OLIVER.
Nay, zoft you awhile: you promised to make Sir
Arthur and me amends. Here is your wisest daughter;
see which ans she'll have.
LANCELOT.
A God's name, you have my good will, get hers.
OLIVER.
How say you then, damsel, tyters hate?
DELIA.
I, sir, am yours.
OLIVER.
Why, then, send for a Vicar, and chil have it dispatched
in a trice, so chill.
DELIA.
Pardon me, sir, I mean I am yours,
In love, in duty, and affection,
But not to love as wife: shall ne'er be said,
Delia was buried married, but a maid.
ARTHUR.
Do not condemn yourself forever,
Virtuous fair, you were born to love.
OLIVER.
Why, you say true, Sir Arthur, she was ybere to it
so well as her mother: but I pray you shew us some
zamples or reasons why you will not marry.
DELIA.
Not that I do condemn a married life,
For tis no doubt a sanctimonious thing:
But for the care and crosses of a wife,
The trouble in that world that children bring;
My vow is in heaven in earth to live alone,
Husbands, howsoever good, I will have none.
OLIVER.
Why, then che will live Bachelor too. Che zet not a
vig by a wife, if a wife zet not a vig by me. Come,
shalls go to dinner?
FATHER.
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