CITY-HEIRESS: OR, Sir Timothy Treat-all. A COMEDY. As it is Acted At his Royal Highness his THEATRE.  
Written by Mrs. A. Behn.  
LONDON: Printed for D. Brown, at the Black Swan and Bible without Temple-bar; and T. Benskin in St. Bride's Churchyard; and H. Rhodes next door to the Bear-Tavern near Bride-lane in Fleetstreet. 1682.   

To the Right Honourable Henry Earl of Arundel, and Lord Mowbray.  
MY LORD,  
'TIs long that I have with great impatience waited some opportunity to declare my infinite Respect to your Lordship; coming, I may say, into the World with a Veneration for your Illustrious Family, and being brought up with continual Praises of the Renowned Actions of your glorious Ancestors, both in War and Peace, so famous over the Christian World for their Virtue, Piety, and Learning, their elevated Birth, and greatness of Courage, and of whom all our English History are full of the Wonders of their Lives: A Family of so ancient Nobility, and from whom so many Hero's have proceeded to bless and serve their King and Country, that all Ages and all Nations mention 'em even with Adoration. Myself have been in this our Age an Eye and Earwitness, with what Transports of Joy, with what unusual Respect and Ceremony, above what we pay to Mankind, the very Name of the Great howard's of Norfolk and Arundel, have been celebrated on Foreign Shores! And when any one of your Illustrious Family have passed the Streets, the People thronged to praise and bless him, as soon as his Name has been made known to the glad Crowd. This I have seen with a Joy that became a true English heart, (who truly venerate its brave Countrymen) and joined my dutiful Respects and Praises with the most devout; but never had the happiness yet of any opportunity to express particularly that Admiration I have and ever had for your Lordship and your Great Family. Still, I say, I did admire you, still I wished and prayed for you; 'twas all I could or dared: But as my Esteem for your Lordship daily increased with my Judgement, so nothing could bring it to a more absolute height and perfection, than to observe in these troublesome times, this Age of Lying, Peaching, and Swearing, with what noble Prudence, what steadiness of Mind, what Loyalty and Conduct you have evaded the Snare, that 'twas to be feared was laid for all the Good, the Brave, and Loyal, for all that truly loved our best of Kings and this distracted Country. A thousand times I have wept for fear that Impudence and Malice would extend so far as to stain your Noble and ever-Loyal Family with its unavoidable Imputations; and as often for joy, to see how undauntedly both the Illustrious Duke your Father, and yourself, stemmed the raging Torrent that threatened, with yours, the ruin of the King and Kingdom; all which had not power to shake your Constancy or Loyalty: for which, may Heaven and Earth reward and bless you; the noble Examples to thousands of failing hearts, who from so great a Precedent of Loyalty, became confirmed. May Heaven and Earth bless you for your pious and resolute bravery of Mind, and heroic Honesty, when you cried, Not guilty; that you durst, like your great self, speak Conscientious Truths in a Juncto so vicious, when Truth and Innocence was criminal: and I doubt not but the Soul of that great Sufferer bows down from Heaven in gratitude for that noble service done it. All these and a thousand marks you give of daily growing Greatness; every day produces to those like me, curious to learn the Story of your Life and Actions, something that even adds a Lustre to your great Name, which one would think could be made no more splendid: some new Goodness, some new act of Loyalty or Courage, comes out to cheer the World and those that admire you. Nor would I be the last of those that daily congratulate and celebrate your rising Glory; nor durst I any other way approach you with it, but this humble one, which carries some Excuse along with it.  
Proud of the opportunity then, I most humbly beg your Lordship's Patronage of a Comedy, which has nothing to defend it, but the Honour it begs; and nothing to deserve that Honour, but its being in every part true Tory! Loyal allover! except one Knave, which I hope no body will take to himself; or if he do, I must e'en say, with Hamlet, — Then let the strucken Deer go weep— It has the luck to be well received in the Town; which (not from my Vanity) pleases me, but that thereby I find Honesty begins to come in fashion again, when Loyalty is approved, and Whigism becomes a Jest wherever 'tis met with. And no doubt on't, so long as the Royal Cause has such Patrons as your Lordship, such vigorous and noble Supporters, his Majesty will be great, secure and quiet, the Nation flourishing and happy, and seditious Fools and Knaves that have so long disturbed the Peace and Tranquillity of the World, will become the business and sport of Comedy, and at last the scorn of that Rabble that fondly and blindly worshipped 'em; and whom nothing can so well convince as plain Demonstration, which is ever more powerful and prevailent than Precept, or even Preaching itself. If this have edified effectual, 'tis all I wish; and that your Lordship will be pleased to accept the humble Offering, is all I beg, and the greatest Glory I care should be done.  
MY LORD, Your Lordship's most Humble and most Obedient Servant, A. BEHN.   

THE PROLOGUE, Written by Mr. Otway.  
SPOKEN by Mrs. BARRY.  
HOW vain have proved the Labours of the Stage,  
In striving to reclaim a vicious Age!  
Poet's may write the Mischief to impeach,  
You care as little what the Poets teach,  
As you regard at Church what Parsons preach.  
But where such Follies and such Vice's reign,  
What honest Pen has patience to refrain?  
At Church, in Pews, ye most devoutly snore,  
And here, got dully drunk, ye come to roar;  
Ye go to Church to glout, and Ogle there,  
And come to meet more lewd convenient here:  
With equal Zeal ye honour either place,  
And run so very evenly your Race,  
Y' improve in Wit just as you do in Grace.  
It must be so, some Daemon has possessed  
Our Land, and we have never since been blessed.  
Y' have seen it all, or heard of its Renown,  
In reverend shape it stalked about the Town,  
Six Yeomen tall attending on its frown.  
Sometimes with humble note and zealous lore,  
'Twould play the Apostolic Function o'er:  
But, Heaven have mercy on us when it swore.  
Whenever it swore, to prove the Oaths were true,  
Out of its mouth at random Halters flew  
Round some unwary neck, by Magic thrown,  
Though still the cunning Devil saved its own:  
For when the Enchantment could no longer last,  
The subtle Pug, most dexterously uncast,  
Left awful form for one more seeming pious,  
And in a moment varied to defy us:  
From silken Doctor, homespun Ananias  
Left the lewd Court, and did in City fix,  
Where still by its old Arts it plays new Tricks,  
And fills the heads of Fools with Politics.  
This Daemon lately drew in many a Guest,  
To part with zealous Guinny for— no Feast.  
Who, but the most incorrigible Fops,  
For ever doomed in dismal Cells, called Shops,  
To cheat and damn themselves to get their Livings,  
Would lay sweet Money out in Sham-Thanksgivings?  
Sham-Plots you may have paid for o'er and o'er;  
But who ere paid for a Sham-Treat before?  
Had you not better sent your Offerings all,  
Hither to us, than Sequestrators Hall?  
I being your Steward, justice had been done ye;  
I could have entertained you worth your Money.   


ACTORS NAMES.  
Mr. noke's, Sir Timothy Treat-all, An old seditious Knight that keeps open house for Commonwealths-men and true blue Protestants.— He is Uncle to Tom Wilding.  
Mr. Betterton, Tom Wilding, A Tory.— His discarded Nephew.  
Mr. Lee, Sir Anthony Meriwill, An old Tory Knight of Devonshire.  
Mr. Williams, Sir Charles' Meriwill, His Nephew, a Tory also, in love with Lady Galliard, and Friend to Wilding.  
Mr. Boman, Dresswell, A young Gentleman, Friend to Wilding.  
Mr. Jevon, Fopington, A Hanger on on Wilding.  
jervice, Man to Sir Timothy.  
Footmen, Music, etc.  
Mrs. Barry, Lady Galliard, A rich City-Widow in love with Wilding.  
Mrs. Butler, Charlot, The City-Heiress, in love with Wilding.  
Mrs. Corror, Diana, Mistress to Wilding, and kept by him.  
Mrs. Norice, Mrs. Clacket, A City-Bawd & Puritan.  
Mrs. Lee, Mrs. Closet, Woman to La. Galliard.   SCENE, Within the Walls of London.  

THE CITY-HEIRESS: OR, Sir Timothy Treat-all.  
ACT the First.  

SCENE the First. The Street.  Enter Sir Timothy Treat-all, followed by Tom Wilding, bare, Sir Charles' Meriwill, Foppington, and Footman with a Cloak. Sir Tim. 
TRouble me no more: for I am resolved, deaf and obdurate, d● see, and so forth.  Wild. 
I beseech ye, Uncle, hear me.  Sir Tim. 
No.  Wild. 
Dear Uncle—  Sir Tim. 
No.  Wild. 
You will be mortified—  Sir Tim. 
No.  Wild. 
At least hear me out, Sir.  Sir Tim. 
No, I have heard you out too often, Sir, till you have talked me out of ma● a fair thousand; have had ye out of all the Bailiffs, Sergeants, and Constables clutches 'bout Town, Sir; have brought ye out of all the Surgeons, Apothecaries, and Pox Doctors hands, that ever pretended to cure incurable Diseases; and have crossed ye ou● the Books of all the Mercers, Silk-men, Exchange-men, tailors, Shoemakers, and So strisses; with all the rest of the unconscionable City-tribe of the long Bill, that had Faith enough to trust, and thought me Fool enough to pay.  Sir Char. 
But, Sir, consider, he's your own Flesh and Blood.  Sir Tim. 
That's more than I'll swear.  Sir Char. 
Your only Heir.  Sir Tim. 
That's more than you or any of his wise Associates can tell, Sir.  Sir Char. 
Why his wise Associates? have you any exception to the Company he keeps? This reflects on me and young Dresswell, Sir, men both of Birth and Fortune.  Sir Tim. 
Why, good Sir Charles Meriwill, let me tell you, since you'll have it out, That you and young Dresswell are able to debauch, destroy, and confound all the young imitating Fops in Town.  Sir Char. 
