Dia. Undone, undone! Oh, with what Face can I return again! What Man of Wealth or Reputation, now Will think me worth the owning! [Feigns to weep.

Sir Tim. Yes, yes, Madam, there are honest, discreet, religious, and true Protestant Knights in the City, that wou'd be proud to dignify and distinguish so worthy a Gentlewoman. [Bowing and smiling.

Bet. Look to your hits, and take fortune by the forelock, Madam. [Aside. —Alas, Madam, no Knight, and poor too!

Sir Tim. As a Tory Poet.

Bet. Well, Madam, take Comfort; if the worst come to the worst, you have Estate enough for both.

Dia. Ay, Betty, were he but honest, Betty. [Weeping.

Sir Tim. Honest! I think he will not steal; but for his Body, the Lord have mercy upon't, for he has none.

Dia. 'Tis evident, I am betray'd, abus'd; H'as lookt and sigh'd, and talkt away my Heart; H'as sworn, and vow'd, and flatter'd me to ruin. [Weeping.

Sir Tim. A small fault with him; he has flatter'd and sworn me out of many a fair Thousand: why, he has no more Conscience than a Politician, nor no more Truth than a Narrative (under the Rose).

Dia. Is there no Truth nor Honesty i'th' World?

Sir Tim. Troth, very little, and that lies all i'th' City amongst us sober Magistrates.

Dia. Were I a Man, how wou'd I be reveng'd!

Sir Tim. Your Ladyship might do it better as you are were I worthy to advise you.

Dia. Name it.

Sir Tim. Why, by marrying your Ladyship's most assur'd Friend, and most humble Servant, Timothy Treat-all of London, Alderman. [Bowing.

Bet. Ay, this is something, Mistress; here's Reason.

Dia. But I have given my Faith and Troth to Wilding, Betty.

Sir Tim. Faith and Troth! We stand upon neither Faith nor Troth in the City, Lady. I have known an Heiress married and bedded, and yet with the Advice of the wiser Magistrates, has been unmarried and consummated anew with another, so it stands with our Interest: 'tis Law by Magna Charta. Nay, had you married my ungracious Nephew, we might by this our Magna Charta have hang'd him for a Rape.

Dia. What, though he had my Consent?

Sir Tim. That's nothing, he had not ours.

Dia. Then shou'd I marry you by stealth, the Danger wou'd be the same.

Sir Tim. No, no, Madam, we never accuse one another; 'tis the poor Rogues, the Tory Rascals we always hang. Let 'em accuse me if they please; alas, I come off hand-smooth with Ignoramus.

Enter Jervice.

Jer. Sir, there's such a calling for your Worship! They are all very merry, the Glasses go briskly about.

Sir Tim. Go, go, I'll come when all the Healths are past; I love no Healths.

Jer. They are all over, Sir, and the Ladies are for dancing; so they are all adjourning from the Dining-room hither, as more commodious for that Exercise. I think they're coming, Sir.

Sir Tim. Hah, coming! Call Sensure to wait on the Lady to her Apartment.—

[Enter Sensure.]

And, Madam, I do most heartily recommend my most humble Address to your most judicious Consideration, hoping you will most vigorously, and with all your might, maintain the Rights and Privileges of the Honourable City; and not suffer the Force or Persuasion of any Arbitrary Lover whatsoever, to subvert their antient and Fundamental Laws, by seducing and forcibly bearing away so rich and so illustrious a Lady: and, Madam, we will unanimously stand by you with our Lives and Fortunes.—This I learnt from a Speech at the Election of a Burgess. [Aside.

[_Leads her to the Door; She goes out with_ Betty _and_ Sensure. _Enter Musick playing, Sir_ Anthony Meriwill _dancing with a Lady in his Hand, Sir_ Charles with Lady_ Galliard, _several other Women and Men_.

Sir Anth. [singing.]

Philander _was a jolly Swain, And lov'd by ev'ry Lass; Whom when he met along the Plain, He laid upon the Grass.

And here he kist, and there he play'd With this and then the t'other, Till every wanton smiling Maid At last became a Mother.

And to her Swain, and to her Swain, The Nymph begins to yield; Ruffle, and breathe, then to't again, Thou'rt Master of the Field_.

[Clapping Sir Char, on the back.

Sir Char. And if I keep it not, say I'm a Coward, Uncle.

Sir Anth. More Wine there, Boys, I'll keep the Humour up. [Enter Bottles and Glasses.

Sir Tim. How! young Meriwill so close to the Widow—Madam— [Addressing himself to her. Sir Char. puts him by.

Sir Char. Sir Timothy, why, what a Pox dost thou bring that damn'd Puritanical, Schismatical, Fanatical, Small-beer-Face of thine into good Company? Give him a full Glass to the Widow's Health.

Sir Tim. O lack, Sir Charles, no Healths for me, I pray.

Sir Char. Hark ye, leave that cozening, canting, sanctify'd Sneer of yours, and drink ye me like a sober loyal Magistrate, all those Healths you are behind, from his sacred Majesty, whom God long preserve, with the rest of the Royal Family, even down to this wicked Widow, whom Heaven soon convert from her leud designs upon my Body. [Pulling Sir Tim. to kneel.

Sir Anth. A rare Boy! he shall have all my Estate.

Sir Tim. How, the Widow a leud design upon his Body! Nay, then I am jealous. [Aside.

L. Gal. I a leud design upon your Body; for what, I wonder?

Sir Char. Why, for villanous Matrimony.

L. Gal. Who, I?

Sir Char. Who, you! yes, you. Why are those Eyes drest in inviting Love? Those soft bewitching Smiles, those rising Breasts, And all those Charms that make you so adorable, Is't not to draw Fools into Matrimony?

Sir Anth. How's that, how's that! Charles at his Adorables and Charms! He must have t'other Health, he'll fall to his old Dog-trot again else. Come, come, every man his Glass; Sir Timothy, you are six behind: Come, come, Charles, name 'em all.

[Each take a Glass, and force Sir Tim. on his knees.

Sir Char.—Not bate ye an Ace, Sir. Come, his Majesty's Health, and Confusion to his Enemies. [They go to force his Mouth open to drink.

Sir Tim. Hold, Sir, hold, if I must drink, I must; but this is very arbitrary, methinks. [Drinks.

Sir Anth. And now, Sir, to the Royal Duke of Albany. Musick, play a Scotch Jig. [Music plays, they drink.

Sir Tim. This is mere Tyranny.

Enter Jervice.

Jer. Sir, there is alighted at the Gate a Person of Quality, as appears by his Train, who give him the Title of a Lord.

Sir Tim. How, a strange Lord! Conduct him up with Ceremony, Jervice— 'Ods so, he's here!

Enter Wilding in disguise, Dresswell, and Footmen and Pages.

Wild. Sir, by your Reverend Aspect, you shou'd be the renown'd Mester de Hotel.

Sir Tim. Mater de Otell! I have not the Honour to know any of that Name, I am call'd Sir Timothy Treat-all. [Bowing.

Wild. The same, Sir; I have been bred abroad, and thought all Persons of Quality had spoke French.

Sir Tim. Not City Persons of Quality, my Lord.

Wild. I'm glad on't, Sir; for 'tis a Nation I hate, as indeed I do all Monarchies.

Sir Tim. Hum! hate Monarchy! Your Lordship is most welcome. [Bows.

Wild. Unless Elective Monarchies, which so resemble a Commonwealth.

Sir Tim. Right, my Lord; where every Man may hope to take his turn— Your Lordship is most singularly welcome. [Bows low.

Wild. And though I am a Stranger to your Person, I am not to your Fame, amongst the sober Party of the Amsterdamians, all the French Hugonots throughout Geneva; even to Hungary and Poland, Fame's Trumpet sounds your Praise, making the Pope to fear, the rest admire you.

Sir Anth. I'm much oblig'd to the renowned Mobile.

Wild. So you will say, when you shall hear my Embassy. The Polanders by me salute you, Sir, and have in this next new Election prick'd ye down for their succeeding King.

Sir Tim. How, my Lord, prick'd me down for a King! Why, this is wonderful! Prick'd me, unworthy me down for a King! How cou'd I merit this amazing Glory!

Wild. They know, he that can be so great a Patriot to his Native Country, where but a private Person, what must he be when Power is on his side?

Sir Tim. Ay, my Lord, my Country, my bleeding Country! there's the stop to all my rising Greatness. Shall I be so ungrateful to disappoint this big expecting Nation? defeat the sober Party, and my Neighbours, for any Polish Crown? But yet, my Lord, I will consider on't: Mean time my House is yours.

Wild. I've brought you, Sir, the Measure of the Crown: Ha, it fits you to a Hair. [Pulls out a Ribband, measures his Head. You were by Heav'n and Nature fram'd that Monarch.

Sir Anth. Hah, at it again! [Sir Charles making sober Love. Come, we grow dull, Charles; where stands the Glass? What, balk my Lady Galliard's Health! [They go to drink.

Wild. Hah, Galliard—and so sweet on Meriwill! [Aside.

L. Gal. If it be your business, Sir, to drink, I'll withdraw.

Sir Char. Gad, and I'll withdraw with you, Widow. Hark ye, Lady Galliard, I am damnably afraid you cannot bear Liquor well, you are so forward to leave good Company and a Bottle.

Sir Tim. Well, Gentlemen, since I have done what I never do, to oblige you, I hope you will not refuse a Health of my Denomination.

Sir Anth. We scorn to be so uncivil. [All take the Glasses.

Sir Tim. Why then here's a conceal'd Health that shall be nameless, to his Grace the King of Poland.

Sir Char. King of Poland! Lord, Lord, how your Thoughts ramble!

Sir Tim. Not so far as you imagine; I know what I say, Sir.

Sir Char. Away with it. [Drink all.

Wild. I see, Sir, you still keep up that English Hospitality that so renowned our Ancestors in History. [Looking on L. Gal.

Sir Tim. Ay, my Lord, my noble Guests are my Wife and Children.

Wild. Are you not married, then? Death, she smiles on him. [Aside.

Sir Tim. I had a Wife, but rest her Soul, she's dead; and I have no Plague left now but an ungracious Nephew, perverted with ill Customs, Tantivy Opinions, and Court-Notions.

Wild. Cannot your pious Examples convert him? By Heaven, she's fond of him! [Aside.

Sir Tim. Alas, I have try'd all ways, fair and foul; nay, had settled t'other Day my whole Estate upon him, and just as I had sign'd the Writings, out comes me a damn'd Libel, call'd, A Warning to all good Christians against the City-Magistrates; and I doubt he had a Hand in Absalom and Achitophel, a Rogue. But some of our sober Party have claw'd him home, i' faith, and given him Rhyme for his Reason.

