Lad. Wishing her health, we take our leaves. [Exeunt company. Rod. Your sister yet will marry me.
Man. She will not: Come hither, Julia.
Jul. What strange afflicting news is this you tell us?
Man. 'Twas all this false man's plot, that when he had Possest you, he might cheat me of his sister.
Jul. Is this true, Roderick?—Alas, his silence
Does but too much confess it: How I blush
To own that love, I cannot yet take from thee!
Yet for my sake be friends.
Man. 'Tis now too late: I am by honour hindered.
Rod. I by hate.
Jul. What shall I do?
Man. Leave him, and come away; Thy virtue bids thee.
Jul. But love bids me stay.