How, Sir!  Sir Tim. 
Nay, never huff, Sir; for I have six thousand pound a year, and value no man: Neither do I speak so much for your particular, as for the Company you keep, such Termagant Tories as these, [to Foping.] who are the very Vermin of a young Heir, and for one Tickling give him a thousand Bites.  Fop. 
Death! meaning me, Sir?  Sir Tim. 
Yes, you, Sir. Nay, never stare, Sir; I fear you not: no man's hectoring signifies this— in the City, but the Constable's; no body dares be saucy here, except it be in the King's name.  Sir Char. 
Sir, I confess he was to blame.  Sir Tim. 
Sir Charles, thanks to Heaven, you may be lewd, you have a plentiful Estate, may whore, drink, game, and play the Devil; your Uncle Sir Anthony Meriwill intends to give you all his Estate too: But for such Sparks as this, and my Fop in fashion here, why with what Face, Conscience, or Religion, can they be lewd and vicious, keep their Wenches, Coaches, rich Liveries, and so forth, who live upon Charity, and the Sins of he Nation?  Sir Char. 
If he have Youthful Vices, he has Virtues too.  Sir Tim. 
Yes, he had; but I know not, you have bewitched him amongst ye [weeping.] before he fell to Toryism, he was a sober civil Youth, and had some Religion in him, would read ye Prayers night and morning with a laudable voice, and cry Amen to 'em; would have done ones heart good to have heard him:— Wore decent clothes; was ●unk but upon Fasting-nights, and swore but on Sundays and holidays: and then I ●d hopes of him.  [Still weeping. Wild. 
Ay, Heaven forgive me.  Sir Char. 
But, Sir, he's now become a new man, is casting off all his Women, is ●unk not above five or six times a week, swears not above once in a quarter of an hour, or has not gamed this two days.—  Sir Tim. 
'Twas because the Devil was in's Pocket then.  Sir Char. 
— Begins to take up at Coffeehouses, talks gravely in the City, speaks indalous●y of the Government, and rails most abominably against the Pope and the ench King.  Sir Tim. 
Ay, ay, this shall not wheedle me out of one English Guinny; and so I told ●n yesterday.  Wild. 
You did so, Sir.  Sir Tim. 
Yes; by a good token you were witty upon me, and swore I loved and ho●r'd the King nowhere but on his Coin.  Sir Char. 
Is it possible, Sir?  Wild. 
God forgive me, Sir; I confess I was a little overtaken.  Sir Tim. 
Ay, so it should seem: for he mistook his own Chamber, and went to bed to Maids.  Sir Char. 
How! to bed to your Maids! Sure, Sir, 'tis scandal on him.  Sir Tim. 
No, no, he makes his brags on't, Sir. Oh that crying sin of Boasting! Well fare, I say, the days of old Oliver; he by a wholesome Act, made it death to boast; so that then a man might whore his heart out, and no body the wiser.  Sir Char. 
Right, Sir, and then the men passed for sober religious persons, and the women for as demure Saints—  Sir Tim. 
Ay, then there was no scandal; but now they do not only boast what they do, but what they do not.  Wild. 
I'll take care that fault shall be mended, Sir.  Sir Tim. 
Ay, so will I, if Poverty have any feats of Mortification; and so farewell to you, Sir.  [going. Wild. 
Stay, Sir, are you resolved to be so cruel then, and ruin all my Fortunes now depending?  Sir Tim. 
Most religiously—  Wild. 
You are?  Sir Tim. 
I am.  Wild. 
Death, I'll rob.  Sir Tim. 
Do and be hanged.  Wild. 
Nay, I'll turn Papist.  Sir Tim. 
Do and be damned.  Sir Char. 
Bless me, Sir, what a scandal would that be to the Family of the Treatalls!  Sir Tim. 
Hum! I had rather indeed he turned Turk or Jew, for his own sake; but as for scandalising me, I defy it: my Integrity has been known ever since Forty One; I bought three thousand a year in Bishop's Lands, as 'tis well known, and lost it at the King's return; for which I'm honoured by the City. But for his farther satisfaction, consolation, and destruction, know, That I Sir Timothy Treat-all, Knight and Alderman, do think myself young enough to marry, d'ye see, and will wipe your Nose with a Son and Heir of my own begetting, and so forth.  [going away. Wild. 
Death! marry!  Sir Char. 
Patience, dear Tom, or thou'lt spoil all.  Wild. 
Damn him, I've lost all Patience, and can dissemble no longer, though I lose all,— Very good, Sir; hark ye, I hope she's young and handsome; or if she be not, amongst the numerous lusty-stomacht Whigs that daily nose your public Dinners, some may be found that either for Money, Charity, or Gratitude, may requite your Treats. You keep open house to all the Party, not for Mirth, Generosity, or good Nature, but for Roguery. You cram the Brethren, the pious City-Gluttons, with good Cheer, good Wine, and Rebellion in abundance, gormandizing all Comers and Goers, of all Sexes, Sorts, Opinions, and Religions, young half-witted Fops, hot-headed Fools, and Malcontents: You guttle and fawn on all, and all in hopes of debauching the King's Liege-people into Commonwealths-men; and rather than lose a Convert, you'll pimp for him. These are your nightly Debauches.— Nay, rather than you shall want it, I'll cuckold you myself in pure Revenge.  Sir Tim. 
How! Cuckold his own natural Uncle!  Sir Char. 
Oh, he cannot be so profane.  Wild. 
Profane! why he denied but now the having any share in me; and therefore 'tis lawful. I am to live by my wits, you say, and your old rich good-natured Cuckold is as sure a Revenue to a handsome young Cadet, as a thousand pound a year. Your tolerable face and shape is an Estate in the City, and a better Bank than your Six per Cent. at any time.  Sir Tim. 
Well, Sir, since Nature has furnished you so well, you need but up and ride, show and be rich; and so your Servant, witty Mr. Wilding.  [Goes out, he looks after him. Sir Char. 
Whilst I am labouring another's good, I quite neglect my own. This cursed, proud, disdainful Lady Galliard, is ever in my head; she's now at Church, I'm sure, not for Devotion, but to show her Charms, and throw her Darts amongst the gazing Crowd, and grows more vain by Conquest I'm near the Church, and must step in, though it cost me a new Wound.  [Wild. stands pausing. Wild. 
I am resolved— Well, dear Charles, let's sup together to night, and contrive some way to be revenged of this wicked Uncle of mine. I must leave thee now, for I have an assignation here at Church.  Sir Char. 
Ha! at Church!  Wild. 
Ay, Charles, with the dearest she-Saint, and I hope sinner.  Sir Char. 
What at Church? Pox, I shall be discovered now in my Amours. That's an odd place for Love-Intrigues.  Wild. 
Oh, I am to pass for a sober discreet person to the Relations; but for my Mistress, she's made of no such sanctified Materials; she is a Widow, Charles', young, rich, and beautiful.  Sir Char. 
Ha! if this should prove my Widow now!  [Aside. Wild. 
And though at her own dispose, yet is much governed by Honour, and a rigid Mother, who is ever preaching to her against the Vices of Youth, and t'other end of the Town Sparks; dreads nothing so much as her Daughters marrying a villainous Tory: So the young one is forced to dissemble Religion, the best Mask to hide a kind Mistress in.  Sir Char. 
This must be my Lady Galliard.  [Aside. Wild. 
There is at present some ill understanding between us; some damned Honourable Fop lays siege to her, which has made me ill received; and I having a new Intrigue elsewhere, return her cold disdain, but now and then she crosses my Heart too violently to resist her. In one of these hot fits I now am, and must find some occasion to speak to her.  Sir Char. 
By Heaven, it must be she!— I am studying now, amongst all our she-Acquaintance, who this should be.  Wild. 
Oh, this is of quality to be concealed: but the dearest loveliest Hypocrite, white as Lilies, smooth as Rushes, and plump as Grapes after showers, haughty her Mien, her Eyes full of disdain, and yet bewitching sweet; but when she loves, soft, witty, wanton, all that charms a Soul, and but for now and then a fit of Honour! Oh, damn the Nonsense, would be all my own.  Sir Char. 
'Tis she, by Heaven! [aside.] Methinks this Widow should prove a good Fortune to you, as things now stand between you and your▪ Uncle.  Wild. 
Ah, Charles, but I am otherways disposed of. There is the most charming young thing in nature fallen in love with this person of mine, a rich City-Heiress, Charles; I have her in possession.  Sir Char. 
How can you love two at once? I've been as wild, and as extravagant, as Youth and Wealth could render me; but ne'er arrived to that degree of Lewdness, to deal my Heart about: my Hours I might, but Love should be entire.  Wild. 
Ah, Charles, two such bewitching Faces would give thy Heart the lie:— But Love divides us, and I must into Church. Adieu till night.  Sir Char. 
And I must follow to resolve my heart in what it dreads to learn. Here, my Cloak. [Takes his Cloak from his man, and puts it on.] Ha, Church is done! See, they are coming forth! Enter People 'cross the Stage, as from Church; amongst 'em Sir Anthony Meriwill, followed by Sir Tim. Treat-all. Ha, my Uncle! He must not see me here.  [Throws his Cloak over his face. Sir Tim. 
What my old Friend and Acquaintance, Sir Anthony Meriwill!  Sir Anth. 
Sir Timothy Treat-all!  Sir Tim. 
When! How long have you been in Town, Sir?  Sir Anth. 
About three days, Sir.  Sir Tim. 
Three days, and never came to dine with me! 'tis unpardonable! What, you keep close to the Church, I see: You are for the Surplice still▪ old Orthodox you: the Times cannot mend you, I see.  Sir Anth. 
No, nor shall they mar me, Sir.  Sir Char. 
They are discoursing; I'll pass by.  [Aside. Exit Sir Char. Sir Anth. 
As I take it, you came from Church too.  Sir Tim. 
