SERJEANT.
How!
Sir LUKE.
Truth, upon my honour.—Your wife there will tell you the whole was a lye.
SERJEANT.
Nay, then indeed.—But with what face can I look up to my dear? I have injur'd her beyond the hopes of forgiveness.—Wou'd you, lovee, but pass an act of oblivion—
Sir LUKE.
See me here prostrate to implore your clemency in behalf of my friend.
Mrs. CIRCUIT.
Of that I can't determine directly.—But as you seem to have some sense of your guilt, I shall grant you a reprieve for the present, which contrition and amendment may, perhaps, in time swell into a pardon.