Wild. Most visibly in Love! Oh, Sir, Nature, Laws, and Religion plead for so near a Kinsman.

Sir Tim. Laws and Religion! Alas, my Lord, he deserves not the Name of a Patriot, who does not for the publick Good, defy all Laws and Religion.

Wild. Death, I must interrupt 'em—Sir, pray what Lady's that. [Wild, salutes her.

Sir Tim. I beseech your Lordship know her, 'tis my Lady Galliard; the rest are all my Friends and Neighbours, true Protestants all—Well, my Lord, how do you like my Method of doing the business of the Nation, and carrying on the Cause with Wine, Women, and so forth?

Wild. High Feeding and smart Drinking, gains more to the Party, than your smart Preaching.

Sir Tim. Your Lordship has hit it right: a rare Man this!

Wild. But come, Sir, leave serious Affairs, and oblige these fair ones.

[Addresses himself to Galliard, Sir Charles puts him by. Enter Charlot disguised, Clacket and Foppington.

Sir Char. Heavens, Clacket, yonder's my False one, and that my lovely Rival. [Pointing to Wild, and L. Gal.

Enter Diana and Sensure masked, and Betty.

Dia. Dear Mrs. Sensure, this Favour has oblig'd me.

Sen. I hope you'll not discover it to his Worship, Madam.

Wild. By her Mien, this shou'd be handsome— [Goes to Diana.] Madam, I hope you have not made a Resolution to deny me the Honour of your Hand.

Dia. Ha, Wilding! Love can discover thee through all Disguise.

Wild. Hah, Diana! wou'd 'twere Felony to wear a Vizard. Gad, I'd rather meet it on the King's Highway, with Stand and Deliver, than thus encounter it on the Face of an old Mistress; and the Cheat were more excusable—But how— [Talks aside with her.

Sir Char. Nay, never frown nor chide: For thus do I intend to shew my Authority, till I have made thee only fit for me.

Wild. Is't so, my precious Uncle? Are you so great a Devil in Hypocrisy? Thus had I been serv'd, had I brought him the right Woman. [Aside.

Dia. But do not think, dear Tommy, I wou'd have serv'd thee so; married thy Uncle, and have cozen'd thee of thy Birth-right—But see, we're observ'd.

[Charlot listening behind him all this while.

Char. By all that's good 'tis he! that Voice is his! [He going from Dian. turns upon Charlot, and looks.

Wild. Hah, what pretty Creature's this, that has so much of Charlot in her Face? But sure she durst not venture; 'tis not her Dress nor Mien. Dear pretty Stranger, I must dance with you.

Char. Gued deed, and see ye shall, Sir, gen you please. Though I's not dance, Sir, I's tell ya that noo.

Wild. Nor I, so we're well matcht. By Heaven, she's wondrous like her.

Char. By th' Mass not so kind, Sir: 'Twere gued that ene of us shou'd dance to guid the other weel.

Wild. How young, how innocent and free she is! And wou'd you, fair one, be guided by me?

Char. In any thing that gued is.

Wild. I love you extremely, and wou'd teach you to love.

Char. Ah, wele aday! [Sighs and smiles.

Wild. A thing I know you do not understand.

Char. Gued faith, and ya're i'th' right, Sir; yet 'tis a thing I's often hear ya gay men talk of.

Wild. Yes, and no doubt have been told those pretty Eyes inspired it.

Char. Gued deed, and so I have! Ya men make sa mickle ado about ens Eyes, ways me, I's ene tir'd with sick-like Complements.

Wild. Ah, if you give us wounds, we must complain.

Char. Ye may ene keep out a harms way then.

Wild. Oh, we cannot; or if we cou'd, we wou'd not.

Char. Marry, and I's have ene a Song tol that tune, Sir.

Wild. Dear Creature, let me beg it.

Char. Gued faith, ya shall not, Sir, I's sing without entreaty.

SONG.

_Ah, Jenny, gen your Eyes do kill, You'll let me tell my Pain; Gued Faith, I lov'd against my Will, But wad not break my Chain. I ence was call'd a bonny Lad, Till that fair Face of yours Betray'd the Freedom ence I had, And ad my bleether Howers.

But noo ways me like Winter looks, My gloomy showering Eyne, And on the Banks of shaded Brooks I pass my wearied time. I call the Stream that gleedeth on, To witness if it see, On all the flowry Brink along, A Swain so true as lee_.

Wild. This very Swain am I, so true and so forlorn, unless ye pity me.—This is an excellency Charlot wants, at least I never heard her sing. [Aside.

Sir Anth. Why, Charles, where stands the Woman, Charles? [Fop. comes up to Charlot.

Wild. I must speak to Galliard, though all my Fortunes depend on the Discovery of my self. [Aside.

Sir Anth. Come, come, a cooling Glass about.

Wild. Dear Dresswell, entertain Charles Meriwill a little, whilst I speak to Galliard. [The Men go all to the drinking Table. By Heaven, I die, I languish for a Word! —Madam, I hope you have not made a Vow To speak with none but that young Cavalier. They say, the Freedom English Ladies use, Is, as their Beauty, great.

L. Gal. Sir, we are none of those of so nice and delicate a Virtue, as Conversation can corrupt; we live in a cold Climate.

Wild. And think you're not so apt to be in Love, As where the Sun shines oftner. But you too much partake of the Inconstancy of this your fickle Climate. [Maliciously to her. One day all Sun-shine, and th' encourag'd Lover Decks himself up in glittering Robes of Hope; And in the midst of all their boasted Finery Comes a dark Cloud across his Mistress' Brow, Dashes the Fool, and spoils the gaudy Show. [L. Gal. observing him nearly.

L. Gal. Hah, do I not know that railing Tongue of yours?

Wild. 'Tis from your Guilt, not Judgment then. I was resolv'd to be to night a Witness Of that sworn Love you flatter'd me so often with. By Heaven, I saw you playing with my Rival, Sigh'd, and lookt Babies in his gloating Eyes. When is the Assignation? When the Hours? For he's impatient as the raging Sea, Loose as the Winds, and amorous as the Sun, That kisses all the Beauties of the Spring.

L. Gal. I take him for a sober Person, Sir.

Wild. Have I been the Companion of his Riots In all the leud course of our early Youth, Where like unwearied Bees we gather'd Flowers? But no kind Blossom could oblige our stay, We rifled and were gone.

L. Gal. Your Virtues I perceive are pretty equal; Only his Love's the honester o'th' two.

Wild. Honester! that is, he wou'd owe his good Fortune to the Parson of the Parish; And I would be oblig'd to you alone. He wou'd have a Licence to boast he lies with you, And I wou'd do't with Modesty and Silence: For Virtue's but a Name kept free from Scandal, Which the most base of Women best preserve, Since Jilting and Hypocrisy cheat the World best. —But we both love, and who shall blab the Secret? [In a soft Tone.

L. Gal. Oh, why were all the Charms of speaking given To that false Tongue that makes no better use of 'em? —I'll hear no more of your inchanting Reasons.

Wild. You must.

L. Gal. I will not.

Wild. Indeed you must.

L. Gal. By all the Powers above—

Wild. By all the Powers of Love you'll break your Oath, Unless you swear this Night to let me see you.

L. Gal. This Night.

Wild. This very Night.

L. Gal. I'd die first—At what Hour?

[First turns away, then sighs and looks on him.

Wild. Oh, name it; and if I fail— [With Joy.

L. Gal. I wou'd not for the World—

Wild. That I shou'd fail!

L. Gal. Not name the guilty Hour.

Wild. Then I through eager haste shall come too soon, And do your Honour wrong.

L. Gal. My Honour! Oh, that Word!

Wild. Which the Devil was in me for naming. [Aside. —At Twelve.

L. Gal. My Women and my Servants then are up.

Wild. At One, or Two.

L. Gal. So late! 'twill be so quickly Day!

Wild. Ay, so it will; That half our Business will be left unfinisht.

L. Gal. Hah, what do you mean? what Business?

Wild. A thousand tender things I have to say; A thousand Vows of my eternal Love; And now and then we'll kiss and—

L. Gal. Be extremely honest.

Wild. As you can wish.

L. Gal. Rather as I command: for should he know my wish, I were undone. [Aside.

Wild. The Sign—

L. Gal. Oh, press me not—yet you may come at Midnight under my Chamber-Window.

[Sir Char. sees 'em so close, comes to 'em.

Sir Char. Hold, Sir, hold! Whilst I am listning to the Relation of your French Fortifications, Outworks, and Counterscarps, I perceive the Enemy in my Quarters—My Lord, by your leave. [Puts him by, growing drunk.

Char. Persuade me not; I burst with Jealousy. [Wild. turns, sees Clacket.

Wild. Death and the Devil, Clacket! then 'tis Charlot, and I'm discover'd to her.

Char. Say, are you not a false dissembling thing? [To Wild. in anger.

Wild. What, my little Northern Lass translated into English! This 'tis to practise Art in spite of Nature. Alas, thy Vertue, Youth, and Innocence, Were never made for Cunning, I found ye out through all your forc'd disguise.

Char. Hah, did you know me then?

Wild. At the first glance, and found you knew me too, And talkt to yonder Lady in revenge, Whom my Uncle would have me marry. But to avoid all Discourses of that nature, I came to Night in this Disguise you see, to be conceal'd from her; that's all.

Char. And is that all, on Honour? Is it, Dear?

Wild. What, no Belief, no Faith in villanous Women?

Char. Yes, when I see the Writings.

Wild. Go home, I die if you shou'd be discover'd: And credit me, I'll bring you all you ask. Clacket, you and I must have an old Reckoning about this Night's Jant of yours. [Aside to Clacket.

Sir Tim. Well, my Lord, how do you like our English Beauties?

Wild. Extremely, Sir; and was pressing this young Lady to give us a Song.

[Here is an Italian Song in two Parts.

Sir Tim. I never saw this Lady before: pray who may she be, Neighbour? [To Clacket.

Mrs. Clack. A Niece of mine, newly come out of Scotland, Sir.

Sir Tim. Nay, then she dances by nature. Gentlemen and Ladies, please you to sit, here's a young Neighbour of mine will honour us with a Dance. [They all sit; Charl. and Fop. dance. So, so; very well, very well. Gentlemen and Ladies, I am for Liberty of Conscience, and Moderation. There's a Banquet waits the Ladies, and my Cellars are open to the Men; but for my self, I must retire; first waiting on your Lordship to shew you your Apartment, then leave you to cher entire: and to morrow, my Lord, you and I will settle the Nation, and will resolve on what return we will make to the noble Polanders.

[Exeunt all but Wild. Dres. and Fop. Sir Charles leading out Lady Galliard.