Ay, needs must, when the Devil drives. I go to save my Bacon, as they say, once a month, and that too, after the Porridge is served up.  Sir Anth. 
Those that made it, Sir, are wiser than we. For my part, I love good wholesome Doctrine, that teaches Obedience to my King and Superiors, without railing at the Government, and quoting Scripture for Sedition, Mutiny, and Rebellion. Why here was a jolly Fellow this morning made a notable Sermon. By George, our Country-vicars' are mere Scholars to your Gentlemen Town-parsons'! Ha, how he handled the Text, and run Divisions upon't! 'twould make a man sin with moderation, to hear how he clawed away the Vices of the Town, Whoring, Drinking, and Conventicling, with the rest of the deadly number.  Sir Tim. 
Good lack! an he were so good at Whoring and Drinking, you'd best carry your Nephew, Sir Charles Meriwill, to Church; he wants a little Documentizing that way.  Sir Anth. 
Hum! You keep your old wont still; a man can begin no discourse to you, be it of Prester john, but you still conclude with my Nephew.  Sir Tim. 
Good Lord! Sir Anthony, you need not be so purty; what I say, is the Discourse of the whole City, how lavishly you let him live, and give ill Examples to all young Heirs.  Sir Anth. 
The City! the City's a grumbling, lying, dissatisfied City, and no wise or honest man regards what it says. Do you, or any of the City, stand bound to his Scrivener or Taylor? He spends what I allow him, Sir, his own; and you're a Fool or Knave, choose ye whether, to concern yourself.  Sir Tim. 
Good lack! I speak but what wiser men discourse.  Sir Anth. 
Wiser men! wiser Coxcombs. What, they would have me train my Nephew up, a hopeful Youth, to keep a Merchant's Book, or send him to chop Logic in a University, and have him return an errant learned Ass, to simper, and look demure, and start at Oaths and Wenches, whilst I fell his Woods, and grant Leases; and lastly, to make good what I have cozened him of, force him to marry Mrs. Crump, the ill-favoured Daughter of some Right Worshipful.— A Pox of all such Guardians.  Sir Tim. 
Do, countenance Sin and Expenses, do.  Sir Anth. 
What sin, what expenses? He wears good clothes, why Tradesmen get the more-by him; he keeps his Coach, 'tis for his ease; a Mistress, 'tis for his pleasure; he games, 'tis for his diversion: And where's the harm of this? is there ought else you can accuse him with?  Sir Tim. 
Yes;— a Pox upon him, he's my Rival too. [aside.] Why then I'll tell you, Sir, he loves a Lady.  Sir Anth. 
If that be a sin, Heaven help the Wicked!  Sir Tim. 
But I mean honourably.—  Sir Anth. 
Honourably! Why do you know any Infirmity in him, why he should not marry?  [Angrily. Sir Tim. 
Not I, Sir.  Sir Anth. 
Not you, Sir? why then you're an Ass, Sir.— But is the Lady young and handsome?  Sir Tim. 
A●e, and rich too, Sir.  Sir Anth. 
No matter for Money, so she love the Boy.  Sir Tim. 
Love him! no, Sir, she neither does, nor shall love him.  Sir Anth. 
How, Sir, nor shall love him! By George, but she shall, and lie with him too, if I please, Sir.  Sir Tim. 
How, Sir! lie with a rich City-widow, and a Lady, and to be married to a fine Reverend old Gentleman within a day or two?  Sir Anth. 
His name, Sir, his name; I'll dispatch him presently.  [Offers to draw. Sir Tim. 
How, Sir, dispatch him!— Your Servant, Sir.  [Offers to go. Sir Anth. 
Hold, Sir! by this abrupt departure, I fancy you the Boy's Rival: Come, draw.  [Draws. Sir Tim. 
How, draw, Sir!  Sir Anth. 
Ay draw, Sir: Not my Nephew have the Widow!  Sir Tim. 
With all my soul, Sir; I love and honour your Nephew. I his Rival! alas, Sir, I'm not so fond of Cuckoldom. Pray, Sir, let me see you and Sir Charles at my house, I may serve him in this business: and so I take my leave, Sir.— Draw quoth a! a Pox upon him for an old Tory-rory.  [Aside. Exit. Enter as from Church, Lady Galliard, Closet, and Footman: Wilding passes earelesly by her, Sir Charles Meriwill following wrapped in his Cloak. Sir Anth. 
Who's here? Charles muffled in a Cloak, peering after a woman?— My own Boy to a hair. She's handsome too. I'll step aside: for I must see the meaning on't.  [Goes aside. L. Gall. 
Bless me! how unconcerned he passed!  Clos. 
He bowed low, Madam.  L. Gall. 
But 'twas in such a fashion, as expressed Indifferency, much worse than Hate from Wilding.  Clos. 
Your Ladyship has used him ill of late; yet if your Ladyship please, I'll call him back.  L. Gall. 
I'll die first.— Ha, he's going!— Yet now I think on't, I have a Toy of his, which to express my scorn, I'll give him back now:— this Ring.  Clos. 
Shall I carry it, Madam?  L. Gall. 
You'll not express disdain enough in the delivery; and you may call him back.  [Clos. goes to Wild. Sir Char. 
By Heaven, she's fond of him.  [Aside. Wild. 
Oh, Mrs. Closet! is it you?— Madam, your Servant: By this disdain, I fear your Woman, Madam, has mistaken her Man. Would your Ladyship speak with me?  L. Gall. 
Yes.— But what? the God of Love instruct me.  [Aside. Wild. 
Command me quickly, Madam: for I have business.  L. Gall. 
Nay, than I cannot be discreet in Love.  [Aside. 
— Your business once was Love, nor had no idle hours  
To throw away on any other thought.  
You loved as if you'd had no other Faculties,  
As if you'd meant to gain Eternal Bliss  
By that Devotion only: And see how now you're changed.  Wild. 
Not I, by Heaven; 'tis you are only changed.  
I thought you'd love me too, curse on the dull mistake;  
But when I begged to reap the mighty Joy  
That Mutual Love affords,  
You turned me off for Honour,  
That nothing framed by some old sullen Maid,  
That wanted Charms to kindle flames when young.  Sir Anth. 
By George, he's i'th' right.  [Aside. Sir Char. 
Death! can she hear this Language?  [Aside. L. Gall. 
How dare you name this to me any more?  
Have you forgot my Fortune, and my Youth?  
My Quality, and Fame?  Wild. 
No, by Heaven, all these increase my Flame.  L. Gall. 
Perhaps they might, but yet I wonder where  
You got the boldness to approach me with it.  Wild. 
Faith, Madam, from your own encouragement.  L. Gall. 
From mine! Heavens, what contempt is this!  Wild. 
When first I paid my Vows, (good Heaven forgive me)  
They were for Honour all;  
But wiser you, thanks to your Mother's care too,  
Knowing my Fortune an uncertain hope,  
My Life of scandal, and my lewd Opinion,  
Forbid my Wish that way: 'Twas kindly urged;  
You could not then forbid my Passion too,  
Nor did I ever from your Lips or Eyes,  
Receive the cruel sentence of my Death.  Sir Anth. 
Gad, a fine fellow this!  L. Gall. 
To save my life, I would not marry thee.  Wild. 
That's kindly said:  
But to save mine, thou'lt do a kinder thing;  
— I know thou wilt.  L. Gall. 
What, yield my Honour up!  
And after find it sacrificed anew,  
And made the scorn of a triumphing Wife!  Sir Anth. 
Gad, she's i'th' right too; a noble Girl I'll warrant her.  L. Gall. 
But you disdain to satisfy those fears;  
And like a proud and haughty Conqueror,  
Demand the Town, without the least Conditions.  Sir Char. 
By Heaven, she yields apace.  [Aside. Sir Anth. 
Pox on't, would I'd ne'er seen her; now have I a Legend of small Cupids at Hot-cockles in my heart.  Wild. 
Now am I pausing on that word Conditions.  
Thou sayst thou wouldst not have me marry thee;  
That is, as if I loved thee for thy Eyes,  
And put 'em out to hate thee:  
Or like our Stage-smitten Youth, who fall in love with a woman for-Acting finely, and by taking her off the Stage, deprive her of the only Charm she had,  
Then leave her to Ill Luck.  Sir Anth. 
Gad, he's i'th' right again too! A rare Fellow!  Wild. 
For, Widow, know, hadst thou more Beauty, yet not all of 'em were half so great a Charm as thy not being mine.  Sir Anth. 
Hum! How will he make that out now?  Wild. 
The stealths of Love, the Midnight kind admittance,  
The gloomy Bed, the soft-breathed murmuring Passion;  
Ah, who can guests at Joys thus snatched by parcels!  
The difficulty makes us always wishing,  
Whilst on thy part, Fear still makes some resistance;  
And every Blessing seems a kind of Rape.  Sir Anth. 
H'as done't!— A Divine Fellow this; just of my Religion. I am studying now whether I was never acquainted with his Mother.  L. Gall. walks away, Wild. follows. L. Gall. 
Tempt me no more! What dull unwary Flame  
Possessed me all this while! Confusion on thee,  [In Rage. 
And all the Charms that dwell upon thy Tongue.  
Diseases ruin that bewitching form,  
That with thy soft feigned Vows debauched my Heart.  Sir Char. 
Heavens! can I yet endure!  [Aside. L. Gall. 
By all that's good, I'll marry instantly;  
Marry, and save my last stake, Honour, yet,  
Or thou wilt rook me out of all at last.  Wild. 
Marry! thou canst not do a better thing:  
There are a thousand Matrimonial Fops,  
Fine Fools of Fortune,  
Good-natured Blockheads too, and that's a wonder.  L. Gall. 
That will be managed by a man of Wit..  Wild. 
Right.  L. Gall. 
I have an eye upon a Friend of yours.  Wild. 
A Friend of mine! then he must be my Cuckold.  Sir Char. 
Very fine! can I endure yet more?  [Aside. L. Gall. 
