Chapter 8

Mr. ANDREWS's house.

Mr. ANDREWS and THOMAS.

ANDREWS. What monsters trust will make us when we yield Our reason to its rage, and let it rule! My neighbour! my companion! Oh! the man, Whom I to serve, would have risk'd every blessing To seek to wound me in the tenderest point! Then, under friendship's show masking his treachery, Endeavour falsely to accuse another-- Most infernal villain!

THOMAS. 'Tis impossible. Say, is there one of more exalted virtues? Or one who so esteems and honours you?

ANDREWS. Oh! my wife's letter proves beyond all question, This breach of friendship, gratitude and honour.

THOMAS. All forgery.

ANDREWS. She did not deny it.

THOMAS. Where is it?

ANDREWS. I have it not, she tore it.

THOMAS. Tore it! how got she it?

ANDREWS. It matters not.

THOMAS. There's something more in this, than yet you know of.

ANDREWS. If any thing by chance hath reach'd your ear, Against the safety ev'n of an enemy, Stain not your fair repute with the foul secret. The faithful tongue will utter what the heart In justice prompts, though death were the event.

THOMAS. Then, sir, the letter is a black contrivance. And would you now forgive this tell-tale honesty, I shou'd not hesitate to name the forger.

ANDREWS. These intermissions aggravate the misery.

THOMAS. Prepare then for the shock. It was your wife. Boldly I speak the truth; for much she's wrong'd, If since she has been link'd with those high miscreants, Who, whilst they plunder, hold her in derision, Her foul's not ripe for ev'ry desp'rate project. [ANDREWS walks about much disturb'd.] Patience, good sir! I rest not on suspicion.

ANDREWS. Audacious wretch, away!--quick, shun my rage!

THOMAS. I meant you well. [Aside as he goes off.] How piteous is his case! [Exit.]

ANDREWS. How can I meet him, and we both survive it! Dread interval! would I had ne'er been born. [Goes off.]