e is no danger he'd not risk to serve you.

Mrs. ANDREWS. Whence comes this zeal?

MARIA. From a passion for you,
As violent perhaps, as e'er possess'd
The heart of man, and which he cannot hide.
You surely must have seen it? It destroys him.

Mrs. ANDREWS. I have, 'tis true, observ'd him much confus'd
At times I spoke to him; but this, I thought,
Might have proceeded from a bashful modesty,
As I conceive his readiness to serve me,
Did from a generous spirit to oblige.

MARIA. I tell you, madam, 'tis the height of fondness.
A fever, that he lately had, in which
His ceaseless ravings were of you, confirm'd 'it.
He shuns all company, neglects his food,
And wanders often, as would one insane.

Mrs. ANDREWS. Astonishment!

MARIA. He cannot quit the house
His 'prenticeship has full two years expir'd,
And twice he hath prepar'd him for the Indies.
I know the inmost secrets of his soul:
Besides, of late, he's often much intoxicated,
Who was before the paragon of temperance.
Do but consent to let me call him hither;
One look from you will banish every fear,
Unlock each chest, and lay its stores before you.

Mrs. ANDREWS. Stop! at your peril stop! the very thought
Chills my whole blood--I'd perish first in want.

MARIA. Then you must quit your honourable friends,
And live for ever in forlorn obscurity.
But pardon me, if I've been too officious.

Mrs. ANDREWS. My present calls require at least a thousand:
For though my fund be not quite exhausted,
Fortune hath made me bankrupt yet to numbers.
'Tis true, that many are far more my debtors,
Yet are not all like me in payment punctual.
But I will instant haste to lady Belmour,
My faithful counsel in the time of trouble.

MARIA. As I could wish.

Mrs. ANDREWS. Then for awhile withdraw. [MARIA goes off.]
How dreadful now, is ev'n a moment's privacy!
How different from those happy hours of innocence,
When my sweet little ones were prattling round me,
With a fond husband and a tender father,
Pouring his blessings upon them and me!
But now I can no more endure to see them,
Than I can bear to look into myself.
How often hath he said, "One hour's remorse
Outweighs whole years of transitory joys!"
How true h