_Let_. Hah, ‘tis there again; that very voice was _Bellmour’s_: Where art thou, Oh thou lovely charming Shade? For sure thou canst not take a Shape to fright me. --What art thou?--speak! [_Not looking behind her yet for fear_. _Bel_. Thy constant true Adorer, Who all this fatal Day has haunted thee To ease his tortur’d Soul. [_Approaching nearer_. _Let_. My Heart is well acquainted with that Voice, But Oh, my Eyes dare not encounter thee. [_Speaking with signs of fear_. _Bel_. Is it because thou’st broken all thy Vows? --Take to thee Courage, and behold thy Slaughters. _Let_. Yes, though the Sight wou’d blast me, I wou’d view it. [_Turns_. --’Tis he--’tis very _Bellmour!_ or so like-- I cannot doubt but thou deserv’st this Welcome. [_Embraces him_. _Bel_. Oh my _Leticia_! _Let_. I’m sure I grasp not Air; thou art no Fantom: Thy Arms return not empty 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--