ye,
And entertain’d ye in a worthy service,
Where your best wages was the world’s repute,
That thus ye seek his life, by whom ye live. 
Have you forgot, too,
How often in old times
Your drunken mirths have stunn’d day’s sober ears,
Carousing full cups to Sir Walter’s health?—­
Whom now ye would betray, but that he lies
Out of the reach of your poor treacheries. 
This learn from me,
Our master’s secret sleeps with trustier tongues,
Than will unlock themselves to carls like you. 
Go, get you gone, you knaves.  Who stirs? this staff
Shall teach you better manners else.

All.  Well, we are going.

Sand.  And quickly too, ye had better, for I see Young Mistress Margaret coming this way.

[Exeunt all but SANDFORD

Enter MARGARET, as in a fright, pursued by a Gentleman, who, seeing SANDFORD, retires muttering a curse.

Sand.  Good-morrow to my fair mistress.  ’Twas a chance
I saw you, lady, so intent was I
On chiding hence these graceless serving-men,
Who cannot break their fast at morning meals
Without debauch and mistimed riotings. 
This house hath been a scene of nothing else
But atheist riot and profane excess,
Since my old master quitted all his rights here.

Marg.  Each day I endure fresh insult from the scorn
Of Woodvil’s friends, the uncivil jests
And free discourses of the dissolute men
That haunt this mansion, making me their mirth.

Sand.  Does my young master know of these affronts?

Marg.  I cannot tell.  Perhaps he has not been told. 
Perhaps he might have seen them if he would. 
I have known him more quick-sighted.  Let that pass. 
All things seem changed, I think.  I had a friend,
(I can’t but weep to think him alter’d too,)
These things are best forgotten; but I knew
A man, a young man, young, and full of honor,
That would have pick’d a quarrel for a straw,
And fought it out to the extremity,
E’en with the dearest friend he had alive,
On but a bare surmise, a possibility,
That Margaret had suffer’d an affront. 
Some are too tame, that were too splenetic once.

Sand.  ’Twere best he should be told of these affronts.

Marg.  I am the daughter of his father’s friend,
Sir Walter’s orphan ward. 
I am not his servant-maid, that I should wait
The opportunity of a gracious hearing. 
Enquire the times and seasons when to put
My peevish prayer up at young Woodvil’s feet,
And sue to him for slow redress, who was
Himself a suitor late to Margaret. 
I am somewhat proud:  and Woodvil taught me pride. 
I was his favorite once, his playfellow in infancy,
And joyful mistress of his youth. 
None once so pleasant in his eyes as Margaret. 
His conscience, his religion, Margaret was,