"Rochester! Rochester!" exclaimed Sir Thomas Overbury, giving way at length to the feelings of his heart; "think, I beseech you; think what you are about!" "Oh, I have thought very well," replied the Viscount; "so there is no use of saying a word about it, Tom." "Nay, but you must hear me," said his friend, "and I do entreat you, remember that I speak but from affection and devotion to yourself. I say again, think, Rochester, what you are doing. Remember, this woman's conduct is the common scandal of the Court and the City. Recollect that she is but a ----" and he used a word which I dare not write upon this page. "Her uncle and her mother are but panders to her vices; and infamous must he become who dares to wed that woman, who has without excuse broken through every sacred tie, and made herself the impudent gazing-stock of Europe. I say, Rochester, think of the disgrace, think of the shame that will fall upon you, when men point to your wife, and tell her history. Remember how an act not half so gross stained and degraded one of the noblest men that lived within these seas,--I mean Charles Blount,--who raised himself by high and daring actions against the enemy in the field, to the Earldom of Devonshire; the conqueror of Tyrone, the pacificator of Ireland--I say, recollect the disgrace that fell upon him, in consequence of a marriage with the aunt of this very woman's husband, and do not forget that in his case there were excuses that do not exist in yours. That he was the lover of her youth, the man to whom her hand had been promised, before she was compelled against her will to bestow it on another; that she never from the first concealed her love towards him, or promised aught but cold obedience to the man who was forced upon her; and yet, from the hour that he so disgraced himself as to wed Rich's divorced wife, he withered away, with shame, sorrow, and despair, and died in his prime, leaving a blighted name, which, but for that one act, would have lived for ever in renown. Oh, Rochester, consider all this; consider the daily, hourly misery of knowing that your wife is looked on as a harlot, when you might, were you so minded, place yourself upon the topmost pinnacle of fortune, rise to the highest rank that the state admits under royalty, and found a family which might go on, and bear your name with honour to posterity." "I have considered all," answered Rochester, coldly; "and I am quite determined. As to the marriage with the Lady Arabella, you are deceiving yourself. I heard last night a whisper that she is already married to William Seymour." "Nonsense!" cried Overbury. "Your open love for this Dame of Essex may have made her show some favour to another, but to pique you. But as to her marriage, that is some idle report of the poor fools of the ante-chamber. She is not married--she cannot be married."