Young Geraldine. Now, this calumny Arriving first unto my father’s ears, His easy nature was induced to think That these things might perhaps be possible: I answered him as I would do to Heaven, And cleared myself in his suspicious thoughts As truly as the high all-knowing Judge Shall of these stains acquit me, which are merely Aspersions and untruths. The good old man, Possessed with my sincerity, and yet careful Of your renown, her honour, and my fame, To stop the worst that scandal could inflict, And to prevent false rumours, charges me, The cause removed, to take away the effect; Which only could be to forbear your house-- And this upon his blessing. You hear all. Wincott. And I of all acquit you: this your absence, With which my love most cavilled, orators[3.44] In your behalf. Had such things passed betwixt you, Not threats nor chidings could have driven you hence. It pleads in your behalf, and speaks in hers, And arms me with a double confidence, Both of your friendship and her loyalty: I am happy in you both, and only doubtful Which of you two doth most impart my love. You shall not hence to-night. Young Geraldine. Pray, pardon, sir. Wincott. You are in your lodging. Young Geraldine. But my father’s charge? Wincott. My conjuration shall dispense with that. You may be up as early as you please, But hence to-night you shall not. Young Geraldine. You are powerful. Wincott. This night, of purpose, I have parted beds, Feigning myself not well, to give you meeting; Nor can be aught suspected by my wife, I have kept all so private: now ’tis late, I’ll steal up to my rest. But, howsoever, Let’s not be strange in our writing; that way daily We may confer without the least suspect, In spite of all such base calumnious tongues. So now good-night, sweet friend. [_Exit_.