Sea. No, no, no! I am going to be married.—(Sophia staggers some paces back, and stands like one perfectly stupified.) What is the matter, Sophia? are you going to faint?
Soph. No, I sha'n't faint.
Sea. Be not so overcome with it, my dear child! it is for the good of my children I marry. (pauses and looks at her, but she is silent.) You, and all children in your situation, look upon these matters with a prejudiced eye. It is my great regard for you that determines me to take this step. (pauses, but she is silent.) Do you hear me? Will you not speak to me?
Soph. O my poor mother! little did I think when I kiss'd your cold hands, that you would so soon be forgotten!
Sea. No more of this, my dear! no more of this! It is improper; it is painful to me. I have not forgotten—I love—I respect—I adore her memory: but I am engaged—it is necessary—your interest, is concerned in it, my dear children; and I know, my good Sophia, you will not add to your father's distress by stubborn and undutiful behaviour.
Soph. O no, my dear Sir! if you love and adore her memory I am satisfied. Yet, if you do, how can you—O how can you!—I will say no more: God bless you and give you a good wife! (weeping.) But she will never be so good as my mother: she will never love you as my mother did.
Sea. Forbear, my good girl! I know it very well; and I don't marry now to be beloved. But Lady Sarah is a very good woman, and will make me as
