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This soddaine comfort, Had I not yet a relique left of greife, Would like a violent torrent overbeare The banks of my mortallity. Oh, Thurston, Whom I respect with a more sacred love Then was my former; take my blessing with her And all the wishes that a ioyfull mother Can to a child devote: had my Belisia And her deare Bonvill livd, this happy day Should have beheld a double wedding. Sir Hu.
Was I a sleepe? What transitory dreame Deceivd my sense? did I not here my love Protest affection? no, it was some feind Vested in his mortallity, whome hell Sent to abuse my weaknes. Lov. She talkes of Hell, love and affection. Ha, goe to and goe to! the old Knight my Mrs. Goast, I hope does not haunt the house. Lady.
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