Page:A Series of Plays on the Passions Volume 1.pdf/306

304

Yet marvel wherefore.

Man. I marvel wherefore too, my honest Jerome: But here we are, pri'thee be kind to us.

Jer. Most heartily I will. I love your master: He is a quiet and a lib'ral man: A better inmate never cross'd my door.

Man. Ah! but he is not now the man he was. Lib'ral he will, God grant he may be quiet

Jer. What has befallen him?

Man.I cannot tell thee; But faith, there is no living with him now.

Jer. And yet, methinks, if I remember well, You were about to quit his service, Manuel, When last he left this house. You grumbled then.

Man. I've been upon the eve of leaving him These ten long years; for many times is he So difficult, capricious, and distrustful, He galls my nature—yet, I know not how, A secret kindness binds me to him still.

Jer. Some, who offend from a suspicious nature, Will afterwards such fair confession make As turns e'en the offence into a favour.

Man. Yes, some indeed do so: so will not he; He'd rather die than such confession make.

Jer. Ay, thou art right, for now I call to mind That once he wrong'd me with unjust suspicion, When first he came to lodge beneath my roof; And when it so fell out that I was proved Most guiltless of the fault, I truly thought He would have made profession of regret: