ir'd--yet stay.
Why thus conceal the truth which must be known?
Tell him, I cannot, must not, dare not see him--
Yet, stay again--where is my father now?

LUCIA. I know not; he went forth some hours ago.

CONSTANTIA. 'Tis fit, lord Weston knows my father's orders,
That I no more admit his visits here.
Say, what would you advise? pause not, but speak.

LUCIA. I'd see him, for the reason you have mention'd;
Not rashly cast away a gem so precious.

CONSTANTIA. How soon we yield to that the heart approves!
Who waits without? [Enter a SERVANT] Conduct lord Weston hither.

Enter Lord WESTON. LUCIA withdraws.

Lord WESTON. Am I so bless'd to view thee once again!
O! my Constantia, could'st thou but conceive
What I have suffer'd in this tedious absence,
Of which the cause hath been conceal'd from thee!
Yet, whilst I languish'd on the verge of fate,
Thy image ne'er forsook my tortur'd fancy,
And its wild ravings were of nought but thee.

CONSTANTIA. Would heav'n this interview had not been now! [Aside]

Lord WESTON. Ha! not a word! not even a look this way!
All ailments, every pang were ease to this.
I read some dreadful sentence in thine eye.--
What mean those shiverings?------Why that look of anguish?
Sure, cruelty ne'er wore a form like thine!

CONSTANTIA. What can I say? my tongue denies its office. [Aside]
My lord, you have by this untimely visit,
Led me to break my father's strict injunction.
A father, dear as my heart's vital drops.

Lord WESTON. What do I hear? O! are we not united?
By sacred, mutual, faithful vows united?
Of which I now am come to claim performance.

CONSTANTIA. It is forbid--forbid, most sure, for ever!
I'm but the daughter of a bankrupt citizen,
(Th' ungentle terms with which I am reproach'd,)
Of whom, shou'd you think more--

Lord WESTON. What is't you mean?

CONSTANTIA. Lord Belmour would renounce you then for ever;
And 'tis most fit, my lord, you should comply.
He is your uncle, and can much befriend you.

Lord WESTON. O my Constantia! cruel, dear Constantia!
Can'st thou conceive that any earthly views,
Could for the loss of thee requite an heart,
That cannot form a bliss from heav'n without thee?
By that chaste passion, which no time