Perhaps it is your Uncle.  Wild. 
Ha, my Uncle!  [Sir Charles makes up to 'em. Sir Anth. 
Ha, my Charles! why well said Charles, he bore up briskly to her.  Sir Char. 
Ah, Madam, may I presume to tell you—  Sir Anth. 
Ah, Pox, that was stark naught! he begins like a Foreman of th' Shop▪ to his Master's Daughter.  Wild. 
How, Charles Meriwill acquainted with my Widow!  Sir Anth. 
Why do you wear that scorn upon your face?  
I've nought but honest meaning in my Passion;  
Whilst him you favour, so profanes your Beauties,  
In scorn of Marriage and religious Rites,  
Attempts the ruin of your sacred Honour.  L. Gall. 
Ha, Wilding, boast my love!  [Aside. Sir Anth. 
The Devil take him, my Nephew's quite spoiled!  
Why what a Pox has he to do with Honour now?  L. Gall. 
Pray leave me, Sir.  Wild. 
Damn it, since he knows all, I'll boldly own my flame—  
You take a liberty I never gave you, Sir.  Sir Char. 
How, this from thee! nay, than I must take more,  
And ask you where you borrowed that Brutality,  
T'approach that Lady with your saucy Passion.  Sir Anth. 
Gad, well done, Charles! here must be sport anon.  Wild. 
I will not answer every idle Question.  Sir Char. 
Death, you dare not.  Wild. 
How, dare not!  Sir Char. 
No, dare not: for if you did—  Wild. 
What durst you, if I did?  Sir Char. 
Death, cut your Throat, Sir.  [Taking hold on him roughly. Sir Anth. 
Hold, hold, let him have fair play, and then curse him that parts ye.  Taking 'em asunder, they draw. L. Gall. 
Hold, I command ye, hold!  Sir Char. 
There rest my Sword to all Eternity.  [Lays his Sword at her feet. L. Gall. 
Now I conjure ye both, by all your Honour,  
If you were e'er acquainted with that Virtue,  
To see my face no more,  
Who durst dispute your interest in me thus,  
As for a common Mistress, in your Drink.  She goes out, and all but Wild. Sir Anth. and Sir Char. who stands sadly looking after her. Sir Anth. 
A heavenly Girl!— Well, now she's gone, by George, I am for disputing your Title to her by dint of Sword.  Sir Char. 
I won't fight.  Wild. 
Another time we will decide it, Sir.  [Wild▪ goes 〈◊〉. Sir Anth. 
After your whining Prologue, Sir, who the Devil would have expected such a Farce?— Come, Charles, take up thy Sword, Charles;— and, d'ye hear, forget me this Woman.—  Sir Char. 
Forget her, Sir! there never was a thing so excellent!  Sir Anth. 
You lie, Sirrah, you lie, there are a thousand  
As fair, as young, and kinder, by this day.  
We'll into th' Country, Charles, where every Grove  
Affords us Rustic Beauties,  
That know no Pride nor Painting,  
And that will take it and be thankful, Charles;  
Fine wholesome Girls that fall like ruddy Fruit,  
Fit for the gathering, Charles.  Sir Char. 
Oh, Sir, I cannot relish the corpse Fare.  
But what's all this, Sir, to my present Passion?  Sir Anth. 
Passion, Sir! you shall have no Passion, Sir.  Sir Char. 
No Passion, Sir! shall I have life and breath?  Sir Anth. 
It may be not, Sirrah, if it be my will and pleasure.  
— Why how now! saucy Boys be their own Carvers?  Sir Char. 
Sir, I am all Obedience.  [Bowing and sighing▪ Sir Anth. 
Obedience! Was ever such a Blockhead! Why then if I command it, you will not love this Woman?  Sir Char. 
No, Sir.  Sir Anth. 
No, Sir! But I say, Yes, Sir, love her me; and love her me like a man too, or I'll renounce ye, Sir.  Sir Char. 
I've tried all ways to win upon her heart,  
Presented, writ, watched, fought, prayed, kneeled, and wept.  Sir Anth. 
Why there's it now; I thought so: Kneeled and wept! a Pox upon thee— I took thee for a prettier fellow.—  
You should ha' huffed and blustered at her door;  
Been very impudent and saucy, Sir;  
Lewd, ruffling, mad; courted at all hours and seasons;  
Let her not rest, nor eat, nor sleep, nor visit.  
Believe me, Charles', women love importunity.  
Watch her close, watch her like a Witch, Boy,  
Till she confess the Devil in her,— Love.  Sir Char. 
I cannot, Sir.  
Her Eyes strike such an awe into my Soul,—  Sir Anth. 
Strike such a Fiddlestick.— Sirrah, I say, do't; what, you can touse a Wench as handsomely— You can be lewd enough upon occasion. I know not the Lady, nor her Fortune; but I am resolved thou shalt have her, with practising a little Courtship of my mode.— Come—  
Come my Boy Charles, since you must needs be doing,  
I'll show thee how to go a Widow-wooing.    

ACT the Second.  

SCENE the First. A Room.  Enter Charlot, Fopington, and Clacket. Charl. 
ENough, I've heard enough of Wilding's Vices, to know I am undone. [weeps]— Galliard his Mistress too? I never saw her, but I have heard her famed for Beauty, Wit, and Fortune.  
That Rival may be dangerous.  Fop. 
Yes, Madam, the fair, the young, the witty Lady Galliard, even in the height of all his love to you; nay, even whilst his Uncle courts her for a Wife, he designs himself for a Gallant.  Charl. 
Wondrous Inconstancy and Impudence!  Mrs. Clack. 
Nay, Madam, you may rely upon Mr. Fopington's Information: therefore if you respect your Reputation, retreat in time.  Charl. 
Reputation! that I forfeited when I ran away with your Friend Mr. Wilding.  Mrs. Clack. 
Ah, that ever I should live to see [weeps] the sole Daughter and Heir of Sir Nicholas Gettall, run away with one of the lewdest Heathens about town!  Charl. 
How! your Friend Mr. Wilding a Heathen; and with you too, Mrs. Clacket! That Friend Mr. Wilding, who thought none so worthy as Mrs. Clacket, to trust with so great a secret as his flight with me; he a Heathen!  Mrs. Clack. 
Ay, and a poor Heathen too, Madam. 'Slife, if you must marry a man to buy him Breeches, marry an honest man, a religious man, a man that bears a Conscience, and will do a woman some Reason.— Why here's Mr. Fopington, Madam; here's a Shape, here's a Face, a Back as straight as an Arrow, I'll warrant.  Charl. 
How! buy him Breeches! Has Wilding then no Fortune?  Fop. 
Yes, Faith, Madam, pretty well; so, so, as the Dice run: and now and then he lights upon a Squire, or so, and between fair and foul Play, he makes a shift to pick a pretty Livelihood up.  Charl. 
How! does his Uncle allow him no present Maintenance?  Fop. 
No, nor future Hopes neither: Therefore, Madam, I hope you will see the difference between him and a man of Parts, that adores you.  [Smiling and bowing. Charl. 
If I find all this true you tell me, I shall know how to value myself and those that love me.  
— This may be yet a Rascal.  Enter Maid. Maid. 
Mistress, Mr. Wilding's below.  [Exit. Fop. 
Below! Oh, Heavens, Madam, do not expose me to his lewd fury, for being too zealous in your service.  [In great disorder. Charl. 
I will not let him know you told any thing, Sir.  Fop. 
Death! to be seen here, would expose my Life.  [To Clacket. Mrs. Clack. 
Here, here, step out upon the Sair-case, and slip into my Chamber.  Going out, returns in fright. Fop. 
‛ Owns, he's here! lock the door fast; let him not enter.  Mrs. Clack. 
Oh, Heavens, I have not the Key! hold it, hold it fast, sweet, sweet Mr. Foping Oh, should there be Murder done, what a scandal would that be to the house of a true Protestant!  [Knocks. Charl. 
Heavens! what will he say and think, to see me shut in with a man?  Mrs. Clack. 
Oh, I'll say you're sick, asleep, or out of humour.  Charl. 
I'd give the world to see him. [Knocks.  Wild. 
[Without.] Charlot, Charlot! Am I denied an entrance? By Heaven, I'll break the door.  [Knocks again; Fop. still holding it. Fop. 
Oh, I'm a dead man, dear Clacket!  [Knocking still. Mrs. Clack. 
Oh, hold, Sir, Mrs. Charlot is very sick.  Wild. 
How, sick, and I kept from her!  Mrs. Clack. 
She begs you'll come again an hour hence.  Wild. 
Delayed, by Heaven I will have entrance.  Fop. 
Ruined! undone! for if he do not kill me, he may starve me.  Mrs. Clack. 
Oh, he will break in upon us! Hold, Sir, hold a little; Mrs. Charlot is just-just-shifting herself, Sir: you will not be so uncivil as to press in, I hope, at such a time.  Charl. 
I have a fine time on't between ye, to have him think I am stripping myself before Mr. Fopington— Let go, or I'll call out and tell him all.  Wild. breaks open the door and rushes in: Fop. stands close up at the entrance till he is passed him, then venturing to slip out, finds Wild. has made fast the door; so he is forced to return again and stand close up behind Wild. with signs of fear. Wild. 
How now, Charlot, what means this new unkindness? What, not a word?  Charl. 
There is so little Music in my Voice, you do not care to hear it; you have been better entertained, I find, mightily employed, no doubt.  Wild. 
Yes Faith, and so I have, Charlot: Damned Business, that Enemy to Love, has made me rude.  Charl. 
Or that other Enemy to Love, damned Wenching.  Wild. 
Wenching! how ill hast thou timed thy Jealousy!  
What Banker, that to morrow is to pay a mighty sum, would venture out his stock to day in little parcels, and lose his Credit by it?  Charl. 
You would, perfidious as you are, though all your Fortune, all your future Health, depended on that Credit.  [Angry. Wild. 
