“What have I done?”
Lady A. What have I done? What horrid Crime committed?
Rich. To me the worst of Crimes, out-liv’d my liking.
Lady A. If that be Criminal, Just Heaven be kind,
And take me while my Penitence is warm:
O Sir, forgive, and kill me.
Rich. Umh! No, —— The medling World will call it murder,
And I wou’d have ’em think me pitifull:
Now wert thou not afraid of self-Destruction,
Thou hast a fair excuse for’t.
Lady A. How fain wou’d I be Friends with Death? O name it.
Rich. Thy Husband’s hate: Nor do I hate thee only
From the dull’d edge of sated Appetite
But from the eager Love I bear another:
Some call me Hypocrite: What think’st thou now,
Do I dissemble?