Lockit. Whence come you, Hussy?
Lucy. My Tears might answer that Question.
Lockit. You have then been whimpering and fondling, like a Spaniel, over the Fellow that hath abus’d you.
Lucy. One can’t help Love; one can’t cure it. ’Tis not in my Power to obey you, and hate him.
Lockit. Learn to bear your Husband’s Death like a reasonable Woman. ’Tis not the fashion, now-a-days, so much as to affect Sorrow upon these Occasions. No Woman would ever marry, if she had not the Chance of Mortality for a Release. Act like a Woman of Spirit, Hussy, and thank your Father for what he is doing.
[ AIR XXX. Of a noble Race was Shenkin.]
Lucy.
Is then his Fate decreed, Sir?