Pon. Yes, sir, I’ll acknowledge the truth, but I scorn a lie.
Charles. ’Tis true I always thought you honest. I have ever trusted you, Ponder, even as a friend: I do not believe you capable of deceiving me.
Pon. Sir, (gulping) I can’t swallow that! it choaks me (falling on his knees); forgive me, dear master that was; your threats I could withstand, your violence I could bear, but your kindness and good opinion there is no resisting; promise you wont betray me.
Charles. So; now it comes. I do.
Pon. Then, sir, the whole truth shall out, they are married, sir, and they are not married, sir.
Charles. Enigma too!
Pon. Yes, sir, they are married, but the priest was ordained by my master, and the license was of his own granting, and so they are not married, and now the enigma’s explained.
Charles. Your master then is a villain!
Pon. I don’t know, sir, that puzzles me: but he’s such an honest follow I can hardly think him a rogue—though I fancy, sir, between ourselves, he’s like the rest of the world, half and half, or like punch, sir, a mixture of opposites.
Charles. So! villany has been thriving in my absence. If you feel the attachment you profess why did you not confide this to me before?