Prisoner, Sirs!—What—How—Why—What have I done?
You must go with us. Be pleased, Madam, to step into this chair.
With you!—With men! Must go with men!—I am not used to go with strange men!——Indeed you must excuse me!
We can't excuse you. We are sheriff's officers, We have a writ against you. You must go with us, and you shall know at whose suit.
Suit! said the charming innocent; I don't know what you mean. Pray, men, don't lay hands upon me; (they offering to put her into the chair.) I am not used to be thus treated—I have done nothing to deserve it.
She then spied thy villain—O thou wretch, said she, where is thy vile master?—Am I again to be his prisoner? Help, good people!
A crowd had begun to gather.
My master is in the country, Madam, many miles off. If you please to go with these men, they will treat you civilly.
The people were most of them struck with compassion. A fine young creature!—A thousand pities cried some. While some few threw out vile and shocking reflections! But a gentleman interposed, and demanded to see the fellow's authority.
They showed it. Is your name Clarissa Harlowe, Madam? said he.