Turn, Oh! turn that tender aspect from me!
'Tis worse than scorpion rods, or whips of steel.
Abhor me; scorn me; tear me from thy fondness,
And every imprecation pour upon me:
For hope is fled, and I would court despair.
Some suff'rings here might lessen those hereafter,
I would not covet else a moment's life.--

ANDREWS. Would I could sooth her tortur'd soul to rest!
Her sorrows rend my heart.--Oh thou sweet penitent!
There's not an angel in the heav'nly mansions,
That will not sue for thee.

Mrs. ANDREWS. Yet, there is something
I would petition as my last request--
Let me conjure thee then, most injur'd excellence!
By all the happy hours we liv'd together,
Ere one infernal passion seiz'd my heart!
Have pity on the harmless, dear-lov'd innocents,
Whom I must leave amidst a cruel world!
And when you shall my rueful story tell,
Be thus far kind, and say, as is the truth,
Oh! say, she was not an adultress.

ANDREWS. I will, I'll speak thee as my soul conceives thee,
Spotless, and free as Virtue's self from blemish.

Mrs. ANDREWS. Then, may with me, thy sorrows have an end!--

ANDREWS. Oh! canst thou then forgive my wild upbraiding?

Mrs. ANDREWS. I blame thee not--so let me be convey'd
From thy dread presence, and this fatal spot:
They are too much for weakness to endure.

ANDREWS. No, no, I'll watch thee whilst a single spark
Of that lov'd life remains, and sooth thy woes.

Mrs. ANDREWS. Too kind!--Forbear!--Were your fond wish indulg'd,
It would but add new weight to your afflictions.
Oh! agonizing thoughts!--Oh! my pour soul!--

ANDREWS. She droops; she dies--and oh! by saving me--
Physicians, surgeons, ev'ry help be sent for!--

Mrs. ANDREWS. 'Twere fruitless all unless their friendly aid
Some balm could minister to deep despair--
Rage on, distress---haste, madness! quench my soul--
Hark! hark! that voice!------the door of mercy's clos'd--

ANDREWS. [To the attendants.] Straightaway, convey her hence
to mine own chamber.

[She is carried off, and as he is following her,
several bailiffs enter rudely with CONSTANTIA.]

CONSTANTIA. Protect my father, heav'n! undone--undone--

WILSON. What can these ruffians mean? whom do you seek?

Bailiff. H