Fri. Nay, then I am lost to thee, and all the World besides.
[Rises.
Bon. Thou are indeed for ever lost to me; see what a miserable Wretch thy Folly now has made thee: A Creature so far below my Pity, that I despise and scorn thy base Submission, and will never hear thee more, more.
Fri. Say but thou hast forgiven me, and I will ask no more.
Bon. I never will.
Fri. O cruel Bonvile!
Bon. More barbarous Friendly: Hold off, or I will use thee like a Dog, tread thee to Earth, and spurn thee like a Slave, base as thou art.
Fri. Still thou art my Friend——
Bon. Thou ly’st, I have abjured the Name.
Fri. Let me but go with thee.
Bon. Not for the World; I’de rather venture my self with Crocodiles, catch the last dying Gasps of some poor Wretch infested with the Plague, than trust my self with thee.