So: Hark ye, Mrs. Clacket, you have been prating I find in my absence, giving me a handsome character to Charlot.— You hate any good thing should go by your own Nose.  [Aside, to Clacket. Mrs. Clack. 
By my Nose, Mr. Wilding! I defy you: I'd have you to know, I scorn any good thing should go by my Nose in an uncivil way.  Wild. 
I believe so.  Mrs. Clack. 
Have I been the Confident to all your secrets this three years, in sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer; concealed the nature of your wicked Diseases, under the honest name of Surfeits; called your filthy Surgeons▪ Mr. Doctor, to keep up your Reputation; civility received your t'other end of the● Town young Relations at all hours;—  Wild. 
High!  Mrs. Clack. 
Been up with you and down with you early and late, by night and by day; let you in at all hours, drunk and sober, single and double, and civilly withdrawn, and modestly shut the door after me?  Wild. 
Whirr! The storm's up, and the Devil cannot lay it.  Mrs. Clack. 
And am I thus rewarded for my pain!  [Weeps. Wild. 
So Tempests are allayed by showers of Rain.  Mrs. Clack. 
That I should be charged with speaking ill of you, so honest, so civil a Gentleman—  Charl. 
No, I have better witness of your falsehood.  Fop. 
Ha, 'sdeath, she'll name me!  Wild. 
What mean you, my Charlot?  
Do you not think I love you?  Charl. 
Go ask my Lady Galliard, she keeps the best account of all your Sighs and Vows,  
And robs me of my dearest softer hours.  [Kindly to him. Mrs. Clack. 
You cannot hold from being kind to him.  [Aside. Wild. 
Galliard! How came she by that secret of my life? [aside.] Why Ay, 'tis true, I am there sometimes about an Arbitration, about a Suit in Law, about my Uncle.  Charl. 
Ay, that Uncle too—  
You swore to me you were your Uncle's Heir;  
But you perhaps may chance to get him one,  
If the Lady prove not cruel.  Wild. 
Death and the Devil, what Rascal has been prating to her!  [Aside. Charl. 
Whilst I am reserved for a dead lift, if Fortune prove unkind, or wicked Uncles refractory,  
Yet I could love you, though you were a Slave,  [In a soft tone to him. 
And I were Queen of all the Universe.  Mrs. Clack. 
Ay, there you spoiled all again— you forget yourself.  Charl. 
And all the world, when he looks kindly on me.  
But I'll take courage, and be very angry.  [Aside. 
Nor does your Perjuries rest here; you're equally as false to Galliard, as to me; false for a little Mistress of the Town, whom you've set up in spite to Quality.  [Angry. Mrs. Clack. 
So, that was home and handsome.  Wild. 
What damned Informer does she keep in Pension?  Charl. 
And can you think my Fortune and my Youth  
Merits no better Treatment?  [Angry. 
How could you have the heart to use me so?  [Soft to him. 
I fall insensibly to Love and Fondness.  [Aside. Wild. 
Ah, my dear Charlot! you who know my heart, can you believe me false?  Charl. 
In every Syllable, in every Look:  
Your Vows, your Sighs, and Eyes, all counterfeit;  
You said you loved me, where was then your truth?  
You swore you were to be your Uncle's Heir:  
Where was your confidence of me the while,  
To think my Generosity so scanted,  
To love you for your Fortune?  
— How every look betrays my yielding heart!  [Aside. 
No, since men are grown so cunning in their  
Trade of Love, the necessary Vice I'll practise too▪  
And chaffer with Love-Merchants for my Heart.  
Make it appear you are your Uncle's Heir,  
I'll marry ye tomorrow.  
Of all thy Cheats, that was the most unkind,  
Because you thought to conquer by that Lye.  
— To night I'll be resolved.  Wild. 
Hum! to night!  Charl. 
To night, or I will think you love me for my Fortune; which if you find elsewhere to more advantage,  
I may unpitied die— and I should die,  
If you should prove untrue.  [Tenderly to him. Mrs. Clack. 
There you've dashed all again.  Wild. 
I am resolved to keep my credit with her▪— Here's my hand:  
This night, Charlot, I'll let you see the Writings.  
— But how, a Pox of him that knows for Thomas.  [Aside. Charl. 
Ha, that Hand without the Ring!  
Nay, never study for a handsome Lye.  Wild. 
Ring! Oh, ay, I left it in my Dressing-room this morning.  Charl. 
See how thou hast enured thy Tongue to Falshood!  
Did you not send it to a certain Creature  
They call Diana,  
From off that hand that plighted Faith to me?  Wild. 
By Heaven, 'tis Witchcraft all,  
Unless this Villain Fopington betray me.  
Those sort of Rascals will do any thing  
For ready Meat and Wine.— I'll kill the Fool— Ha, here!  Fop. 
Here, Lord! Lord!  [Turns quick and sees him behind him. 
Where were thy Eyes, dear Wilding?  Wild. 
Where they have spied a Rascal.  
Where was this Property concealed?  Fop. 
Concealed! What dost thou mean, dear Tom? Why I stood as plain as the Nose on thy Face, mun.  Wild. 
But 'tis the ungrateful quality of all your sort, to make such base returns.  
How got this Rogue admittance, and when in,  
The Impudence to tell his treacherous Lies?  Fop. 
Admittance! Why thou'rt stark mad: Did not I come in with you, that is, followed you?  Wild. 
Whither?  Fop. 
Why into the house, up stairs, stood behind you when you swore you would come in, and followed you in.  Wild. 
All this, and I not see!  Fop. 
Oh, Love's blind; but this Lady saw me, Mrs. Clacket saw 〈◊〉— Admittance quotha!  Wild. 
Why did you not speak?  Fop. 
Speak! I was so amazed at what I heard, the villainous Scandals laid on you by some pickthank Rogue or other, I had no power.  Wild. 
Ay, thou know'st how I am wronged.  Fop. 
Oh, most damnably, Sir!  Wild. 
Abuse me to my Mistress too!  Fop. 
Oh, Villains! Dogs!  Charl. 
Do you think they've wronged him, Sir? for I'll believe you.  Fop. 
Do I think, Madam? Ay, I think him a Son of a Whore that said it; and I'll cut's Throat.  Mrs. Clack. 
Well, this Impudence is a heavenly Virtue!  Wild. 
You see now, Madam, how Innocence may suffer.  Charl. 
In spite of all thy villainous dissembling,  
I must believe, and love thee for my quiet.  Wild. 
That's kind; and if before to morrow I do not show you I deserve your Heart, kill me at once by quitting me.— Farewell.— [goes out with Fop.] I know both where my Uncle's Will and other Writings lie, by which he made me Heir to his whole Estate.  
My craft will be in catching; which if passed,  
Her Love secures me the kind Wench at last.  [Aside. Mrs. Clack. 
What if he should not chance to keep his word now?  Charl. 
How if he should not? by all that's good, if he should not, I am resolved to marry him however. We two may make a pretty shift with three thousand pound a year: yet I would fain be resolved how affairs stand between the old Gentleman and him. I would give the world to see that Widow too, that Lady Galliard.  Mrs. Clack. 
If you're bent upon't▪ I'll tell you what we'll do, Madam: There's every day mighty Feasting here at his Uncle's hard by, and you shall disguise your self as well as you can, and go for a Niece of mine I have coming out of Scotland: where you will not fail of seeing my Lady Galliard, though I doubt, not Mr. Wilding, who is of late discarded.  Charl. 
Enough; I am resolved upon this design: Let's in and and practise the Northern Dialect.  Exit, both.  

SCENE the Second. The Street.  Enter Wilding and Fopington. Wild. 
But then Diana took the Ring at last?  Fop. 
Greedl●y; but railed, and swore, ● and ranted at your late unkindness, and would not be appeased.  Enter Dresswell. Wild. 
Dresswell, I was just going to see for thee.  Dress. 
I'm glad, dear Tom, I'm here to serve thee.  Wild. 
And now I've found thee, thou must along with me.  Dress. 
Whither? But I'll not ask, but obey.  Wild. 
To a kind sinner, Frank.  Dress. 
Pox on 'em all: prithee turn out those petty Tyrants of thy Heart, and fit it for a Monarch, Love, dear Widling, of which thou never knewst the pleasure yet, or not above a day.  Wild. 
Not knew the pleasure! Death, the very Essence, the first draughts of Love:  
Ah, how pleas●●●● is to drink when a man's adry!  
The rest is all but dully ●ipping on.  Dress. 
And yet this Diana, for thither thou art going, thou hast been constant to this three or four years.  Wild. 
A constant Keeper thou meanest; which is indeed enough to get the scandal of a Coxcomb: But I know not, those sort of Baggages have a kind of Fascination so enticing— and Faith, after the Fatigues of Formal Visits to a man's dull Relations, or what's as bad, to women of Quality; after the busy Afflictions of the Day, and the Debauches of the tedious Night, I tell thee, Frank, a man's best Retirement is with a soft kind Wench. But to say truth, I have a farther design in my Visit▪ now. Thou know'st how I stand past hope of Grace, excommunicated the Kindness of my Uncle.  Dress. 
True.  Wild. 
My lewd Debauches, and being o'th' wrong Party, as he calls it, is now become an reconcilable Quarrel; so that I having many and hopeful Intrigues now depending, especially these of my charming Widow, and my City-Heiress, which can by no means be carried on without that damned Necessary called Ready Money, I have stretched my Credit, as all young Heirs do, till 'tis quite broke. Now Liveries, Coaches, and clothes must be had, they must, my Friend.  Dress. 
Why dost thou not in this Extremity clap up a Match with my Lady Galliard? or this young Heiress you speak of?  Wild. 
But Marriage, Frank, is such a bugbear! And this old Uncle of mine may one day be gathered together, and sleep with his Fathers, and then I shall have six thousand pound a year, and the wide World before me; and who the Devil could relish these Blessings with the clog of a Wife behind him?— But till then, Money must be had, I say.  Fop. 
