since we dare not
Yet tell the world she lives; and certainly,
Did not the violence of his passion blind him,
He would see past her borrowed tongue and habit.
Nu. Please you entertain him awhile, Madam,
I'll cast about for something with your daughter.
La. Do what thou wot, pray Mr. Hartlove enter.
[Exit Ser. and Nur. severally.
Enter Hartlove.
Ha. Madam, I come to ask your gentle pardon.
La. Pardon, for what? you ne'r offended me.
Ha. Yes, if ye be the mother of Maria.
La. I was her mother, but that word is cancell'd,
And buried with her in that very minute
Her soul fled from her; we lost both our names
Of mother and of daughter.
Ha. Alas, Madam,
If your relation did consist but in
Those naked terms, I had a title nearer,
Since love unites more than the tie of blood;
No matter for the empty voice of mother;
Your nature still is left, which in her absence
Must love Maria, and not see her ashes
And memory polluted.