Sir Anth. Well said, Charles, thou leav'st her not till she's thy own, Boy—And Philander was a jolly Swain, &c. [Exit singing.

Wild. All things succeed above my Wish, dear Frank, Fortune is kind; and more, Galliard is so; This night crowns all my Wishes. Laboir, are all things ready for our purpose? [To his Footman.

Lab. Dark Lanthorns, Pistols, Habits and Vizards, Sir.

Fop. I have provided Portmantles to carry off the Treasure.

Dres. I perceive you are resolv'd to make a thorow-stitcht Robbery on't.

Fop. Faith, if it lie in our way, Sir, we had as good venture a Caper under the Triple-Tree for one as well as t'other.

Wild. We must consider on't. 'Tis now just struck eleven; within this Hour is the dear Assignation with Galliard.

Dres. What, whether our Affairs be finish'd or not?

Wild. 'Tis but at next Door; I shall return time enough for that trivial Business.

Dres. A trivial Business of some six thousand pound a year?

Wild. Trivial to a Woman, Frank: no more; do you make as if you went to bed.—Laboir, do you feign to be drunk, and lie on the Hall-table: and when I give the sign, let me softly in.

Dres. Death, Sir, will you venture at such a time?

Wild. My Life and future Hope—I am resolv'd. Let Politicians plot, let Rogues go on In the old beaten Path of Forty one; Let City Knaves delight in Mutiny, The Rabble bow to old Presbytery; Let petty States be to confusion hurl'd, Give me but Woman, I'll despise the World.

[Exeunt.



ACT IV.

SCENE I. A Dressing-Room.

Lady Galliard is discover'd in an undress at her Table, Glass and Toilette, Closet attending: As soon as the Scene draws off she rises from the Table as disturbed and out of Humour.

L. Gal. Come, leave your everlasting Chamber-maid's Chat, your dull Road of Slandering by rote, and lay that Paint aside. Thou art fuller of false News, than an unlicens'd Mercury.

Clos. I have good Proof, Madam, of what I say.

L. Gal. Proof of a thing impossible!—Away.

Clos. Is it a thing so impossible, Madam, that a Man of Mr. Wilding's Parts and Person should get a City-Heiress? Such a bonne Mien, and such a pleasant Wit!

L. Gal. Hold thy fluent Tattle, thou hast Tongue Enough to talk an Oyster-Woman deaf: I say it cannot be. —What means the panting of my troubled Heart! Oh, my presaging Fears! shou'd what she says prove true, How wretched and how lost a thing am I! [Aside.

Clos. Your Honour may say your Pleasure; but I hope I have not liv'd to these Years to be impertinent—No, Madam, I am none of those that run up and down the Town a Story-hunting, and a Lye-catching, and—

L. Gal. Eternal Rattle, peace— Mrs. Charlot Gett-all go away with Wilding! A Man of Wilding's extravagant Life Get a Fortune in the City! Thou mightst as well have told me, a Holder-forth were married to a Nun: There are not two such Contraries in Nature, 'Tis flam, 'tis foolery, 'tis most impossible.

Clos. I beg your Ladyship's Pardon, if my Discourse offend you; but all the World knows Mrs. Clacket to be a person—

L. Gal. Who is a most devout Baud, a precise Procurer; A Saint in the Spirit, and Whore in the Flesh; A Doer of the Devil's Work in God's Name. Is she your Informer? nay, then the Lye's undoubted— I say once more, adone with your idle Tittle-Tattle, —And to divert me, bid Betty sing the Song which Wilding made To his last Mistress; we may judge by that, What little Haunts, and what low Game he follows. This is not like the Description of a rich Citizen's Daughter and Heir, but some common Hackney of the Suburbs.

Clos. I have heard him often swear she was a Gentlewoman, and liv'd with her Friends.

L. Gal. Like enough, there are many of these Gentlewomen who live with their Friends, as rank Prostitutes, as errant Jilts, as those who make open profession of the Trade—almost as mercenary—But come, the Song.

[Enter Betty.

SONG.

_In Phillis all vile Jilts are met, Foolish, uncertain, false, Coquette. Love is her constant welcome Guest, And still the newest pleases best. Quickly she likes, then leaves as soon; Her Life on Woman's a Lampoon.

Yet for the Plague of human Race, This Devil has an Angel's Face; Such Youth, such Sweetness in her Look, Who can be Man, and not be took? What former Love, what Wit, what Art, Can save a poor inclining Heart?

In vain a thousand Times an hour Reason rebels against her Power. In vain I rail, I curse her charms; One Look my feeble Rage disarms. There is Inchantment in her Eyes; Who sees 'em, can no more be wise_.

Enter Wilding, who runs to embrace L. Gal.

Wild. Twelve was the lucky Minute when we met: Most charming of your Sex, and wisest of all Widows, My Life, my Soul, my Heaven to come, and here! Now I have liv'd to purpose, since at last—Oh, killing Joy! Come, let me fold you, press you in my Arms, And kiss you Thanks for this dear happy Night.

L. Gal. You may spare your Thanks, Sir, for those that will deserve 'em; I shall give you no occasion for 'em.

Wild. Nay, no scruples now, dearest of Dears, no more, 'Tis most unseasonable— I bring a Heart full fraight with eager Hopes, Opprest with a vast Load of longing Love; Let me unlade me in that soft white Bosom, That Storehouse of rich Joys and lasting Pleasures, And lay me down as on a Bed of Lillies. [She breaks from him.

L. Gal. You're wondrous full of Love and Rapture, Sir; but certainly you mistake the Person you address 'em to.

Wild. Why, are you not my Lady Galliard, that very Lady Galliard, who, if one may take her Word for't, loves Wilding? Am I not come hither by your own Appointment; and can I have any other Business here at this time of night, but Love, and Rapture, and—

L. Gal. Scandalous and vain! by my Appointment, and for so leud a purpose; guard me, ye good Angels. If after an Affront so gross as this, I ever suffer you to see me more, Then think me what your Carriage calls me, An impudent, an open Prostitute, Lost to all sense of Virtue, or of Honour.

Wild. What can this mean? [Aside. Oh, now I understand the Mystery. [Looking on Closet. Her Woman's here, that troublesome piece of Train. —I must remove her. Hark ye, Mrs. Closet, I had forgot to tell you, as I came up I heard a Kinsman of yours very earnest with the Servants below, and in great haste to speak with you.

Clos. A Kinsman! that's very likely indeed, and at this time of night.

Wild. Yes, a very near Kinsman, he said he was your Father's own Mother's Uncle's Sister's Son; what d'ye call him?

Clos. Ay, what d'ye call him indeed? I shou'd be glad to hear his Name. Alas, Sir, I have no near Relation living that I know of, the more's my Misfortune, poor helpless Orphan that I am. [Weeps.

Wild. Nay, but Mrs. Closet, pray take me right, This Country-man of yours, as I was saying—

L. Gal. Chang'd already from a Kinsman to a Countryman! a plain Contrivance to get my Woman out of the Room. Closet, as you value my Service, stir not from hence.

Wild. This Countryman of yours, I say, being left Executor by your Father's last Will and Testament, is come—Dull Waiting-woman, I wou'd be alone with your Lady; know your Cue and retire.

Clos. How, Sir!

Wild. Learn, I say, to understand Reason when you hear it. Leave us awhile; Love is not a Game for three to play at. [Gives her Mony.

Clos. I must own to all the World, you have convinc'd me; I ask a thousand Pardons for my Dulness. Well, I'll be gone, I'll run; you're a most powerful Person, the very Spirit of Persuasion—I'll steal out—You have such a taking way with you—But I forgot my self. Well, your most obedient Servant; whenever you've occasion, Sir, be pleas'd to use me freely.

Wild. Nay, dear Impertinence, no more Complements, you see I'm busy now; prithee be gone, you see I am busy.

Clos. I'm all Obedience to you, Sir—Your most obedient—

L. Gal. Whither are you fisking and giggiting now?

Clos. Madam, I am going down, and will return immediately, immediately. [Exit Clos.

Wild. So, she's gone; Heaven and broad Gold be prais'd for the Deliverance. And now, dear Widow, let's lose no more precious time; we have fool'd away too much already.

L. Gal. This to me!

Wild. To you, yes, to whom else should it be? Unless being sensible you have not Discretion enough to manage your own Affairs your self, you resolve like other Widows, with all you're Worth to buy a Governour, commonly call'd a Husband. I took ye to be wiser; but if that be your Design I shall do my best to serve you—though to deal freely with you—

L. Gal. Trouble not your self, Sir, to make Excuses; I'm not so fond of the Offer to take you at your Word. Marry you! a Rakeshame, who have not Esteem enough for the Sex to believe your Mother honest—without Money or Credit, without Land either in presenter prospect; and half a dozen hungry Vices, like so many bauling Brats at your Back, perpetually craving, and more chargeable to keep than twice the number of Children. Besides, I think you are provided for; are you not married to Mrs. Charlot Gett-all?

Wild. Married to her! Do I know her, you shou'd rather ask. What Fool has forg'd this unlikely Lye? but suppose 'twere true, cou'd you be jealous of a Woman I marry? Do you take me for such an Ass, to suspect I shall love my own Wife? On the other side, I have a great Charge of Vices, as you well observe, and I must not be so barbarous to let 'em starve. Every body in this Age takes care to provide for their Vices, though they send their Children a begging; I shou'd be worse than an Infidel to neglect them. No, I must marry some stiff aukward thing or other with an ugly Face, and a handsom Estate, that's certain: but whoever is ordain'd to make my Fortune, 'tis you only can make me happy— Come, do it then.

L. Gal. I never will.

Wild. Unkindly said, you must.

L. Gal. Unreasonable Man! because you see I have unusual Regards for you, Pleasure to hear, and Trouble to deny you; A fatal yielding in my Nature toward you, Love bends my Soul that way— A Weakness I ne'er felt for any other; And wou'd you be so base? and cou'd you have the Heart To take th' advantage on't to ruin me, To make me infamous, despis'd, loath'd, pointed at?

Wild. You reason false, According to the strictest Rules of Honour, Beauty should still be the Reward of Love, Not the vile Merchandize of Fortune, Or the cheap Drug of a Church-Ceremony. She's only infamous, who to her Bed For Interest takes some nauseous Clown she hates: And though a Jointure or a Vow in publick Be her Price, that makes her but the dearer Whore.

L. Gal. I understand not these new Morals.

Wild. Have Patience I say, 'tis clear: All the Desires of mutual Love are virtuous. Can Heav'n or Man be angry that you please Your self, and me, when it does wrong to none? Why rave you then on things that ne'er can be? Besides, are we not alone, and private? who can know it?

