 | The Antipodes |  |
Sc. 6.
Let.Tis possible he's here then, doe you know him.
Dia.
I am happy in his sight. Deare sir.
Enter Truelocke. she kneeles.
Let.
Tis but so much knee-labour lost, stand up,
Stand up, and minde me.
True.
You are well met, sonne Ioylesse.
Ioy.
How have you beene conceald, and this house?
Here's mystery in this.
Tru.
My good Lords pleasure.
Let.
know sir, that J sent for him, and for you,
Jnstructing your friend Blaze my instrument,
To draw you to my Doctor with your sonne,
Your wife J knew must follow, what my end
Was in't shall quickely be discover'd to you,
In a few words, of your supposed father.
Dia.
Supposed father!
Let.
Yes, come master Truelocke,
My constant friend of thirty yeares acquaintance,
Freely declare with your best knowledge now.
Whose childe this is.
Tru.
Your honor do's as freely
Release me of my vow, then in the secret
I lock'd up in this brest these seaventeene yeares
Since she was three dayes old.
Let.
True, master Truelocke,
I doe release you of your vow: Now speake.
Tru.
Now she is yours my Lord; your onely daughter,
And know you master Ioylesse, for some reason
Knowne to my Lord; and large reward to me,
Shee has beene from the third day of her life
Reputed mine; and that so covertly,
That not her Lady mother, nor my wife
Knew to their deaths, the change of my dead infant,
Nor this sweet Lady, tis most true we had
A trusty Nurses helpe and secresie,
Well paid for, in the carriage of our plot.
Let.
Now shall you know what mov'd me sir. I was
A thing beyond a mad-man, like your selfe,
Such proofes unto my selfe against my wife,
That I conceiv'd the childe was not mine owne,
And scorn'd to father it; yet I gave to breed her
And marry her as the daughter of this gentleman
(Two thousand pound I guesse you had with her)
But since your match, my wife upon her death-bed,
So clear'd her selfe of all my foule suspitions,
(Blest be her memory) that J then resolv'd
By some quaint way (for J am still Letoy)
To see and try her throughly; and so much
To make her mine, as I should find her worthy.
And now thou art my daughter, and mine heire.
Provided still (for I am still Letoy)
You honourably love her, and defie
The Cuckold-making fiend foule jealousie.
Joy.
My Lord, tis not her birth and fortune, which
Do joyntly claime a priviledge to live
Above my reach of jealousie, shall restraine
That passion in me, but her well tried vertue:
Jn the true faith of which J am confirmd,
And throughly cur'd.
Let.
As J am true Letoy
Well said. J hope thy son is cur'd by this too.
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