to my Bosom,
But meet a solid Treasure.

_Bel_. A Treasure thou so easily threw'st away;
A Riddle simple Love ne'er understood.

_Let_. Alas, I heard, my _Bellmour_, thou wert dead.

_Bel_. And was it thus you mourn'd my Funeral?

_Let_. I will not justify my hated Crime:
But Oh! remember I was poor and helpless,
And much reduc'd, and much impos'd upon.

[Bellmour _weeps_.

_Bel_. And Want compell'd thee to this wretched Marriage--did it?

_Let_. 'Tis not a Marriage, since my _Bellmour_ lives;
The Consummation were Adultery.
I was thy Wife before, wo't thou deny me?

_Bel_. No, by those Powers that heard our mutual Vows,
Those Vows that tie us faster than dull Priests.

_Let_. But oh my _Bellmour_, thy sad Circumstances
Permit thee not to make a publick Claim:
Thou art proscribed, and diest if thou art seen.

_Bel_. Alas!

_Let_. Yet I wou'd wander with thee o'er the World,
And share thy humblest Fortune with thy Love.

_Bel_. Is't possible, _Leticia_, thou wou'dst fly
To foreign Shores with me?

_Let_. Can _Bellmour_ doubt the Soul he knows so well?

_Bel_. Perhaps in time the King may find my Innocence, and may extend
his Mercy:
Mean time I'll make provision for our Flight.

_Let_. But how 'twixt this and that can I defend
My self from the loath'd Arms of an impatient Dotard,
That I may come a spotless Maid to thee?

_Bel_. Thy native Modesty and my Industry
Shall well enough secure us.
Feign your nice Virgin-Cautions all the day;
Then trust at night to my Conduct to preserve thee.
--And wilt thou yet be mine? Oh, swear a-new,
Give me again thy Faith, thy Vows, thy Soul;
For mine's so sick with this Day's fatal Business,
It needs a Cordial of that mighty strength;
Swear--swear, so as if thou break'st--
Thou mayst be--any thing--but damn'd, _Leticia_.

_Let_. Thus then, and hear me, Heaven! [_Kneels_.

_Bel_. And thus--I'll listen to thee. [_Kneels_.

_Enter Sir_ Feeble, _L_. Fulbank, _Sir_ Cautious.

Sir _Feeb_. _Lette, Lette, Lette_, where are you, little Rogue, _Lette_?
--Hah--hum--what's here--

_Bel_. snatches her to his Bosom, as if she fainted.

_Bel_. Oh Heavens, she's gone, she's gone!

Sir _Feeb_. Gone--whither is she gone?--it seems she had the Wit to
take good Company with her--

[_The Women go to her, take her up_.

_Bel_. She's gone to Heaven, Sir, for ought I know.

Sir _Cau_. She was r