_Lord_. Very fine! where is the Priest that durst dispose of you without
my Order? Sirrah, you are my Slave--at least your whole Estate is at my
mercy--and besides, I'll charge you with an Action of 5000 pounds. For
your ten Years Maintenance: Do you know that this in my power too?

_Bel_. Yes, Sir, and dread your Anger worse than Death.

_Lord_. Oh Villain! thus to dash my Expectation!

_Bel_. Sir, on my bended Knees, thus low I fall
To beg your mercy.

_Lord_. Yes, Sir, I will have mercy;
I'll give you Lodging--but in a Dungeon, Sir,
Where you shall ask your Food of Passers by.

_Bel_. All this, I know, you have the Pow'r to do;
But, Sir, were I thus cruel, this hard Usage
Would give me Cause to execute it.
I wear a Sword, and I dare right my self;
And Heaven wou'd pardon it, if I should kill you:
But Heav'n forbid I shou'd correct that Law,
Which gives you Power, and orders me Obedience.

_Lord_. Very well, Sir, I shall tame that Courage, and punish that
Harlot, whoe'er she be, that has seduc'd ye.

_Bel_. How, Harlot, Sir!--Death, such another Word,
And through all Laws and Reason I will rush,
And reach thy Soul, if mortal like thy Body.