Soph. No, mercy on us! he has none but her.
Chrem. What is the other then, who, they pretend,
Is a relation to him?
Soph. This is she.
Chrem. How say you?
Soph. It was all a mere contrivance:
That he, who was in love, might marry her
Without a portion.
Chrem. O ye powers of heav’n,
How often fortune blindly brings about