L. Gal. Heaven will know't; and I—that, that's enough: But when you are weary of me, first your Friend, Then his, then all the World.

Wild. Think not that time will ever come.

L. Gal. Oh, it must, it will.

Wild. Or if it should, could I be such a Villain— Ah cruel! if you love me as you say, You wou'd not thus distrust me.

L. Gal. You do me wrong, I love you more than e'er my Tongue, Or all the Actions of my Life can tell you—so well— Your very Faults, how gross soe'er to me, Have something pleasing in 'em. To me you're all That Man can praise, or Woman can desire; All Charm without, and all Desert within. But yet my Virtue is more lovely still; That is a Price too high to pay for you; The Love of Angels may be bought too dear, If we bestow on them what's kept for Heaven.

Wild. Hell and the Devil! I'll hear no more Of this religious Stuff, this godly Nonsense. Death, Madam, do you bring me into your Chamber to preach Virtue to me?

L. Gal. I bring you hither! how can you say it? I suffer'd you indeed to come, but not For the base end you fancy'd, but to take A last Leave of you. Let my Heart break with Love, I cannot be that wretched thing you'd have me; Believe I still shall have a Kindness for you, Always your Friend, your Mistress now no more.

Wild. Cozen'd, abus'd, she loves some other Man! Dull Blockhead, not to find it out before! [Aside. —Well, Madam, may I at last believe This is your fix'd and final Resolution? And does your Tongue now truly speak your Heart, That has so long bely'd it?

L. Gal. It does.

Wild. I'm glad on't. Good Night; and when I visit you again, May you again thus fool me. [Offers to go.

L. Gal. Stay but a Moment.

Wild. For what? to praise your Night-dress, or make Court to your little Dog? No, no, Madam, send for Mr. Flamfull, and Mr. Flutterbuz, Mr. Lap-fool and Mr. Loveall; they'll do it better, and are more at leisure.

L. Gal. Hear me a little: You know I both despise, and hate those civil Coxcombs, as much as I esteem and love you. But why will you be gone so soon? and why are ye so cruel to urge me thus to part either with your good Opinion or your Kindness? I wou'd fain keep 'em both. [In a soft Tone.

Wild. Then keep your Word, Madam.

L. Gal. My Word! and have I promis'd then to be A Whore? A Whore! Oh, let me think of that! A Man's Convenience, his leisure Hours, his Bed of Ease, To loll and tumble on at idle times; The Slave, the Hackney of his lawless Lust! A loath'd Extinguisher of filthy Flames, Made use of, and thrown by—Oh, infamous!

Wild. Come, come, you love me not, I see it plain; That makes your Scruples; that, that's the Reason You start at Words, and turn away from Shadows. Already some pert Fop, some Ribbon Fool, Some dancing Coxcomb, has supplanted me In that unsteady treacherous Woman's Heart of yours.

L. Gal. Believe it if you will. Yes, let me be false, unjust, ungrateful, any thing but a—Whore—

Wild. Oh, Sex on purpose form'd to plague Mankind! All that you are, and all you do's a Lye. False are your Faces, false your floating Hearts; False are your Quarrels, false your Reconcilements: Enemies without Reason, and dear without Kindness; Your Friendship's false, but much more false your Love; Your damn'd deceitful Love is all o'er false.

L. Gal. False rather are the Joys you are so fond of. Be wise, and cease, Sir, to pursue 'em farther.

Wild. No, them I can never quit, but you most easily: A Woman changeable and false as you.

L. Gal. Said you most easily? Oh, inhuman! Your cruel Words have wak'd a dismal Thought; I feel 'em cold and heavy at my Heart, And Weakness steals upon my Soul apace; I find I must be miserable— I wou'd not be thought false. [In a soft Tone, coming near him.

Wild. Nor wou'd I think you so; give me not Cause.

L. Gal. What Heart can bear distrust from what it loves? Or who can always her own Wish deny? [Aside. My Reason's weary of the unequal Strife; And Love and Nature will at last o'ercome. —Do you not then believe I love you? [To him in a soft Tone.

Wild. How can I, while you still remain unkind?

L. Gal. How shall I speak my guilty Thoughts? I have not Power to part with you; conceal my Shame, I doubt I cannot, I fear I wou'd not any more deny you.

Wild. Oh heavenly Sound! Oh charming Creature! Speak that word again, agen, agen! for ever let me hear it.

L. Gal. But did you not indeed? and will you never, never love Mrs. Charlot, never?

Wild. Never, never.

L, Gal. Turn your Face away, and give me leave To hide my rising Blushes: I cannot look on you.

[As this last Speech is speaking, she sinks into his Arms by degrees.

But you must undo me if you will— Since I no other way my Truth can prove, —You shall see I love. Pity my Weakness, and admire my Love.

Wild. All Heaven is mine, I have it in my Arms, Nor can ill Fortune reach me any more. Fate, I defy thee, and dull World, adieu. In Love's kind Fever let me ever lie, Drunk with Desire, and raving mad with Joy.

[Exeunt into the Bed-chamber, Wild. leading her with his Arms about her.

SCENE II. Changes.

Another Room in Lady Galliard's House.

Enter Sir_ Charles Meriwill _and Sir_ Anthony, _Sir_ Charles _drunk_.

Sir Anth. A Dog, a Rogue, to leave her!

Sir Char. Why, look ye, Uncle, what wou'd you have a Man do? I brought her to her Coach—

Sir Anth. To her Coach! to her Coach! Did not I put her into your Hand, follow'd you out, wink'd, smil'd and nodded; cry'd 'bye Charles, 'bye Rogue; which was as much as to say, Go home with her, Charles, home to her Chamber, Charles; nay, as much as to say, Home to her Bed, Charles; nay, as much as to say—Hum, hum, a Rogue, a Dog, and yet to be modest too! That I shou'd bring thee up with no more Fear of God before thy Eyes!

Sir Char. Nay, dear Uncle, don't break my Heart now! Why, I did proffer, and press, and swear, and ly'd, and—but a pox on her, she has the damn'dst wheedling way with her, as dear Charles, nay prithee, fie, 'tis late, to morrow, my Honour, which if you lov'd you wou'd preserve; and such obliging Reasons.

Sir Anth. Reasons! Reason! a Lover, and talk of Reason! You lye, Sirrah, you lye. Leave a Woman for Reason, when you were so finely drunk too, a Rascal!

Sir Char. Why look ye, d'ye see, Uncle, I durst not trust my self alone with her in this pickle, lest I shou'd ha' fallen foul on her.

Sir Anth. Why, there's it; 'tis that you shou'd have done; I am mistaken if she be not one of those Ladies that love to be ravisht of a Kindness. Why, your willing Rape is all the Fashion, Charles.

Sir Char. But hark ye, Uncle.

Sir Anth. Why, how now, Jack-sauce, what, capitulate?

Sir Char. Why, do but hear me, Uncle; Lord, you're so hasty! Why, look ye, I am as ready, d'ye see, as any Man on these Occasions.

Sir Anth. Are you so, Sir? and I'll make you willing, or try Toledo with you, Sir—Why, what, I shall have you whining when you are sober again, traversing your Chamber with Arms across, railing on Love and Women, and at last defeated, turn whipping Tom, to revenge your self on the whole Sex.

Sir Char. My dear Uncle, come kiss me and be friends; I will be rul'd. [Kisses him.

Sir Anth.—A most admirable good-natur'd Boy this! [Aside. Well then, dear Charles, know, I have brought thee now hither to the Widow's House, with a Resolution to have thee order matters so, as before thou quitst her, she shall be thy own, Boy.

Sir Char. Gad, Uncle, thou'rt a Cherubin! Introduce me, d'ye see, and if I do not so woo the Widow, and so do the Widow, that e'er morning she shall be content to take me for better for worse—Renounce me! Egad, I'll make her know the Lord God from Tom Bell, before I have done with her. Nay, backt by my noble Uncle, I'll venture on her, had she all Cupid's Arrows, genus's Beauty, and Messalina's Fire, d'ye see.

Sir Anth. A sweet Boy, a very sweet Boy! Hum, thou art damnable handsome to Night, Charles—Ay, thou wilt do't; I see a kind of resistless Leudness about thee, a most triumphant Impudence, loose and wanton. [Stands looking on him.

Enter Closet.

Clos. Heavens, Gentlemen, what makes you here at this time of Night?

Sir Char. Where's your Lady?

Clos. Softly, dear Sir.

Sir Char. Why, is she asleep? Come, come, I'll wake her. [Offers to force in as to the Bed-chamber.

Clos. Hold, hold, Sir; No, no, she's a little busy, Sir.

Sir Char. I'll have no Business done to Night, Sweetheart.

Clos. Hold, hold, I beseech you, Sir, her Mother's with her; For Heaven's sake, Sir, be gone.

Sir Char. I'll not budge.

Sir Anth. No, not a Foot.

Clos. The City you know, Sir, is so censorious—

Sir Char. Damn the City.

Sir Anth. All the Whigs, Charles, all the Whigs.

Sir Char. In short, I am resolv'd, d'ye see, to go to the Widow's Chamber.

Sir Anth. Harkye, Mrs. Closet I thought I had entirely engag'd you this Evening.

Clos. I am perfectly yours, Sir; but how it happens so, her Mother being there—Yet if you wou'd withdraw for half an hour, into my Chamber, till she were gone—

Sir Anth. This is the Reason, Charles. Here, here's two Pieces to buy thee a Gorget. [Gives her Money.

Sir Char. And here's my two, because thou art industrious. [Gives her Money, and they go out with her.

Enter Lady Galliard in rage, held by Wilding.

L. Gal. What have I done? Ah, whither shall I fly? [Weeps.

Wild. Why all these Tears? Ah, why this cruel Passion?

L. Gal. Undone, undone! Unhand me, false, forsworn; Be gone, and let me rage till I am dead. What shou'd I do with guilty Life about me?

Wild. Why, where's the harm of what we two have done?

L. Gal. Ah, leave me— Leave me alone to sigh to flying Winds, That the Infection may be borne aloft, And reach no human Ear.

Wild. Cease, lovely Charmer, cease to wound me more.

L. Gal. Shall I survive this Shame? No, if I do, Eternal Blushes dwell upon my Cheeks, To tell the World my Crime. —Mischief and Hell, what Devil did possess me?

Wild. It was no Devil, but a Deity; A little gay wing'd God, harmless and innocent, Young as Desire, wanton as Summer-breezes, Soft as thy Smiles, resistless as thy Eyes.

L. Gal. Ah, what malicious God, Sworn Enemy to feeble Womankind, Taught thee the Art of Conquest with thy Tongue? Thy false deluding Eyes were surely made Of Stars that rule our Sex's Destiny: And all thy Charms were by Inchantment wrought, That first undo the heedless Gazers on, Then shew their natural Deformity.

