|JENNY. Winding herself up for your sake, and by my advice, to a||10|
BELFORD. But what? You hesitate, Jenny, and seem concerned.
JENNY. Concerned! Why, we're undone, that's all. Your rival is come to town.
JENNY. And is this morning to marry madam.
BELFORD. Not while I'm alive, I can tell him that. But prithee, who is this happy rival of mine?
JENNY. 'Tis one Mr. Harlowe.
JENNY. A gentleman of Dorsetshire.
BELFORD. I know all of that country and can recollect no Harlowe but the son of Sir Harry Harlowe, and he --
JENNY. Ay, and he is your rival.
BELFORD. If I had no more to fear from your mistress than from my rival, as you call him --
JENNY. Oh, you are very clever now, an't you? What would you be at now?
BELFORD. The truth only, the real certain truth.
|JENNY. Ay, what's that?||30|
BELFORD. Why, that this Harlowe is the son of Sir Harry Harlowe of Dorsetshire and my friend, my particular friend.
JENNY. Yes, and so particular that he will take your mistress from you.
BELFORD. He shall take my life first.
JENNY. You said that before. Have you nothing else to say?
BELFORD. I say that this Harlowe, my friend, was married last week in the country, that's all.
JENNY. And that's enough, if it is true; but I have a small addition to your news.
|BELFORD. What's that?||40|
JENNY. That the aforesaid John Harlowe, Esq., your particular friend and son to Sir Harry Harlowe of Dorsetshire, is now within, waiting for my young lady's hand, that's all.
BELFORD. Jenny, no jesting; you distract me!
JENNY. 'Tis but too true. He's this minute gone in with my master and mistress to settle preliminaries.
BELFORD. Impossible! He's my intimate acquaintance and writ to me not a week ago, as I tell you. I have his letter at my lodgings.
JENNY. And what says he there?
|BELFORD. That he's privately married to a lady of condition.||50|
JENNY. How can this be reconciled? Go fetch that letter. We have no time to lose.