I'd rather see you dead, here, at my feet,
Than baulk my counsels thus. Nay, try and see
If sentiment will feed you, trick you out.
O, who would be a father?

_Flor._ Have I not
E'er shown you love and duty?

_Sir Sim._ Then obey!
If I'd said nought--Oh! then you'd been in love
With him, against my will--

_Flor._ No, sir, indeed!
Spare me--I'll think--I'll try. Be kind to me!

_Sir Sim._ Well, well, child, 'tis not right to treat me thus:
If I were full of passion--harsh, unkind,
Your conduct were less cruel. But, you'll kill
The old man some day with your cruelty.
You don't care for him--not you; yet he acts
All for your good. Some day you'll think so when
You've lost him. Come, come, dry your tears, now kiss me;
I should die happy, were you married well.
I am old--all this agitation kills me.

_Flor._ Nay, father, talk not so.

_Sir Sim._ You should obey me.
Your mother never dar'd oppose me thus;
She swore obedience, and I made her keep it.