Wild. Ah, my Galliard, am I grown ugly then? Has my increase of Passion lessen'd yours? [In a soft Tone.

L. Gal. Peace, Tempter, Peace, who artfully betrayest me, And then upbraidest the Wretchedness thou'st made. —Ah, Fool, eternal Fool! to know my Danger, Yet venture on so evident a Ruin.

Wild. Say,—what one Grace is faded? Is not thy Face as fair, thy Eyes as killing? By Heaven, much more! This charming change of Looks Raises my Flame, and makes me wish t'invoke The harmless God again. [Embraces her.

L. Gal. By Heaven, not all thy Art Shall draw me to the tempting Sin again.

Wild. Oh, I must, or die.

L. Gal. By all the Powers, by—

Wild. Oh, do not swear, lest Love shou'd take it ill That Honour shou'd pretend to give him Laws, And make an Oath more powerful than his Godhead. —Say that you will half a long Hour hence—

L. Gal. Hah!

Wild. Or say a tedious Hour.

L. Gal. Death, never—

Wild. Or if you—promise me then to morrow.

L. Gal. No, hear my Vows.

Wild. Hold, see me die; if you resolve 'em fatal to my Love, by Heaven I'll do't. [Lays his Hand on his Sword.

L. Gal. Ah, what—

Wild. Revoke that fatal Never then.

L. Gal. I dare not.

Wild. Oh, say you will.

L. Gal. Alas, I dare not utter it.

Wild. Let's in, and thou shalt whisper it into my Bosom; Or sighing, look it to me with thy Eyes.

L. Gal. Ah, Wilding— [Sighs.

Wild. It toucht my Soul! Repeat that Sigh again.

L. Gal. Ah, I confess I am but feeble Woman. [Leans on him.

Sir Char. Good Mistress Keep-door, stand by: for I must enter. [Sir Char. without.

L. Gal. Hah, young Meriwill's Voice!

Clos. Pray, Sir Charles, let me go and give my Lady notice. [She enters and goes to Wild. —For Heaven's sake, Sir, withdraw, or my Lady's Honour's lost.

Wild. What will you have me do? [To Galliard.

L. Gal. Be gone, or you will ruin me for ever. [In disorder.

Wild. Nay, then I will obey.

L. Gal. Here, down the back-stairs— As you have Honour, go and cherish mine. [Pulling him. He goes out. —He's gone, and now nethinks the shivering Fit of Honour is return'd.

Enter Sir Charles, rudely pushing Closet aside with Sir Anthony.

Sir. Char. Deny'd an entrance! nay, then there is a Rival in the Case, or so; and I'm resolv'd to discover the Hellish Plot, d'ye see.

[Just as he enters drunk at one Door, Wild. returns at the other.

L. Gal. Ha, Wilding return'd! Shield me, ye Shades of Night. [Puts out the Candles, and goes to Wild.

Wild. The Back-Stairs Door is lockt.

L. Gal. Oh, I am lost! curse on this fatal Night! Art thou resolv'd on my undoing every way.

Clos. Nay, now we're by dark, let me alone to guide you. Sir. [To Wild.

Sir Char. What, what, all in darkness? Do you make Love like Cats, by Star-light? [Reeling about.

L. Gal. Ah, he knows he's here!—Oh, what a pain is Guilt! [Aside.

Wild. I wou'd not be surpriz'd.

[As Closet takes him to lead him out, he takes out his Sword, and by dark pushes by Sir Charles, and almost overthrows Sir Anth. at which they both draw, whilst he goes out with Closet.

Sir Char. Hah, Gad, 'twas a Spark!—What, vanisht! hah—

Sir Anth. Nay, nay, Sir, I am for ye.

Sir Char. Are you so, Sir? and I am for the Widow, Sir, and—

[Just as they are passing at each other, Closet enters with a Candle.

Hah, why, what have we here?—my nown Flesh and Blood? [Embracing his Uncle.

Sir Anth. Cry mercy, Sir! Pray, how fell we out?

Sir Char. Out, Sir! Prithee where's my Rival? where's the Spark, the— Gad, I took thee for an errant Rival: Where is he? [Searching about.

L. Gal. Whom seek ye, Sir, a Man, and in my Lodgings? [Angrily.

Clos. A Man! Merciful, what will this scandalous lying World come to? Here's no Man.

Sir Char. Away, I say, thou damn'd Domestick Intelligence, that comest out every half hour with some fresh Sham—No Man!—What, 'twas an Appointment only, hum,—which I shall now make bold to unappoint, render null, void, and of none effect. And if I find him here, [Searches about.] I shall very civilly and accidentally, as it were, being in perfect friendship with him—pray, mark that—run him through the Lungs.

L. Gal. Oh, whata Coward's Guilt! what mean you, Sir?

Sir Char. Mean? why I am obstinately bent to ravish thee, thou hypocritical Widow, make thee mine by force, that so I have no obligation to thee, and consequently use thee scurvily with a good Conscience.

Sir Anth. A most delicate Boy! I'll warrant him as lend as the best of'em, God grant him Life and Health. [Aside.

L. Gal. 'Tis late, and I entreat your absence, Sir: These are my Hours of Prayer, which this unseasonable Visit has disturb'd.

Sir Char. Prayer! No more of that, Sweetheart; for let me tell you, your Prayers are heard. A Widow of your Youth and Complexion can be praying for nothing so late, but a good Husband; and see, Heaven has sent him just in the crit—critical minute, to supply your Occasions.

Sir Anth. A Wag, an arch Wag; he'll learn to make Lampoons presently. I'll not give Sixpence from him, though to the poor of the Parish.

Sir Char. Come, Widow, let's to Bed. [Pulls her, she is angry.

L. Gal. Hold, Sir, you drive the Jest too far; And I am in no humour now for Mirth.

Sir Char. Jest: Gad, ye lye, I was never in more earnest in all my Life.

Sir Anth. He's in a heavenly humour, thanks to good Wine, good Counsel, and good Company. [Getting nearer the Door still.

L. Gal. What mean you, Sir? what can my Woman think to see me treated thus?

Sir Char. Well thought on! Nay, we'll do things decently, d'ye see— Therefore, thou sometimes necessary Utensil, withdraw. [Gives her to Sir Anth.

Sir Anth. Ay, ay, let me alone to teach her her Duty. [Pushes her out, and goes out.

L. Gal. Stay, Closet, I command ye. —What have you seen in me shou'd move you to this rudeness? [To Sir Char.

Sir Char. No frowning; for by this dear Night, 'tis Charity, care of your Reputation, Widow; and therefore I am resolv'd no body shall lie with you but my self. You have dangerous Wasps buzzing about your Hive, Widow—mark that—[She flings from him.] Nay, no parting but upon terms, which, in short, d'ye see, are these: Down on your Knees, and swear me heartily, as Gad shall judge your Soul, d'ye see, to marry me to morrow.

L. Gal. To morrow! Oh, I have urgent business then.

Sir Char. So have I. Nay, Gad, an you be for the nearest way to the Wood, the sober discreet way of loving, I am sorry for ye, look ye. [He begins to undress.

L. Gal. Hold, Sir, what mean you?

Sir Char. Only to go to Bed, that's all. [Still undressing.

L. Gal. Hold, hold, or I'll call out.

Sir Char. Ay, do, call up a Jury of your Female Neighbours, they'll be for me, d'ye see, bring in the Bill Ignoramus, though I am no very true blue Protestant neither; therefore dispatch, or—

L. Gal. Hold, are you mad? I cannot promise you to night.

Sir Char. Well, well, I'll be content with Performance then to night, and trust you for your Promise till to morrow.

Sir Anth. [peeping.] Ah, Rogue! by George, he out-does my Expectations of him.

L. Gal. What Imposition's this! I'll call for help.

Sir. Char. You need not, you'll do my business better alone. [Pulls her.

L. Gal. What shall I do? how shall I send him hence? [Aside.

Sir Anth. He shall ne'er drink small Beer more, that's positive; I'll burn all's Books too, they have help'd to spoil him; and sick or well, sound or unsound, Drinking shall be his Diet, and Whoring his Study. [Aside, peeping unseen.

Sir Char. Come, come, no pausing; your Promise, or I'll to Bed.

[Offers to pull off his Breeches, having pulled off almost all the rest of his Clothes.

L. Gal. What shall I do? here is no Witness near: And to be rid of him I'll promise him; he'll have forgot it in his sober Passion. [Aside. Hold, I do swear I will— [He fumbling to undo his Breeches.

Sir Char. What?

L. Gal. Marry you.

Sir Char. When?

L. Gal. Nay, that's too much—Hold, hold, I will to morrow—Now you are satisfy'd, you will withdraw?

Enter Sir Anth. and Closet.

Sir Anth. Charles, Joy, Charles, give you Joy, here's two substantial Witnesses.

Clos. I deny it, Sir; I heard no such thing.

Sir Anth. What, what, Mrs. Closet, a Waiting-woman of Honour, and flinch from her Evidence! Gad, I'll damn thy Soul if thou dar'st swear what thou say'st.

L. Gal. How, upon the Catch, Sir! am I betray'd? Base and unkind, is this your humble Love? Is all your whining come to this, false Man? By Heaven, I'll be reveng'd. [She goes out in a Rage with Closet.

Sir Char. Nay, Gad, you're caught, struggle and flounder as you please, Sweetheart, you'll but intangle more; let me alone to tickle your Gills, i'faith. [Looking after her.—Uncle, get ye home about your Business; I hope you'll give me the good morrow, as becomes me—I say no more, a Word to the Wise—

Sir Anth. By George, thou'rt a brave Fellow; why, I did not think it had been in thee, Man. Well, adieu; I'll give thee such a good morrow, Charles—the Devil's in him!—'Bye, Charles—a plaguy Rogue!—'night, Boy—a divine Youth!

[Going and returning, as not able to leave him. Exit.

Sir Char. Gad, I'll not leave her now, till she is mine; Then keep her so by constant Consummation. Let Man o' God do his, I'll do my Part, In spite of all her Fickleness and Art; There's one sure way to fix a Widow's Heart.

[Exit.



ACT V.

SCENE I. Sir Timothy's House.

Enter Dresswell, Foppington, Laboir, and five or six more disguised with Wizards and dark Lanthorns.

Fop. Not yet! a plague of this damn'd Widow: The Devil ow'd him an unlucky Cast, and has thrown it him to night.

Enter Wild, in Rapture and Joy.

—Hah, dear Tom, art thou come?

Wild. I saw how at her length she lay! I saw her rising Bosom bare!

