let me not hope forgiveness; 'twill ever be in your power
to ruin me. My lord shall sign to your desires; I will myself create
your happiness, and Cynthia shall be this night your bride. Do but
conceal my failings, and forgive.

MEL. Upon such terms I will be ever yours in every honest way.

SCENE XIX.

MASKWELL _softly introduces_ LORD TOUCHWOOD, _and retires_.

MASK. I have kept my word, he's here, but I must not be seen.

SCENE XX.

LADY TOUCHWOOD, LORD TOUCHWOOD, MELLEFONT.

LORD TOUCH. Hell and amazement, she's in tears.

LADY TOUCH. [_Kneeling_.] Eternal blessings thank you.--Ha! my lord
listening! O fortune has o'erpaid me all, all! all's my own! [_Aside_.]

MEL. Nay, I beseech you rise.

LADY TOUCH. [_Aloud_.] Never, never! I'll grow to the ground, be
buried quick beneath it, e'er I'll be consenting to so damned a sin as
incest! unnatural incest!

MEL. Ha!

LADY TOUCH. O cruel man, will you not let me go? I'll forgive all
that's past. O heaven, you will not ravish me?

MEL. Damnation!

LORD TOUCH. Monster, dog! your life shall answer this! [_Draws and runs
at_ MELLEFONT, _is held by_ LADY TOUCHWOOD.]

LADY TOUCH. O heavens, my lord! Hold, hold, for heaven's sake.

MEL. Confusion, my uncle! O the damned sorceress.

LADY TOUCH. Moderate your rage, good my lord! He's mad, alas, he's mad.
Indeed he is, my lord, and knows not what he does. See how wild he
looks.

MEL. By heaven, 'twere senseless not to be mad, and see such witchcraft.

LADY TOUCH. My lord, you hear him, he talks idly.

LORD TOUCH. Hence from my sight, thou living infamy to my name; when
next I see that face, I'll write villain in't with my sword's point.

MEL. Now, by my soul, I will not go till I have made known my wrongs.
Nay, till I have made known yours, which, if possible, are
greater,--though she has all the host of hell her servants.

LADY TOUCH. Alas, he raves! Talks very poetry! For heaven's sake away,
my lord, he'll either tempt you to extravagance, or commit some himself.

MEL. Death and furies, will you not hear me?--Why by heaven she laughs,
grins, points to your back; she forks out cuckoldom with her fingers, and
you're running horn-mad after your fortune. [_As she is going she turns
back and smiles at him_.]

LORD TOUCH. I fear he's mad indeed.--Let's send Maskwell to him.

MEL. Send him to her.

LADY TOUCH. Come, come, good my lord, my heart aches so,