o'thers our Journey's
End. _All this I know, yet I must forward_: To beg, my Birth will ne're
consent to; and _borrowing is quite out of date_--Yet starve I cannot,
_nor murder I wou'd not_: It must be the Highway then, the old Trade we
poor honest Rogues are forc'd too--This Place will serve for a Beginner
well enough--A Beginner did I say? Yes; for this is the very first day I
open Shop--Fortune, they say, uses to help the Bold, I hope she will be
kind to me. Ha! who have we here? A Gentlewoman well rigg'd, and only a
Servant with her, She may be a Prize worth the boarding, and faith I'll
venture hard but I'll carry her.

[_He retires to a corner of the Stage._

_Enter_ Arabella _in great disorder, looking about her, with_ Symon _her
Servant._

_Arab._ This way, say'st thou _Symon_, with _Friendly_?

_Sym._ Yes forsooth Mistress, with Mr. _Friendly_.

_Arab._ Alas! I'm tired and cannot travel further; my Heart is full of
Fear, and yet I know not why, nor can I tell why he should use me
thus,--It is not common sure for Men to leave their Brides upon the
Wedding-day: And yet I cannot tell but it may be so! O wretched State of
Marriage, and of Love, if this be Love! Here will I lie me down, and
rest a while [_Lies down._] my wearied Limbs, unused to these sad
Frights and Fears--But prethee do thou run after him, and if it be
possible o'retake him too: Tell him the strange Disorder thou dost leave
me in; and let him know my Father's Anger, his Friends Concern, and what
is more, his _Arabella_'s sad Complaint; tell him, I grieve, I faint, I
die; tell him any thing that may stay him.

_Sym._ Yes Forsooth.

_Arab._ Intreat him to return; nay, urge him all thou canst to make him
come again: Nay haste, good _Symon_, fly if thou canst, for I can stir
no further.

_Sym._ Well, well, Forsooth, I am gone.

[_Exit_ Symon.

_Arab._ Alas, how wretched and forlorn am I!

_I she whom once so many did admire,
Whose Wit and Charms the coldest Hearts cou'd fire!
Now wretched Maid, and most unhappy Wife,
In Sighs and in Complaints must end my Life.
Abandoned by my Husband, e're enjoyed,
With thoughts of Pleasure, yet untasted, cloy'd.
He leaves me now to my sad Frights a Prey;
O, my dear_ Bonvile! _whither dost thou stray?
Unheard, alas! I make my amarous Moans;
The Winds and Waves refuse to bear my Groans:
Eccho her self can't suffer my Complaint,
But with repeated Sighs gr