Chapter XX: 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, ’.is 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 ’.m; I shall give you no occasion for ‘em.

_Wild_. Nay, no scruples now, dearest of Dears, no more, ’.is 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, ’.is 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_.