Basil. Ha! leave your father, Desert the old man in his hour of need?  Fine ethics, truly. [Advances.]

Flor. Heaven!  Leave me, sir—­ There something tells me Arthur will return, Whom you have cozen’d of his heritage, And then he’ll aid me.

Basil. [Aside.] Hath she seen him then, Or heard?  I must beware—­

[A Servant enters and beckons him out, L.]

Nay! none can know.
[Aside.] Doubtless a message from him—­I must see
That they meet not, or else—­
[Aloud.] Adieu! fair cousin;
I trust you’ll find your senses yet ere long.

[Exit BASIL, L.]

Flor. Once more he’s gone—­O world! indeed thou art Too oft the bad man’s friend.

Sir Sim. [Within.] Ho! nephew Basil, Ho!  Basil!

[Enter SIR SIMON, R.] Where’s my nephew? [To Florence.]

Flor. He has left
This moment, sir! 
O listen, he is rude. 
I cannot wed him,—­Father! make me not
Unhappy—­

Sir Sim. Nay!  Thou know’st, indeed, my child,
How I do love thee.  ’Tis a good young man,
And wealthy—­no fool, like his brother.  Fool,
Said I?—­a madman, ape, dolt, idiot, ass,
An honourable ass to give the land
His weak sire left him, to our Basil—­Ha!
He’ll give none back, I think !—­no! no! 
Come, girl! 
Wouldst thou be foolish, too?  I would not marry
For money only, understand—­no! no! 
That I abhor, detest, but in my life
I never saw a sweeter, properer youth. 
You like him not?  Tush! marriage doth bring liking. 
Ay! love too—­you are young!

Flor. But, I’ve enough—­ Why wed at all?

Sir Sim. Girl! girl!  I say, would’st drive
Thy father mad!  A very handsome man,
A healthy fine young man—­lands joining too! 
Nay!  I could curse you, wench!  Not have him? 
This
Comes from your mawkish sentiment.  You are
No child of mine—­

Flor. Dear father!  Hear me!

Sir Sim. Mark! 
You’re not of legal age—­I’ll drive you forth. 
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.