William Wycherley [Four Plays]. William Wycherley

Murder! murder!—Oh! oh!—help! help! oh!

      The door is broken open; enter Mrs. Crossbite, and her Landlord, and his 'Prentice, in aprons.

      Mrs. Cros. What, murder my daughter, villain!

      Lucy. I wish he had murdered me.—Oh! oh!

      Mrs. Cros. What has he done?

      Lucy. Why would you go out, and leave me alone? unfortunate woman that I am!

      Gripe. How now, what will this end in? [Aside.

      Mrs. Cros. Who brought him in?

      Lucy. That witch, that treacherous false woman, my godmother, who has betrayed me, sold me to his lust.—Oh! oh!—

      Mrs. Cros. Have you ravished my daughter, then, you old goat? ravished my daughter!—ravished my daughter! speak, villain.

      Gripe. By yea and by nay, no such matter.

      Mrs. Cros. A canting rogue, too! Take notice, landlord, he has ravished my daughter, you see her all in tears and distraction; and see there the wicked engine of the filthy execution.—[Pointing to the chair.]—Jeremy, call up the neighbours, and the constable—False villain! thou shalt die for it.