Ay, but how, Sir?  Wild. 
Why, from the old Fountain, jack, my Uncle; he has himself decreed it: he tells me I must live upon my Wits, and will, Frank.  Fop. 
Gad, I'm impatient to know how.  Wild. 
I believe thee, for thou art out at Elbows: and when I thrive, you show i'●h' Pit, behind the Scenes, and Coffeehouses. Thy Breeches give a better account of my Fortune, than Lily with all his Schemes and Stars.  Fop. 
I own I thrive by your Influence, Sir.  Dress. 
Well; but to your Project, Friend: to which I'll set a helping Hand, a Heart, a Sword, and Fortune.  Wild. 
You make good what my Soul conceives of you. Let's to Diana then, and there I'll tell thee all. [Going out, they meet Diana, who enters with her Maid Betty, and Boy; looks angrily.— Diana, I was just going to thy Lodgings!  Dian. 
Oh 'las, you are too much taken up with your rich City-Heiress.  Wild. 
That's no cause of quarrel between you and I, Diana; you were wont to be as impatient for my marrying, as I for the death of my Uncle: for your rich Wife ever obliges her Husband's Mistress; and women of your sort, Diana, ever thrive better by Adultery than Fornication.  Dian. 
Do, try to appease the easy Fool with these fine Expectations:— No, I have been too often flattered with the hopes of your marrying a rich Wife, and then I was to have a Settlement; but instead of that, things go backward with me, my Coach is vanished, my Servants dwindled into one necessary Woman and a Boy, which to save Charges, is too small for any service; my twenty Guinnies a week, into forty Shillings: a hopeful Reformation!  Wild. 
Patience, Diana, things will mend in time.  Dian. 
When, I wonder? Summer's come, yet I am still in my embroidered Manto, when I'm dressed, lined with Velvet; 'twould give one a Favour but to look at me: yet still I am flammed off with hopes of a rich Wife, whose Fortune I am to lavish.— But I see you have neither Conscience nor Religion in you; I wonder what a Devil will become of your Soul for thus deluding me!  [Weeps. Wild. 
By Heaven, I love thee!  Dian. 
Love me! what if you do? how far will that go at the Exchange for Point? Will the Mercer take it for currant Coin?— But 'tis no matter, I must love a Wit, with a Pox, when I might have had so many Fools of Fortune: But the Devil take me, if you deceive me any longer.  [Weep. Wild. 
You'll keep your word, no doubt, now you have sworn.  Dian. 
So I will. I never go abroad, but I gain new Conquest. Happy's the man that can approach nearest the side-box where I sit at a Play, to look at me; but if I deign to smile on him, Lord, how the o'erjoyed Creature returns it with a bow low as the very Benches! Then rising, shakes his Ears, looks round, with pride, to see who took notice how much he was in favour with charming Mrs. Dy.  Wild. 
No more: Come, let's be Friends, Diana; for you and I must manage an Uncle of mine.  Dian. 
Damn your Projects, I'll have none of 'em.  Wild. 
Here, here's the best Softner of a woman's heart; 'tis told, two hundred Pieces: Go, lay it on, till you shame Quality, into plain Silk and Fringe.  Dian. 
Lord, you have the strangest power of Persuasion!— Nay, if you buy my Peace, I can afford a pennyworth.  Wild. 
So thou canst of any thing about thee.  Dian. 
Well, your Project, my dear Tommy?  Wild. 
Thus then— Thou, dear Frank, shalt to my Uncle, O tell him that Sir Nicholas Gettall, as he knows, being dead, and having left, as he knows too, one only Daughter his whole Executrix, Mrs. Charlot, I have by my civil and modest behaviour, so won upon her heart, that two nights since she left her Father's Countryhouse at Lusum in Kent, in spite of all her strict Guards, and run away with me.  Dress. 
How, wilt thou tell him of it then?  Wild. 
Hear me— That I have hitherto secured her at a Friend's house here in the City; but diligent search being now made, dare trust her there no longer. And make it my humble Request by you, my Friend, (who are only privy to this secret) that he would give me leave to bring her home to his house; whose very Authority will defend her from being fought for there.  Dress. 
Ay, Sir, but what will come of this, I say?  Wild. 
Why a Settlement: You know he has already made me Heir to all he has, after his decease; but for being a wicked Tory, as he calls me, he has, after the Writings were made, signed, and sealed, refused to give 'em in trust. Now when he secs I have made myself Master of so vast a Fortune, he will immediately surrender, that reconciles all again.  Dress. 
Very likely; but wilt thou trust him with the woman, Thomas?  Wild. 
No; here's Diana, who as I shall bedizen, shall pass for as substantial an Alderman's Heiress, as ever fell into wicked hands. He never knew the right Charlot, nor indeed has any body ever seen her but an old Aunt and Nurse, she was so kept up:— And there, Diana, thou shalt have a good opportunity to lie▪ dissemble, and jilt in abundance, to keep thy hand in ure.  
Prithee, dear Dresswell, haste with the News to him.  Dress. 
Faith, I like this well enough; this Project may take, and I'll about it.  [Goes out. Wild. 
Go, get ye home, and trick and betawder yourself up like a right City-Lady, rich, but ill-fashioned; on with all your Jewels, but not a Patch, ye Gipsy, nor no Spanish Paint, d'ye hear.  Dian. 
I'll warrant you for my part.  Wild. 
Then before the old Gentleman, you must behave yourself very soberly, simple, and demure, and look as prew as at a Conventicle; and take heed you drink not off your Glass at Table, nor rant, nor swear; one Oath confounds our Plot, and betrays thee to be an errand Drab.  Dian. 
Doubt not my Art of Dissimulation.  Wild. 
Go, haste and dress—  [Exit Dian. Bet. and Boy. Enter L. Gall. and Closet above in the Balconey; Wild. going out, sees them, stops, and reads a Paper. Wild. 
Ha, who's yonder, the Widow! a Pox upon't, now have not I power to stir: she has a damned ●ank upon my Heart, and nothing but right down lying with her, will dissolve the Charm. She has forbid me seeing her, and therefore I am sure will the sooner take notice of me.  [Reads. Clos. 
What will you put on to night, Madam? you know you are to sup at Sir Timothy Treat-all's.  L. Gall. 
Time enough for that; prithee let's take a turn in this Balconey, this City-garden, where we walk to take the fresh Air of the Sea-coal-smoak. Did the Footman go back, as I ordered him, to see how Wilding and Sir Charles parted?  Clos. 
He did, Madam; and nothing could provoke Sir Charles to fight after your Ladyships strict Commands. Well, I'll swear he's the sweetest natured Gentleman— was all the advantages of Nature and Fortune: I wonder what Exception your Ladyship has to him▪  L. Gall. 
Some small Exception to his whining humour; but I think my chiefest dislike is, because my Relations wish it a Match between us.  
It is not hate to him, but natural contradiction. Ha, is not that Wilding yonder? he's reading of a Letter sure.  Wild. 
So, she sees me. Now for an Art to make her lure me up: for though I have a greater mind than she, it shall be all her own; the Match she told me of this morning with my Uncle, sticks plaguily upon my stomach; I must break the neck on't, or break the Widow's heart, that's certain. If I advance towards the door now, she frowningly retires; if I pass on, 'tis likely she may call me.  [Advances. L. Gall. 
I think he's passing on,  
Without so much as looking towards the window.  Clos. 
He's glad of the excuse of being forbidden.  L. Gall. 
But, Closet, knowest thou not he has abused my fame,  
And does he think to pass thus unupbraided?  
Is there no Art to make him look this way?  
No trick?— Prithee feign to laugh.  [Clos. laughs. Wild. 
So, I shall not answer to that Call.  L. Gall. 
He's going! Ah, Closet, my Fan!— [Lets fall her Fan just as he passes by; he takes it up, and looks up.] Cry mercy, Sir, I'm sorry I must trouble you to bring it.  Wild. 
Faith, so am I; and you may spare my pains, and send your Woman for't, I am in haste.  L. Gall. 
Then the quickest way will be to bring it.  Goes out of the Belconey with Closet. Wild. 
I knew I should be drawn in one way or other.  SCENE changes to a Chamber. Enter L. Gall. Closet to them; Wilding delivers the Fan, and is retiring. L. Gall. 
Stay; I hear you're wondrous free of your Tongue, when 'tis let loose on me.  Wild. 
Who I, Widow? I think of no such trifles.  L. Gall. 
Such Railers never think when they're abusive; but something you have said, a Lie so infamous!  Wild. 
A Lie, and infamous of you! impossible!  
What was it that I called you, Wise, or Honest?  L. Gall. 
How, can you accuse me for the want of either?  Wild. 
Yes, of both: Had you a grain of Honesty, or intended ever to be thought so, would you have the impudence to marry an old Coxcomb, a Fellow that will not so much as serve you for a Cloak, he is so visibly and undeniably impotent?  L. Gall. 
Your Uncle you mean.  Wild. 
I do; who has not known the joy of Fornication this thirty year, and now the Devil and you have put it into his head to marry, forsooth. Oh the Felicity of the Wedding-night!  L. Gall. 
Which you, with all your railing Rhetoric, shall not have power to hinder.  Wild. 
Not if you can help it: for I perceive you are resolved to be a lewd incorrigible sinner, and marryest this seditious doting fool my Uncle, only to hang him out for the sign of the Cuckold, to give notice where Beauty is to be purchased, for fear otherwise we should mistake, and think thee honest.  L. Gall. 
So much for my want of Honesty; my Wit is the Part of the Text you are to handle next.  Wild. 
Let the World judge of that, by this one action: This Marriage undisputably robs you both of your Reputation and Pleasure. Marry an old Fool, because he's rich! when so many handsome proper younger Brothers would be glad of you!  L. Gall. 
Of which hopeful number yourself are one.  Wild. 
