University of Virginia Library

SCENE VI.

Charlotte.
My Father! O! my Father! Wretched Wife!

Y. Freeman.
Your Father's Death is yet a Mystery,
A Myst'ry which To-morrow may unveil.

Charlotte.
To-morrow will not give me back my Father:
Methinks I hear him cry, Charlotte, my Child,
Fill not the Arms of him whose barb'rous Sire
Imbrued his Hands in the same Blood of which
You was a Part: and must you be obey'd?
That too is hard: my Love is innocent,
My Freeman is not guilty: O! my Heart!

Y. Freeman.
Here sit, my Love, here let my Charlotte rest;
And I'll be near you, near my Soul's Support,
He comes forwards.
Lest in the dreadful Absence of her Reason,
She shou'd commit some Violence upon
The lovely'st Frame that Beauty e'er was cast in.
He goes towards her.
If there are Ministers of Heav'n to guard
The innocent, and Virtue is their Care,
Here let them take a Charge that's worthy them,
And from her fair unblemish'd Seat of Thought
Drive ev'ry Image of Affliction; there
Let no Appearances Admittance gain
But what are fraught with Joy: to her Mind's Eye
Shew the fair Prospect of our future Loves;
And let no Traces of her former Griefs
Be lurking there; but let her rise to Bliss.