Theo. With more delight than e'er I did the former.
You never yet knew scholar covetous.
Earth. And now I think on't, Theodore, I have
A niece, the daughter of my only sister;
Her mother died a widow two years since.
How she has left her orphan daughter there,
I do not know; if she have left her ill,
I'll be a father to her. Prythee, go
Inquire her out, and bring her to my house,
How well soe'er the world may go with her
Bounty's a spice of virtue. Whoso can,
And won't, relieve the poor, he is no man.
Theo. Where lives she, sir?
Earth. 'Tis not a mile from hence,
In the next village. Thou ne'er saw'st her yet;
But fame has spoke her for a virtuous maid.
Young Scudmore, while he liv'd, and was possess'd
Of his estate, thought to have married her,
Whose death, they say, she takes most heavily,
And with a wond'rous constant sorrow mourns.
Theo. Sure, 'tis the same fair maid. [Aside.
Earth. Her name's Matilda.
Theo. The very same! [Aside.] I can inquire her out;
And, if you please, will presently about it.
Earth. Do, while I my neighbours visit. He doth live
Mighty that hath the pow'r and will to give. [Exit.
Theo. This is the same fair nightingale that tun'd
Her sweet sad accents lately to the woods,
And did so far enthral my heart: but that
Fond love is vanish'd. Like a kinsman now
I'll comfort her, and love her virtuous soul.
O, what a blessed change this day has wrought
In my old father's heart! You pow'rs, that gave
Those thoughts, continue them! This day will I
Still celebrate as my nativity. [Exit.
Lady Covet, Fruitful.