Who, I! Bear witness, Closet; take notice I'm upon my Marriage, Widow, and such a Scandal on my Reputation might ruin me: therefore have a care what you say.  L. Gall. 
Ha, ha, ha, Marriage! Yes, I hear you give it out, you are to be married to me: for which Defamation, if I be not revenged, hang me.  Wild. 
Yes, you are revenged: I had the fame of vanquishing where'er I laid my Siege, till I knew thee, hard-hearted thee; had the honest Reputation of lying with the Magistrates Wives, when their Reverend Husbands were employed in the necessary Affairs of the Nation, seditiously petitioning; and then I was esteemed; but now they look on me as a monstrous thing, that makes honourable Love to you; Oh hideous, a Husband-Lover! So that now I may protest, and swear, and lie my heart out, I find neither Credit nor Kindness; but when I beg for either, my Lady Galliard's thrown in my Dish: Then they laugh aloud, and cry, Who would think it of gay, of fine Mr. Wilding! Thus the City She-wits are let loose upon me, and all for you, sweet Widow; but I am resolved I will redeem my Reputation again, if never seeing you nor writing to you more, will do it: And so farewell, faithless and scandalous honest woman▪  L. Gall. 
Stay, Tyrant.  Wild. 
I am engaged.  L. Gall. 
You are not.  Wild. 
I am, and am resolved to lose no more time on a peevish woman, who values her Honour above her Lover.  [He goes out. L. Gall. 
Go; this is the noblest way of losing thee.  Clos. 
Must not I call him back?  L. Gall. 
No: If any honest Lover come, admit him; I will forget this Devil. Fetch me some Jewels; the company to night at Sir Timothy's may divert me.  [She sits down before her Glass. Enter Boy. Boy. 
Madam, one Sir Anthony Meriwill would speak with your Ladyship.  L. Gall. 
Admit him; sure 'tis Sir Charles his Uncle: if he come to treat a Match with me for his Nephew, he takes me in the critical minute. Would he but leave his whining, I might love him, if 'twere but in revenge.  Enter Sir Anthony Meriwill and Sir Charles. Sir Anth. 
So, I have tutored the young Rogue, I hope he'll learn in time. Good day to your Ladyship; Charles [putting him forward] my Nephew here, Madam— Sirrah— notwithstanding your Ladyship's Commands— Look how he stands now, being a mad young Rascal!— Gad, he would wait on your Ladyship— A Devil on him, see if he'll budge now— For he's a brisk Lover, Madam, when he once begins. A Pox on him, he'll spoil all yet.  L. Gall. 
Please you sit, Sir.  Sir Char. 
Madam, I beg your Pardon for my Rudeness.  L. Gall. 
Still whining?—  [Dressing herself carelessly. Sir Anth. 
D'ye hear that, Sirrah? Oh damn it, beg Pardon! The Rogue's quite out of is part.  Sir Char. 
Madam, I fear my Visit is unseasonable.  Sir Anth. 
Unseasonable! Damned Rogue, unseasonable to a Widow!— Quite out.  L. Gall. 
There are indeed some Ladies that would be angry at an untimely Visit, before they've put on their best Faces; but I am none of those that would be fair in spite of Nature, Sir.— Put on this Jewel here.  [Too Clos. Sir Char. 
That Beauty needs no Ornament, Heaven has been too bountiful.  Sir Anth. 
Heaven! Oh Lord, Heaven! a Puritanical Rogue, he courts her like her Chaplain.  [Aside vexed. L. Gall. 
You are still so full of University-Complements—  Sir Anth. 
D'ye hear that, Sirrah?— Ay so he is, so he is indeed, Madam.— To her like a man, ye Knave.  [Aside to him. Sir Char. 
Ah, Madam, I am come!  Sir Anth. 
To show yourself a Coxcomb.  L. Gall. 
To tire me with discourses of your Passion.— Fie, how this Curl sits!  Looking in the Glass. Sir Char. 
No, you shall hear no more of that ungrateful subject.  Sir Anth. 
Son of a Whore, hear no more of Love, damned Rogue! Madam, by George he lies; he does come to speak of Love, and make Love, and to do Love, and all for Love.— Not come to speak of Love, with a Pox! ' Owns, Sir, behave yourself like a man; be impudent, be saucy, forward, bold, towzing, and lewd, d'ye hear, or I'll beat thee before her. Why what a Pox!  [Aside to him, he minds it not. Sir Char. 
Finding my hopes quite lost in your unequal Favours to young Wilding, I'm quitting of the Town.  L. Gall. 
You will do well to do so.— Lay by that Necklace; I'll wear Pearl to day.  [Too Clos. Sir Anth. 
Confounded Blockhead!— By George, he lies again, Madam. A Dog, I'll disinherit him. [aside.] He quit the Town, Madam! no, not whilst your Ladyship is in it, to my knowledge. He'll live in the Town, nay, in the Street where you live; nay, in the House; nay, in the very Bed, by George; I've heard him a thousand times swear it. Swear it now, Sirrah: Look, look, how he stands now! Why dear Charles, good Boy, swear a little, ruffle her, and swear Damn it, she shall have none but thee. [aside to him.] Why you little think, Madam, that this Nephew of mine is one of the maddest Fellows in all Devonshire.  L. Gall. 
Would I could see't, Sir.  Sir Anth. 
See't! look ye there, ye Rogue.— Why 'tis all his fault, Madam. He's seldom sober; then he has a dozen Wenches in pay, that he may with the more Authority break their widows. There's never a Maid within forty miles of Meriwill-hall to work a Miracle on, but all are Mothers. He's a hopeful Youth, I'll say that for him.  Sir Char. 
How I have loved you, my despairs shall witness: for I will die to purchase your content.  [She rises. Sir Anth. 
Die, a damned Rogue! Ay, ay, I'll disinherit him: A Dog, die, with a Pox! No, he'll be hanged first, Madam.  Sir Char. 
And sure you'll pity me when I am dead.  Sir Anth. 
A Curse on him; pity, with a Pox! I'll give him ne'er a sauce.  L. Gall. 
Give me that Essence-bottle.  [Too Clos. Sir Char. 
But for a recompense of all my sufferings—  L. Gall. 
Sprinkle my Handkerchief with Tuberuse.  [Too Clos. Sir Char. 
I beg a Favour you'd afford a stranger.  L. Gall. 
Sooner perhaps. What Jewel's that?  [Too Clos. Clos. 
One Sir Charles Meriwill—  L. Gall. 
Sent, and you received without my order!  
No wonder that he looks so scurvily.  
Give him the Trifle back to mend his humour.  Sir Anth. 
I thank you, Madam, for that repromand. Look in that Glass, Sir, and admire that sneaking Coxcomb's Countenance of yours: A Pox on him, he's passed Grace, lost, gone, not a sauce, not a Groat; good buy to you, Sir. Madam, I beg your Pardon; the next time I come a wooing, it shall be for myself, Madam, and I have something that will justify it too; but as for this fellow, if your Ladyship have e'er a small Page at leisure, I desire he may have order to kick him down stairs. Adamned Rogue, to be civil now, when he should have behaved himself handsomely! Not an Acre, not a Shilling,— buy, Sir Softhead. [going out, meets Wild. and returns.] Ha, who have we here, hum, the fine mad Fellow? So, so, he'll swinge him I hope; I'll stay to have the pleasure of seeing it done.  Enter Wilding, brushes by Sir Charles. Wild. 
I was sure 'twas Meriwill's Coach at door.  [Aside. Sir Char. 
Ha, Wilding!  Sir Anth. 
Ay, now Sir, here's one will waken ye, Sir.  [To Sir Char. Wild. 
How now, Widow, you are always giving Audience to Lovers, I see.  Sir Char. 
You're very free, Sir.  Wild. 
I'm always so in the widow's Lodgings, Sir.  Sir Anth. 
A rare Fellow!  Sir Char. 
You will not do't elsewhere?  Wild. 
Not with so much Authority.  Sir Anth. 
An admirable Fellow! I must be acquainted with him.  Sir Char. 
Is this the Respect you pay women of her Quality?  Wild. 
The Widow knows I stand not much on Ceremonies.  Sir Anth. 
Gad, he shall be my Heir. [Aside still.  L. Gall. 
Pardon him, Sir, this is his Cambridge-breeding.  Sir Anth. 
Ay so 'tis, so 'tis; that two years there quite spoiled him.  L. Gall. 
Sir, if you've any farther business with me, speak it; if not, I'm going forth.  Sir Char. 
Madam, in short—  Sir Anth. 
In short to a Widow, in short! quite lost.  Sir Char. 
I find you treat me ill for my Respect;  
And when I court you next,  
I will forget how very much I love you.  Sir Anth. 
Sir, I shall be proud of your farther acquaintance; for I like, love, and honour you.  [〈◊〉 Wild. Wild. 
I'll study to deserve it, Sir.  Sir Anth. 
Madam, your Servant. A damned sneaking Dog to be civil and modest, with a Pox!  [Exit Sir Char. and Sir Anth. L. Gall. 
See if my Coach be ready.  [Exit Clos. Wild. 
Whither are you janting now?  L. Gall. 
Where you dare not wait on me; to your Uncles to Supper.  Wild. 
That Uncle of mine pimps for all the Sparks of his Party;  
There they all meet and bargain without scandal:  
Fops of all sorts and sizes you may choose.  
Whig-land affords not such another Market.  Enter Closet. Clos. 
Madam, here's Sir Timothy Treat-all come to wait on your Ladyship to Supper.  Wild. 
My Uncle! Oh, damn him, he was born to be my Plague: Not disinheriting me had been so great a disappointment; and if he sees me here, I ruin all the Plots I've laid for him. Had he's here!  Enter Sir Tim. Sir Tim. 
How, my Nephew Thomas here!  Wild. 
Madam, I find you can be cruel too,  
Knowing my Uncle has abandoned me.  Sir Tim. 
How now, Sir, what's your business here?  Wild. 
