WIDDOW. Dine quickly upon high-days, and when I had great guests, would e’en shame me and rise from the Table, to get a good seat at an after-noon Sermon.
PYE. There’s the devil, there’s the devil! true, he thought it Sactity enough, if he had killed a man, so tad been done in a Pew, or undone his Neighbour, so ta’d been near enough to th’ Preacher. Oh,—a Sermon’s a fine short cloak of an hour long, and will hide the upper-part of a dissembler.—Church! Aye, he seemed all Church, and his conscience was as hard as the Pulpit!
WIDDOW.
I can no more endure this.
PYE.
Nor I, widdow, endure to flatter.
WIDDOW.
Is this all your business with me?
PYE. No, Lady, tis but the induction too’te. You may believe my strains, I strike all true, And if your conscience would leap up to your tongue, your self would affirm it: and that you shall perceive I know of things to come as well as I do of what is present, a Brother of your husband’s shall shortly have a loss.
WIDDOW.
A loss; marry, heaven for-fend! Sir Godfrey, my brother?
PYE. Nay, keep in your wonders, will I have told you the fortunes of you all; which are more fearful, if not happily prevented: —for your part and your daughters, if there be not once this day some blood-shed before your door, whereof the human creature dies, two of you—the elder—shall run mad.
MOTHER AND FRANCES.
Oh!
MOLL.
That’s not I yet!