Pronounce the sentence of my life, or death.

Mrs. ANDREWS. To what an abject state am I reduc'd!
The time has been, I'd not have heard a king
Discourse me thus. [Aside.]--I charge you, sir, desist.

Lord BELMOUR. I find 'tis vain to press my suit at present,
An humour this, to which 'twere better yield.
Best flatter it. [Aside.]--O! I am quite abash'd.
Your merited rebukes so awe my soul,
That I shall live from this day forth in penitence,
And adoration of your heav'nly virtues:
Let me then read in thy relenting eye
My peace restor'd, or seal my final doom!

Mrs. ANDREWS. Your future conduct must determine it.

Lord BELMOUR. Permit me then, I pray-- [He seizes her hand,
and kisses it.]
We are to meet
At lady Meldmay's drawing-room to-night;
Till then--[Aside as he goes off.]--The prize is mine.
She now must yield.

Mrs. ANDREWS. Are these his papers? heav'n what have I done?
I'll instantly dispatch them after him
Yet that were dang'rous too; they might miscarry;
And then in person to return them to him,
May cause another interview between us.--
What mischiefs have I heap'd upon myself! [Goes off.]