Fop. A Pox of her rising Bosom! My dear, let's dress and about our Business.

Wild. Her loose thin Robes, through which appear A Shape design'd for Love and Play!

Dres. Sheart, Sir, is this a time for Rapture? 'tis almost day.

Wild. Ah, Frank, such a dear Night!

Dress. A Pox of Nights, Sir, think of this and the Day to come: which I perceive you were too well employ'd to remember.

Wild. The Day to come! Death, who cou'd be so dull in such dear Joys, To think of Time to come, or ought beyond 'em! And had I not been interrupted by Charles Meriwill, who, getting drunk, had Courage enough to venture on an untimely Visit, I'd had no more power of returning, than committing Treason: But that conjugal Lover, who will needs be my Cuckold, made me then give him way, that he might give it me another time, and so unseen I got off. But come—my Disguise. [Dresses.

Dres. All's still and hush, as if Nature meant to favour our Design.

Wild. 'Tis well: and hark ye, my Friends, I'll prescribe ye no Bounds, nor Moderation; for I have consider'd, if we modestly take nothing but the Writings,'twill be easy to suspect the Thief.

Fop. Right; and since 'tis for the securing our Necks, 'tis lawful Prize—Sirrah, leave the Portmantle here. [Exeunt as into the House.

After a small time, Enter Jervice undres'd, crying out, pursued by some of the Thieves.

Jer. Murder, Murder! Thieves, Murder!

Enter Wilding with his Sword drawn.

Wild. A plague upon his Throat; set a Gag in's Mouth and bind him, though he be my Uncle's chief Pimp—so—

[They bind and gag him. Enter Dresswell, and Laboir.

Dres. Well, we have bound all within hearing in their Beds, e'er they cou'd alarm their Fellows by crying out.

Wild. 'Tis well; come, follow me, like a kind Midnight-Ghost, I will conduct ye to the rich buried Heaps—this Door leads to my Uncle's Apartment; I know each secret Nook conscious of Treasure.

[All go in, leaving Jervice bound on the Stage.

Enter Sensure running half undressed, as from Sir Timothy's Chamber, with his Velvet-Coat on her Shoulders.

Sen. Help, help! Murder! Murder! [Dres. Lab. and others pursue her.

Dres. What have we here, a Female bolted from Mr. Alderman's Bed? [Holding a Lanthorn to his Face.

Sen. Ah, mercy, Sir, alas, I am a Virgin.

Dres. A Virgin! Gad and that may be, for any great Miracles the old Gentleman can do.

Sen. Do! alas, Sir, I am none of the Wicked.

Dres. That's well—The sanctify'd Jilt professes Innocence, yet has the Badge of her Occupation about her Neck. [Pulls off the Coat.

Sen. Ah, Misfortune, I have mistook his Worship's Coat for my Gown. [A little Book drops out of her Bosom.

Dres. What have we here? A Sermon preacht by Richard Baxter, Divine. Gad a mercy, Sweetheart, thou art a hopeful Member of the true Protestant Cause.

Sen. Alack, how the Saints may be scandaliz'd! I went but to tuck his Worship up.

Dres. And comment upon the Text a little, which I suppose may be, increase and multiply—Here, gag, and bind her. [Exit Dres.

Sen. Hold, hold, I am with Child!

Lab. Then you'll go near to miscarry of a Babe of Grace.

Enter Wild. Fop. and others, leading in Sir Timothy in his Night-gown and Night-Gap.

Sir Tim. Gentlemen, why, Gentlemen, I beseech you use a Conscience in what you do, and have a feeling in what you go about—Pity my Age.

Wild. Damn'd beggarly Conscience, and needless Pity—

Sir Tim. Oh, fearful—But, Gentlemen, what is't you design? is it a general Massacre, pray? or am I the only Person aim'd at as a Sacrifice for the Nation? I know, and all the World knows, how many Plots have been laid against my self, both by Men, Women, and Children, the diabolical Emissaries of the Pope.

Wild. How, Sirrah! [Fiercely, he starts.

Sir Tim. Nay, Gentlemen, not but I love and honour his Holiness with all my Soul; and if his Grace did but know what I've done for him, d'ye see—

Fop. You done for the Pope, Sirrah! Why, what have you done for the Pope?

Sir Tim. Why, Sir, an't like ye, I have done you very great Service, very great Service; for I have been, d'ye see, in a small Tryal I had, the cause and occasion of invalidating the Evidence to that degree, that I suppose no Jury in Christendom will ever have the Impudence to believe 'em hereafter, shou'd they swear against his Holiness and all the Conclave of Cardinals.

Wild. And yet you plot on still, cabal, treat, and keep open Debauch, for all the Renegado-Tories and old Commonwealthsmen to carry on the good Cause.

Sir Tim. Alas, what signifies that! You know, Gentlemen, that I have such a strange and natural Agility in turning—I shall whip about yet, and leave 'em all in the Lurch.

Wild. 'Tis very likely; but at this time we shall not take your Word for that.

Sir Tim. Bloody-minded Men, are you resolv'd to assassinate me then?

Wild. You trifle, Sir, and know our Business better, than to think we come to take your Life, which wou'd not advantage a Dog, much less any Party or Person—Come, come, your Keys, your Keys.

Fop. Ay, ay, discover, discover your Money, Sir, your ready—

Sir Tim. Money, Sir, good lack, is that all? [Smiling on 'em.] Why, what a Beast was I, not knowing of your coming, to put out all my Money last Week to Alderman Draw-tooth? Alack, alack, what shift shall I make now to accommodate you?—But if you please to come again to morrow—

Fop. A shamming Rogue; the right Sneer and Grin of a dissembling Whig. Come, come, deliver, Sir; we are for no Rhetorick but ready Money. [Aloud and threatning.

Sir Tim. Hold, I beseech you, Gentlemen, not so loud; for there is a Lord, a most considerable Person, and a Stranger, honours my House to night; I wou'd not for the world his Lordship shou'd be disturb'd.

Wild. Take no care for him, he's fast bound and all his Retinue.

Sir Tim. How, bound! my Lord bound, and all his People! Undone, undone, disgrac'd! What will the Polanders say, that I shou'd expose their Embassador to this Disrespect and Affront?

Wild. Bind him, and take away his Keys.

[They bind him hand and foot, and take his Keys out of his Bosom. Ex. all.

Sir Tim. Ay, ay, what you please, Gentlemen, since my Lord's bound—Oh, what Recompence can I make for so unhospitable Usage? I am a most unfortunate Magistrate: hah, who's there, Jervice? Alas, art thou here too? What, canst not speak? but 'tis no matter and I were dumb too; for what Speech or Harangue will serve to beg my Pardon of my Lord?—And then my Heiress, Jervice, ay, my rich Heiress, why, she'll be ravisht: Oh Heavens, ravisht! The young Rogues will have no Mercy, Jervice; nay, perhaps as thou say'st, they'll carry her away.—Oh, that thought! Gad, I rather the City-Charter were lost. [Enter some with Bags of Money. —Why, Gentlemen, rob like Christians, Gentlemen.

Fop. What, do you mutter, Dog?

Sir Tim. Not in the least, Sir, not in the least; only a Conscience, Sir, in all things does well—Barbarous Rogues. [They go out all again.] Here's your arbitrary Power, Jervice; here's the Rule of the Sword now for you: These are your Tory Rogues, your tantivy Roysters; but we shall cry quits with you, Rascals, ere long; and if we do come to our old Trade of Plunder and Sequestration, we shall so handle ye—we'll spare neither Prince, Peer, nor Prelate. Oh, I long to have a slice at your fat Church-men, your Crape-Gownorums.

Enter Wild. Dresswell, Laboir, and the rest, with more Bags.

Wild. A Prize, a Prize, my Lads, in ready Guineas; Contribution, my beloved.

Dres. Nay, then 'tis lawful Prize, in spite of Ignoramus and all his Tribe—What hast thou here? [To Fop. who enters with a Bag full of Papers.

Fop. A whole Bag of Knavery, damn'd Sedition, Libels, Treason, Successions, Rights and Privileges, with a new-fashion'd Oath of Abjuration, call'd the Association.—Ah, Rogue, what will you say when these shall be made publick?

Sir Tim. Say, Sir? why, I'll deny it, Sir; for what Jury will believe so wise a Magistrate as I cou'd communicate such Secrets to such as you? I'll say you forg'd 'em, and put 'em in—or print every one of 'em, and own 'em, as long as they were writ and publisht in London, Sir. Come, come, the World is not so bad yet, but a Man may speak Treason within the Walls of London, thanks be to God, and honest conscientious Jury-Men. And as for the Money, Gentlemen, take notice you rob the Party.

Wild. Come, come, carry off the Booty, and prithee remove that Rubbish of the Nation out of the way—Your servant, Sir.—So, away with it to Dresswell's Lodgings, his Coach is at the Door ready to receive it.

[They carry off Sir Timothy, and others take up the Bags, and go out with 'em.

Dres. Well, you are sure you have all you came for?

Wild. All's safe, my Lads, the Writings all—

Fop. Come, let's away then.

Wild. Away? what meanest thou? is there not a Lord to be found bound in his Bed, and all his People? Come, come, dispatch, and each Man bind his Fellow.

Fop. We had better follow the Baggage, Captain.

Wild. No, we have not done so ill, but we dare shew our Faces. Come, come, to binding.

Fop. And who shall bind the last Man?

Wild. Honest Laboir, d'ye hear, Sirrah? you get drunk and lay in your Clothes under the Hall-Table; d'ye hear me? Look to't, ye Rascal, and carry things discreetly, or you'll be hang'd, that's certain. [Ex. Wild, and Dres.

Fop. So, now will I i'th' Morning to Charlot, and give her such a Character of her Love, as if she have Resentment, makes her mine. [Exit Fop.

Sir Tim. [calls within.] Ho, Jenkins, Roger, Simon! Where are these Rogues? none left alive to come to my Assistance? So ho, ho, ho, ho! Rascals, Sluggards, Drones! so ho, ho, ho!

Lab. So, now's my Cue—and stay, I am not yet sober. [Puts himself into a drunken Posture.

Sir Tim. Dogs, Rogues, none hear me? Fire, fire, fire!

Lab. Water, water, I say; for I am damnable dry.

Sir Tim. Hah, who's there?

Lab. What doleful Voice is that?

Sir Tim. What art thou, Friend or Foe? [In a doleful Tone.

Lab. Very direful—why, what the Devil art thou?

Sir Tim. If thou'rt a Friend, approach, approach the wretched.

Lab. Wretched! What art thou, Ghost, Hobgoblin, or walking Spirit? [Reeling in with a Lanthorn in's Hand.

