Miss, Miss, Miss Prue! Mercy on me, marry and amen. Why, what's become of the child? Why Miss, Miss Foresight! Sure she has locked herself up in her chamber, and gone to sleep, or to prayers: Miss, Miss,--I hear her.--Come to your father, child; open the door. Open the door, Miss. I hear you cry husht. O Lord, who's there? [peeps] What's here to do? O the Father! A man with her! Why, miss, I say; God's my life, here's fine doings towards--O Lord, we're all undone. O you young harlotry [knocks]. Od's my life, won't you open the door? I'll come in the back way.
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