Lest she pretend she was turn'd out o' doors.
_Colman 1768_
Lest she pretend we turn'd her out o' doors.]

SCENE VI.

_Enter SOPHRONA at a distance._

SOPH. (_to herself_). Alas!
What shall I do, unhappy as I am?
Where find a friend? to whom disclose this story?
Of whom beseech assistance?--For I fear
My mistress will sustain some injury
From following my counsel: the youth's father,
I hear, is so offended at this marriage.

CHREM. Who's this old woman, coming from my brother's,
That seems so terrified?

SOPH. (_to herself_). 'Twas poverty
Compell'd me to this action: though I knew
This match would hardly hold together long,
Yet I advis'd her to it, that meanwhile
She might not want subsistence.

CHREM. Surely, surely,
Either my mind deceives me, or my eyes fail me,
Or that's my daughter's nurse.

SOPH. Nor can we find----

CHREM. What shall I do?

SOPH. --Her father out.

CHREM. Were't best
I should go up to her, or wait a little,
To gather something more from her discourse?

SOPH. Could he be found, my fears were at an end.

CHREM. 'Tis she. I'll speak with her.

SOPH. (_overhearing_). Whose voice is that?

CHREM. Sophrona!

SOPH. Ha! my name too?

CHREM. Look this way.

SOPH. (_turning_). Good Heav'n have mercy on us! Stilpho!

CHREM. No.

SOPH. Deny your own name?

CHREM. (_in a low voice_). This way, Sophrona!----
--A little further from that door!--this way!----
And never call me by that name, I charge you.

SOPH. What, ar'n't you then the man you said you was? (_Aloud._)

CHREM. Hist! hist!

SOPH. What makes you fear those doors so much?

CHREM. I have a fury of a wife within:
And formerly I went by that false name,
Lest she should indiscreetly blab it out,
And so my wife might come to hear of this.

SOPH. Ah! thus it was, that we, alas! poor souls,
Could never find you out here.

CHREM. Well, but tell me,
What business have you with that family? (_Pointing._)
--Where is your mistress and her daughter?

SOPH. Ah!

CHREM. What now? are they alive?

SOPH. The daughter is:
The mother broke her heart with grief.

CHREM. Alas!

SOPH. And I a poor, unknown, distress'd old woman,
Endeavoring to manage for the best,
Contriv'd to match the virgin to a youth,
Son to the master of this house.

CHREM. To Antipho?

SOPH. The very same.

CHREM. What! has he two wives then?

SOPH. No, mercy on us! he has none but her.

CHREM. What is the other then, w