Fred. Ah, madam, you must consider yourself, however——Pray, sir, read her indictment to her.
Love. [Reading.] "That on the said third day of April the said Penelope, of the parish of St. Martin's-in-the-Fields, spinster, without fear before her eyes, but by the instigation of the devil, and through an evil pride of heart——"
Pen. 'Tis too true——[Weeping.
Love. "Did contrive, abet, and consent to the death of John Lovemore, Esq., of the age of twenty-eight years, or thereabouts."
Fred. I can't hear the mention of him without tears. He was the sincerest friend.
Love. I think I have seen him. He was, I've heard, a man of honesty, but of something a disagreeable make.
Pen. Oh, sir, you never saw him if you think so——His person was as free as his mind was honest, nor had he imperfection, but his love of me. [Weeps.
Love. [To Fred.] I tremble I shall disoblige her too much.
Fred. [To Love.] You shan't discover yourself, you shall go through her soul, now 'tis moved on our side. Win her now, or see my face no more; I'll not have my wine spoiled every night with your recitals of love, and asking advice, though you never mean to take it, like a true lover.
Pen. When did that best of men expire, good Mr. Frederick?