Enter sir Rowland.
Sir Row. Who calls me?
Ab. Gr. ’Twas I!
Sir Row. What is it you want, friend?
Ab. Gr. Justice!
Sir Row. Justice! then you had better apply there, (pointing to O’Dedimus.)
Ab. Gr. That’s a mistake—he deals only in law—’tis to you that I appeal—Your nephew, lord Austencourt, is about to marry the daughter of sir Willoughby Worret.
Sir Row. He is.
Ab. Gr. Never! I will save him the guilt of that crime at least!
Sir Row. You are mysterious, sir.