Sir Tim. Oh, neither, neither, but mere Mortal, Sir Timothy Treat-all, robb'd and bound. [Coming out led by Laboir.

Lab. How, our generous Host!

Sir Tim. How, one of my Lord's Servants! Alas, alas, how cam'st thou to escape?

Lab. E'en by miracle, Sir; by being drunk, and falling asleep under the Hall-Table with your Worship's Dog Tory, till just now a Dream of Small-beer wak'd me: and crawling from my Kennel to secure the black Jack, I stumbled upon this Lanthorn, which I took for one, till I found a Candle in't, which helps me to serve your Worship. [Goes to unbind his Hands.

Sir Tim. Hold, hold, I say; for I scorn to be so uncivil to be unbound before his Lordship: therefore run, Friend, to his Honour's Chamber, for he, alas, is confined too.

Lab. What, and leave his worthy Friend in distress? by no means, Sir.

Sir Tim. Well then, come, let's to my Lord, whom if I be not asham'd to look in the Face, I am an errant Sarazen.

[Exit Sir Tim. and Lab.

SCENE II. Changes to Wilding's Chamber.

He is discovered sitting in a Chair bound, his Valet bound by him; to them Sir Timothy and Laboir.

Wild. Peace, Sirrah, for sure I hear some coming—Villains, Rogues! I care not for my self, but for the good pious Alderman. [Sir Tim. as listening.

Sir Tim. Wonderful Goodness, for me! Alas, my Lord, this sight will break my Heart. [Weeps.

Wild. Sir Timothy safe! nay, then I do forgive 'em.

Sir Tim. Alas, my Lord, I've heard of your rigid Fate.

Wild. It is my Custom, Sir, to pray an Hour or two in my Chamber, before I go to Bed; and having pray'd that drousy Slave asleep, the Thieves broke in upon us unawares, I having laid my Sword aside.

Sir Tim. Oh, Heavens, at his Prayers! damn'd Ruffians, and wou'd they not stay till you had said your Prayers?

Wild. By no Persuasion—Can you not guess who they shou'd be, Sir?

Sir Tim. Oh, some damn'd Tory-rory Rogues, you may be sure, to rob a Man at his Prayers! why, what will this World come to?

Wild. Let us not talk, Sir, but pursue 'em. [Offering to go.

Sir Tim. Pursue 'em! alas, they're past our reach by this time.

Wild. Oh, Sir, they are nearer than you imagine: some that know each Corner of your House, I'll warrant.

Sir Tim. Think ye so, my Lord? ay, this comes of keeping open House; which makes so many shut up their Doors at Dinner-time.

Enter Dresswell.

Dres. Good Morrow, Gentlemen! what, was the Devil broke loose to night?

Sir Tim. Only some of his Imps, Sir, saucy Varlets, insupportable Rascals—But well, my Lord, now I have seen your Lordship at liberty, I'll leave you to your rest, and go see what Harm this night's Work has done.

Wild. I have a little Business, Sir, and will take this time to dispatch it in; my Servants shall to Bed, though 'tis already day—I'll wait on you at Dinner.

Sir Tim. Your time; my House and all I have is yours; and so I take my Leave of your Lordship. [Ex. Sir Tim.

Wild. Now for my angry Maid, the young Charlot; 'Twill be a Task to soften her to Peace; She is all new and gay, young as the Morn, Blushing as tender Rose-Buds on their Stalks, Pregnant with Sweets, for the next Sun to ravish. —Come, thou shalt along with me, I'll trust thy Friendship.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. Changes to Diana's Chamber.

She is discovered dressing, with Betty.

Dia. Methinks I'm up as early as if I had a mind to what I'm going to do, marry this rich old Coxcomb.

Bet. And you do well to lose no time.

Dia. Ah, Betty, and cou'd thy Prudence prefer an old Husband, because rich, before so young, so handsom, and so soft a Lover as Wilding?

Bet. I know not that, Madam; but I verily believe the way to keep your young Lover, is to marry this old one: for what Youth and Beauty cannot purchase, oney and Quality may.

Dia. Ay, but to be oblig'd to lie with such a Beast; ay, there's the Devil, Betty. Ah, when I find the difference of their Embraces, The soft dear Arms of Wilding round my Neck. From those cold feeble ones of this old Dotard; When I shall meet, instead of Tom's warm kisses, A hollow Pair of thin blue wither'd Lips, Trembling with Palsy, stinking with Disease, By Age and Nature barricado'd up With a kind Nose and Chin; What Fancy or what Thought can make my Hours supportable?

Bet. What? why six thousand Pounds a Year, Mistress. He'll quickly die, and leave you rich, and then do what you please.

Dia. Die! no, he's too temperate—Sure these Whigs, Betty, believe there's no Heaven, they take such care to live so long in this World—No, he'll out-live me. [Sighs.

Bet. In Grace a God he may be hang'd first, Mistress—Ha, one knocks, and I believe 'tis he. [She goes to open the Door.

Dia. I cannot bring my Heart to like this Business; One sight of my dear Tom wou'd turn the Scale.

Bet. Who's there?

Enter Sir Tim. joyful; Dian. walks away.

Sir Tim. 'Tis I, impatient I, who with the Sun have welcom'd in the Day; This happy Day to be inroll'd In Rubrick Letters and in Gold. —Hum, I am profoundly eloquent this Morning. [Aside. —Fair Excellence, I approach— [Going toward her.

Dia. Like Physick in a Morning next one's Heart; [Aside. Which, though it be necessary, is most filthy loathsom. [Going from him.

Sir Tim. What, do you turn away, bright Sun of Beauty? —Hum, I'm much upon the Suns and Days this Morning.

Dia. It will not down. [Turning on him, looks on him, and turns away.

Sir Tim. Alas, ye Gods, am I despis'd and scorn'd? Did I for this ponder upon the Question, Whether I should be King or Alderman? [Heroickly.

Dia. If I must marry him, give him Patience to endure the Cuckolding, good Heaven. [Aside.

Sir Tim. Heaven! did she name Heaven, Betty?

Bet. I think she did, Sir.

Sir Tim. I do not like that: What need has she to think of Heaven upon her Wedding-day?

Dia. Marriage is a sort of Hanging, Sir; and I was only making a short Prayer before Execution.

Sir Tim. Oh, is that all? Come, come, we'll let that alone till we're abed, that we have nothing else to do. [Takes her Hand.

Dia. Not much, I dare swear.

Sir Tim. And let us, Fair one, haste; the Parson stays; besides, that heap of Scandal may prevent us—I mean, my Nephew.

Dia. A Pox upon him now for naming Wilding. [Weeps.

Sir Tim. How, weep at naming my ungracious Nephew? Nay, then I am provok'd—Look on this Head, this wise and Reverend Head; I'd have ye know, it has been taken measure on to fit it to a Crown, d'ye see.

Dia. A Halter rather. [Aside.

Sir Tim. Ay, and it fits it too: and am I slighted, I that shall receive Billet-Doux from Infanta's? 'tis most uncivil and impolitick.

Dia. I hope he's mad, and then I reign alone. [Aside. Pardon me, Sir, that parting Tear I shed indeed at naming Wilding, Of whom my foolish Heart has now ta'en leave, And from this Moment is intirely yours.

[Gives him her Hand, they go out followed by Betty.

SCENE IV. Changes to a Street.

Enter Charlot, led by Foppington, follow'd by Mrs. Clacket.

Char. Stay, my Heart misgives me, I shall be undone. —Ah, whither was I going? [Pulls her Hand from Fop.

Fop. Do, stay till the News arrives that he is married to her that had his Company to night, my Lady Galliard.

Char. Oh! Take heed lest you sin doubly, Sir.

Fop. By Heaven, 'tis true, he past the Night with her.

Char. All night! what cou'd they find to do?

Mrs. Clack. A very proper Question; I'll warrant you they were not idle, Madam.

Char. Oh, no; they lookt and lov'd and vow'd and lov'd, and swore eternal Friendship—Haste, haste, and lead me to the Church, the Altar; I'll put it past my Power to love him more.

Fop. Oh, how you charm me! [Takes her by the Hand.

Char. Yet what art thou? a Stranger to my Heart. Wherefore, ah why, on what occasion shou'd I?

Mrs. Clack. Acquaintance, 'tis enough, I know him, Madam, and I hope my Word will be taken for a greater matter in the City: In troth you're beholden to the Gentleman for marrying you, your Reputation's gone.

Char. How, am I not honest then?

Mrs. Clack. Marry, Heaven forbid! But who that knows you have been a single Hour in Wilding's Hands, wou'd not swear you have lost your Maidenhead? And back again I'm sure you dare not go unmarried; that wou'd be a fine History to be sung to your eternal Fame in a Ballad.

Fop. Right; and you see Wilding has left you for the Widow, to whom perhaps you'll shortly hear he's married.

Char. Oh, you trifle, Sir; lead on.

[They going out, meet Sir Anthony with Musick: they return.

Sir Anth. Come, come, Gentlemen, this is the House, and this the Window belonging to my Lady's Bed-chamber: Come, come, let's have some neat, soft, brisk, languishing, sprightly Air now.

Fop. Old Meriwill—how shall I pass by him! [Stand by.

Sir Anth. So, here's Company too; 'tis very well—Not have the Boy? I'll warrant this does the Business—Come, come, screw up your Chitterling. [They play. —Hold, hold a little—Good morrow, my Lady Galliard. —Give your Ladyship Joy.

Char. What do I hear, my Lady Galliard joy'd?

Fop. How, married her already?

Char. Oh, yes, he has. Lovely and false, hast thou deceiv'd my Faith?

Mrs. Clack. Oh, Heavens, Mr. Foppington, she faints.—ah me!

[They hold her, Musick plays. Enter Wilding and Dresswell, disguis'd as before.

Wild. Ah, Musick at Galliard's Door!

Sir Anth. Good morrow, Sir Charles Meriwill: give your Worship and your fair Lady Joy.

Wild. Hah, Meriwill married the Widow!

Dres. No matter; prithee advance, and mind thy own Affairs.

Wild. Advance, and not inquire the meaning on't! Bid me not eat, when Appetite invites me; Not draw, when branded with the Name of Coward; Nor love, when Youth and Beauty meet my Eyes— Hah!— [Sees Sir Charles come into the Balcony undrest.

Sir Char. Good morrow, Uncle. Gentlemen, I thank ye: Here, drink the King's Health, with my Royal Master's the Duke. [Gives 'em Money.

Fid. Heaven bless your Honour, and your virtuous Bride.

Fop. Wilding! undone. [Shelters Charlot, that she may not see Wilding.

Wild. Death and the Devil, Meriwill above!

