"Which way shall I turn me? how shall I decide?
Wives, the day of our death, are as fond as a bride.
One wife is too much for most husbands to hear;
But two at a time, there's no mortal can bear.
This way, and that way, and which way I will,
What would comfort the one, t'other wife would take ill.
POLLY.
"But if his own misfortunes have made him insensible to mine,—a father, sure, will be more compassionate. Dear, dear sir, sink the material evidence, and bring him off at his trial,—Polly upon her knees begs it of you.
"When my hero in court appears,
And stands arraign'd for his life,