_Wid._ Sir, you're at the bottom of all this; I see you're skilled at close conveyances. I'll know the meaning instantly of these intricacies. 'Tis not your seeming honesty and gravity shall save you from your deserts. My husband's death was sudden. You and the burial fellow were observed very familiar. Produce my husband's body, or I'll try you for his murder; which I find you'd put on me, thou hellish engine! _Tru._ Look you, madam, I could answer you, but I scorn to reproach people in misery. You're undone, madam. _Wid._ What does the dotard mean? Produce the body, villain, or the law shall have thine for it. [TRUSTY _exit hastily._]--Do you design to let the villain escape? How justly did your father judge, that made you a beggar with that spirit! You meant just now you could not bear the company of those you'd injured. _Ld. H._ You are a woman, madam, and my father's widow. But sure you think you've highly injured me. [_Here_ LORD BRUMPTON _and_ TRUSTY _half enter and observe._ _Wid._ No, sir, I have not, will not, injure you. I must obey the will of my deceased lord to a tittle; I must justly pay legacies. Your father, in consideration that you were his blood, would not wholly alienate you. He left you, sir, this shilling, with which estate you now are Earl of Brumpton. _Ld. H._ Insolent woman! it was not me my good father disinherited; 'twas him you represented. The guilt was thine; he did an act of justice. LORD BRUMPTON, _entering with_ TRUSTY. _Ld. B._ Oh, unparalleled goodness! TATTLEAID _and_ MADEMOISELLE _at the other door entering._ _Tru._ Oh! Tattleaid, his and our hour is come. _Wid._ What do I see? My lord, my master, husband, living? _Ld. B._ [_Turning from her, running to his son._] Oh, my boy, my son. Mr. Campley, Sharlot, Harriot! [_All kneeling to him._] Oh, my children! Oh, oh! These passions are too strong for my old frame. Oh, the sweet torture! my son! my son! I shall expire in the too mighty pleasure! my boy! _Ld. H._ A son, an heir, a bridegroom in one hour! Oh! grant me, Heaven, grant me moderation! _Wid._ A son, an heir! Am I neglected then? What? can my lord revive, yet dead to me? Only to me deceased--to me alone, Deaf to my sighs, and senseless to my moan? _Ld. B._ 'Tis so long since I have seen plays, good madam, that I know not whence thou dost repeat, nor can I answer. _Wid._ You can remember, though, a certain settlement, in which I am thy son and heir. Great noble, that's I suppose not taken from a play? That's as irrevocable as law can make it, that if you scorn me, your death and life are equal; or I'll still wear my mourning 'cause you're living. _Tru._ Value her not, my lord; a prior obligation made you incapable of settling on her, your wife. _Ld. B._ Thy kindness, Trusty, does distract thee. I would indeed disengage myself by any honest means, but, alas, I know no prior gift that avoids this to her--Oh, my child!