Sir Anth. Ah, the Boy's Rival here! By George, here may be breathing this Morning—No matter, here's two to two; come, Gentlemen, you must in. [Thrusts the Musick in, and goes in.

Dres. Is't not what you expected? nay, what you wisht?

Wild. What then? it comes too suddenly upon me— E'er my last Kiss was cold upon her Lips, Before the pantings of her Breast were laid, Rais'd by her joys with me; Oh, damn'd deluding Woman!

Dres. Be wise, and do not ruin where you love.

Wild. Nay, if thou com'st to reasoning, thou hast lost me. [Breaks from him, and runs in.

Char. I say 'twas Wilding's Voice, and I will follow it.

Fop. How, Madam, wou'd you after him?

Char. Nay, force me not; by Heaven, I'll cry a Rape, Unless you let me go—Not after him! Yes, to the infernal Shades—Unhand me, Sir.

Fop. How, Madam, have you then design'd my Ruin?

Char. Oh, trust me, Sir, I am a Maid of Honour. [Runs in after Wild.

Mrs. Clack. So; a Murrain of your Projects, we're all undone now: For my part I'll e'en after her, and deny to have any hand in the Business. [Goes in.

Fop. Damn all ill Luck, was ever Man thus Fortune-bit, that he shou'd cross my Hopes just in the nick? But shall I lose her thus? No, Gad, I'll after her; and come the worst, I have an Impudence shall out-face a Middlesex Jury, and out-swear a Discoverer. [Goes in.

SCENE V. Changes to a Chamber.

Enter Lady Galliard, pursued by Sir Charles, and Footman.

L. Gal. Sirrah, run to my Lord Mayor's, and require some of his Officers to assist me instantly; and d'ye hear, Rascal, bar up my Doors, and let none of his mad Crew enter. [To the Footman who is going.

Sir Char. William, you may stay, William.

L. Gal. I say, obey me, Sirrah.

Sir Char. Sirrah, I say—know your Lord and Master.

Will. I shall, Sir. [Goes out.

L. Gal. Was ever Woman teaz'd thus? pursue me not.

Sir Char. You are mistaken, I'm disobedient grown, Since we became one Family; and when I've us'd you thus a Week or two, you will Grow weary of this peevish fooling.

L. Gal. Malicious thing, I wo'not, I am resolv'd I'll tire thee out merely in spite, to have the better of thee.

Sir Char. I'm as resolv'd as you, and do your worst, For I'm resolv'd never to quit thy House.

L. Gal. But, Malice, there are Officers i'th' City, that will not see me us'd thus, and will be here anon.

Sir Char. Magistrates! why, they shall be welcome, if they be honest and loyal; if not, they may be hang'd in Heaven's good time.

L. Gal. Are you resolv'd to be thus obstinate? Fully resolv'd to make this way your Conquest?

Sir Char. Most certainly, I'll keep you honest to your Word, my Dear— I've Witness—

L. Gal. You will?

Sir Char. You'll find it so.

L. Gal. Then know, if thou darest marry me, I will so plague thee, be so reveng'd for all those Tricks thou hast play'd me— Dost thou not dread the Vengeance Wives can take?

Sir Char. Not at all: I'll trust thy Stock of Beauty with thy Wit.

L. Gal. Death, I will cuckold thee.

Sir Char. Why, then I shall be free o'th' Reverend City.

L. Gal. Then I will game without cessation, till I've undone thee.

Sir Char. Do, that all the Fops of empty Heads and Pockets may know where to be sure of a Cully; and may they rook ye till ye lose, and fret, and chafe, and rail those youthful Eyes to sinking; watch your fair Face to pale and withered Leanness.

L. Gal. Then I will never let thee bed with me, but when I please.

Sir Char. For that, see who'll petition first, and then I'll change for new ones every Night.

Enter William.

Will. Madam, here's Mr. Wilding at the Door, and will not be deny'd seeing you.

L. Gal. Hah, Wilding! Oh, my eternal Shame! Now thou hast done thy worst.

Sir Char. Now for a Struggle 'twixt your Love and Honour! —Yes, here's the Bar to all my Happiness, You wou'd be left to the wide World and Love, To Infamy, to Scandal, and to Wilding; But I have too much Honour in my Passion, To let you loose to ruin: Consider and be wise.

L. Gal. Oh, he has toucht my Heart too sensibly. [Aside.

Sir Anth. [within.] As far as good Manners goes I'm yours; But when you press indecently to Ladies Chambers, civil Questions ought to askt, I take it, Sir.

L. Gal. To find him here, will make him mad with Jealousy, and in the Fit he'll utter all he knows: Oh, Guilt, what art thou! [Aside.

Enter Sir Anth. Wild, and Dres.

Dres. Prithee, dear Wilding, moderate thy Passion.

Wild. By Heaven, I will; she shall not have the Pleasure to see I am concern'd—Morrow, Widow; you are early up, you mean to thrive, I see, you're like a Mill that grinds with every Wind.

Sir Char. Hah, Wilding, this that past last Night at Sir Timothy's for a Man of Quality? Oh, give him way, Wilding's my Friend, my Dear, and now I'm sure I have the Advantage of him in my Love. I can forgive a hasty Word or two.

Wild. I thank thee, Charles—what, you are married then?

L. Gal. I hope you've no Exception to my Choice. [Scornfully.

Wild. False Woman, dost thou glory in thy Perfidy? [To her aside angrily. —Yes, Faith, I've many Exceptions to him— [Aloud. Had you lov'd me, you'd pitcht upon a Blockhead, Some spruce gay Fool of Fortune, and no more, Who would have taken so much Care of his own ill-favour'd Person, He shou'd have had no time to have minded yours, But left it to the Care of some fond longing Lover.

L. Gal. Death, he will tell him all! [Aside.] Oh, you are merry, Sir.

Wild. No, but thou art wondrous false, False as the Love and Joys you feign'd last Night. [In a soft Tone aside to her.

L. Gal. Oh, Sir, be tender of those treacherous Minutes. [Softly to him. —If this be all you have to say to me— [Walking away, and speaking loud.

Wild. Faith, Madam, you have us'd me scurvily, To marry, and not give me notice. [Aloud. —Curse on thee, did I only blow the Fire To warm another Lover? [To her softly aside.

L. Gal. Perjur'd—was't not by your Advice I married? —Oh, where was then your Love? [Softly to him aside.

Wild. So soon did I advise? Didst thou invite me to the Feast of Love, To snatch away my Joys as soon as tasted? Ah, where was then you Modesty and Sense of Honour? [Aside to her in a low Tone.

L. Gal. Ay, where indeed, when you so quickly vanquisht? [Soft. —But you, I find, are come prepared to rail. [Aloud.

Wild. No, 'twas with thee to make my last Effort against your scorn. [Shews her the Writings. And this I hop'd, when all my Vows and Love, When all my Languishments cou'd nought avail, Had made ye mine for ever. [Aloud.

Enter Sir Anthony, pulling in Sir Tim. and Diana.

Sir Anth. Morrow, Charles; Morrow to your Ladyship: Charles, bid Sir Timothy welcome; I met him luckily at the Door, and am resolv'd none of my Friends shall pass this joyful Day without giving thee Joy, Charles, and drinking my Lady's Health.

Wild. Hah, my Uncle here so early? [Aside.

Sir Tim. What, has your Ladyship serv'd me so? How finely I had been mump'd now, if I had not took Heart of Grace, and shew'd your Ladyship Trick for Trick? for I have been this Morning about some such Business of Life too, Gentlemen: I am married to this fair Lady, the Daughter and Heiress of Sir Nicholas Gett-all, Knight and Alderman.

Wild. Ha, married to Diana! How fickle is the Faith of common Women! [Aside.

Sir Tim. Hum, who's here, my Lord? What, I see your Lordship has found the way already to the fair Ladies; but I hope your Lordship will do my Wedding-dinner the Honour to grace it with your Presence.

Wild. I shall not fail, Sir. A Pox upon him, he'll discover all. [Aside.

L. Gal. I must own, Sir Timothy, you have made the better Choice.

Sir Tim. I cou'd not help my Destiny; Marriages are made in Heaven, you know.

Enter Charlot weeping, and Clacket.

Charl. Stand off, and let me loose as are my Griefs, Which can no more be bounded: Oh, let me face The perjur'd, false, forsworn!

L. Gal. Fair Creature, who is't that you seek with so much Sorrow?

Charl. Thou, thou fatally fair Inchantress. [Weeps.

Wild. Charlot! Nay, then I am discover'd.

L. Gal. Alas, what wou'dst thou?

Charl. That which I cannot have, thy faithless Husband. Be Judge, ye everlasting Powers of Love, Whether he more belongs to her or me.

Sir Anth. How, my Nephew claim'd! Why, how now, Sirrah, have you been dabling here?

Sir Char. By Heaven, I know her not.—Hark ye, Widow, this is some Trick of yours, and 'twas well laid: and Gad, she's so pretty, I cou'd find in my Heart to take her at her word.

L. Gal. Vile Man, this will not pass your Falshood off. Sure, 'tis some Art to make me jealous of him, To find how much I value him.

Sir Char. Death, I'll have the Forgery out;—Tell me, thou pretty weeping Hypocrite, who was it set thee on to lay a Claim to me?

Charl. To you! Alas, who are you? for till this moment I never saw your Face.

L. Gal. Mad as the Seas when all the Winds are raging.

Sir Tim. Ay, ay, Madam, stark mad! Poor Soul—Neighbour, pray let her lie i'th' dark, d'ye hear.

Sir Char. How came you, pretty one, to lose your Wits thus?

Charl. With loving, Sir, strongly, with too much loving. —Will you not let me see the lovely false one? [To L. Gal. For I am told you have his Heart in keeping.

L. Gal_. Who is he? pray describe him.

Charl. A thing just like a Man, or rather Angel! He speaks, and looks, and loves, like any God! All fine and gay, all manly, and all sweet: And when he swears he loves, you wou'd swear too That all his Oaths were true.

Sir Anth. Who is she? some one who knows her and is wiser, speak—you, Mistress. [To Clacket.

Mrs. Clack. Since I must speak, there comes the Man of Mischief: 'Tis you, I mean, for all your Leering, Sir. [To Wild.

Wild. So.

Sir Tim. What, my Lord?

Mrs. Clack. I never knew your Nephew was a Lord: Has his Honour made him forget his Honesty?

[Charlot. runs, and catches him in her Arms.

Charl. I have thee, and I'll die thus grasping thee; Thou art my own, no Power shall take thee from me.

Wild. Never; thou truest of thy Sex, and dearest, Thou soft, thou kind, thou constant Sufferer, This moment end thy Fears; for I am thine.