I came to beg a Favour of my Lady Galliard, Sir, knowing her Power and Quality here in the City.  Sir Tim. 
How, a Favour of my Lady Galliard! The Rogue said indeed he would Cuckold me. [aside.] Why, Sir, I thought you had been taken up with your rich Heiress?  Wild. 
That was my business now, Sir: Having in my possession the Daughter and Heir of Sir Nicholas Gettall, I would have made use of the Authority of my Lady Galliard's house to have secured her, till I got things in order for our Marriage; but my Lady, to put me off, cries, I have an Uncle.  L. Gall. 
A well-contrived Lye.  [Aside. Sir Tim. 
Well, I have heard of your good Fortune; and however a Reprobate thou hast been, I'll not show myself so undutiful an Uncle, as not to give the Gentlewoman a little houseroom: I heard indeed she was gone a week ago,  
And, Sir, my house is at your service.  Wild. 
I humbly thank you, Sir. Madam, your Servant. A Pox upon him, and all his Association.  [Goes out. Sir Tim. 
Come, Madam, my Coath waits below.  Exit.   

ACT the Third.  

SCENE the First. A Room.  Enter Sir Timothy Treat-all and Jervice. Sir Tim. 
HEre, take my Sword, jervice. What have you enquired as I directed you concerning the rich Heiress, Sir Nicholas Gettall's Daughter?  jer. 
Alas, Sir, inquired! why 'tis all the City-News, that she's run away with one of the maddest Tories about Town.  Sir Tim. 
Good Lord! Ay, ay, 'tis so; the plaguy Rogue my Nephew has got her. That Heaven should drop such Blessings in the mouths of the Wicked! Well' jervice, what Company have we in the house, jervice?  jer. 
Why truly, Sir, a fine deal, considering there's no Parliament.  Sir Tim. 
What Lords have we, jervice?  jer. 
Lords, Sir! truly none.  Sir Tim. 
None! what ne'er a Lord! Some mishap will befall me, some dire mischance: Ne'er a Lord! ominous, ominous! our Party dwindles daily. What, nor Earl, nor marquess, nor Duke, nor ne'er a Lord? Hum, my Wine will lie most villainously upon my hands to night, jervice. What, have we store of Knights and Gentlemen?  jer. 
I know not what Gentlemen there be, Sir; but there are Knights, Citizens, their Wives and Daughters.  Sir Tim. 
Make us thankful for that; our Meat will not lie upon our hands then, jervice: I'll say that for our little Londoners, they are as tall fellows at a well-charged Board as any in Christendom.  jer. 
Then, Sir, there's Nonconformist-parsons'.  Sir Tim. 
Nay, than we shall have a clear Board: for your true Protestant Appetite in a Lay-Elder, does a man's Table credit.  jer. 
Then, Sir, there's Country-Justices and Grand-Jury-men.  Sir Tim. 
Well enough, well enough, jervice.  Enter Mrs. Censure. Sen. 
An't like your Worship, Mr. Wilding is come in with a Lady richly dressed in Jewels, masked, in his hand, and will not be denied speaking with your Worship.  Sir Tim. 
Ha, rich in Jewels! this must be she. My Sword again, jervice.— Bring 'em up, Censure,— Prithee how do I look to night, jervice?  [Setting himself. jer. 
Oh, most methodically, Sir.  Enter Wild. and Diana and Betty. Wild. 
Sir, I have brought into your kind protection the richest Jewel all London can afford, fair Mrs. Charlot Gettall.  Sir Tim. 
Bless us, she's ravishing fair! Lady, I had the honour of being intimate with your worthy Father. I think he has been dead—  Dian. 
If he chastise me much on that point, I shall spoil all. Alas, Sir, name him not; for if you do, [weeping] I'm sure I cannot answer you one Question.  [Aside. Wild. 
For Heaven sake, Sir, name not her Father to her; the bare remembrance of him kills her.  [Aside to him. Sir Tim. 
Alas, poor Soul! Lady, I beg your Pardon. How soft-hearted she's! I am in love; I find already a tickling kind of I know not what, run frisking through my Veins.  [Aside. Betty. 
Ay, Sir, the good Alderman has been dead this twelvemonth just, and has lest his Daughter here, my Mistress, three thousand pound a year.  [Weep. Sir Tim. 
Three thousand pound a year! Yes, yes, I am in love.  [Aside. Bet. 
Besides Money, Plate, and Jewels.  Sir Tim. 
I'll marry her out of hand: [aside.] Alas, I could even weep too; but 'tis in vain. Well, Nephew, you may be gone now: for 'tis not necessary you should be seen here, d'ye see.  [Pushing him out. Wild. 
You see, Sir, now, what Heaven has done for me; and you have often told me, Sir, when that was kind, you would be so. Those Writings, Sir, by which you were so good to make me Heir to all your Estate, you said you would put into my possession, whenever I made it appear to you I could live without 'em, or bring you a Wife of Fortune home.  Sir Tim. 
And I will keep my word; 'tis time enough.  [Putting him out. Wild. 
I have, 'tis true, been wicked; but I shall now turn from my evil ways, establish myself in the religious City, and enter into the Association. There wants but these same Writings, Sir, and your good Character of me.  Sir Tim. 
Thou shalt have both; all in good time, man: Go, go thy ways, and I'll warrant thee for a good Character; go.  Wild. 
Ay, Sir; but the Writings, because I told her, Sir, I was your Heir; nay, forced to swear it too, before she would believe me.  Sir Tim. 
Alas, alas, how shrewdly thou were't put to't!  Wild. 
I told her too, you'd buy a Patent for me: for nothing woos a City-Fortune like the hopes of a Ladyship.  Sir Tim. 
I'm glad of that; that I can settle on her presently.  [Aside. Wild. 
You may please to hint something to her of my Godly Life and Conversation; that I frequent Conventicles, and am drunk nowhere but at your true Protestant Consults and Clubs, and the like.  Sir Tim, 
Nay, if these will please her, I have her for certain. [aside.] Go, go, fear not my good word.  Wild. 
But the Writings, Sir.—  Sir Tim. 
Am I a Jew, a Turk? Thou shalt have any thing, now I find thee a Lad of Parts, and one that can provide so well for thy Uncle.  [Aside. Puts him out, and addresses himself to the Lady. Wild. 
Would they were hanged that unjust you, that have but the Art of Lejerdemain, and can open the Japan-Cabinet in your Bedchamber, where I know those Writings are kept. Death, what a disappointment's here! I would a'sworn, this Shame had passed upon him.— But, Sir, shall I not have the Writings now?  Sir Tim. 
What not gone yet! for shame, away: Canst thou distrust thy own natural Uncle? Fie, away, Tom, away.  Wild. 
A Plague upon your damned Dissimulation, that never-failing 〈◊〉 of all your Party, there's always mischief at the bottom on't; I know ye all; and Fortune be the Word. When next I see you, Uncle, it shall cost you dearer.  Exit. Enter Jervice. jer. 
An't please your Worship, Supper's almost over, and you are asked for.  Sir Tim. 
They know I never sup: I shall come time enough to bid 'em welcome.  Exit Jer. Dian. 
I keep you, Sir, from Supper and better Company.  Sir Tim. 
Lady, were I a Glutton, I could be satisfied  
With feeding on those two bright starry Eyes.  Dian. 
You are a Courtier, Sir; we City-maids do seldom hear such Language: in which you show your kindness to your Nephew, more than your-thoughts of what my Beauty merits.  Sir Tim. 
Lord, Lord, how innocent she is! [aside.] My Nephew, Madam? yes, yes, I cannot choose but be wondrous kind upon his score.  Dian. 
Nay, he has often told me, you were the best of Uncles, and he deserves your goodness; so hopeful a young Gentleman.  Sir Tim. 
Would I could see't.  [Aside. Dian. 
So modest.  [Aside. Sir Tim. 
Yes, ask my Maids.  Dian. 
So civil.  Sir Tim. 
Yes, to my Neighbour's Wives. [aside.] But so, Madam, I find by this high Commendations of my Nephew, your Ladyship has a very slender opinion of your devoted Servant the while; or else, Madam, with this not disagreeable face and shape of mine, six thousand pound a year, and other Virtues and Commodities that shall be nameless, I see no reason why I should not beget an Heir of my own Body, had I the helping hand of a certain victorious person in the world, that shall be nameless.  [Bowing and smirking. Dian. 
Meaning me, I am sure: If I should marry him now, and disappoint my dear Inconstant with an Heir of his own begetting, 'twould be a most wicked Revenge for past Kindnesses.  [Aside. Sir Tim. 
I know your Ladyship is studying now who this victorious person should be, whom I dare not name; but let it suffice she is, Madam, within a mile of an Oak.  Dian. 
No, Sir, I was considering, if what you say be true,  
How unadvisedly I have loved your Nephew,  
Who swore to me he was to be your Heir.  Sir Tim. 
My Heir, Madam! am I so visibly old to be so desperate?  
No, I'm in my years of desires and discretion,  
And I have thoughts, durst I but utter 'em;  
But modestly say, Mum—  Dian. 
I took him for the hopefullest Gentleman—  Sir Tim. 
Let him hope on, so will I; and yet, Madam, in consideration of your love to him, and because he is my Nephew, young, handsome, witty, and soforth, I am content to be so much a Parent to him, as, if Heaven please,— to see him fairly hanged.  Dian. 
How, Sir!  [In a maze. Sir Tim. 
He has deserved it, Madam; First, for lampooning the Reverend City, with its noble Government, with the Right Honourable Gownsmen; libelling some for Feasting, and some for Fasting, some for Cuckolds, and some for Cuckold-makers; charging us with all the seven deadly sins, the sins, of our Forefathers, adding seven score more to the number; the sins of Forty One revived again in Eighty One, with Additions and Amendments: for which, though the Writings were drawn by which I made him my whole Executor, I will disinherit him. Secondly, Madam, he deserves hanging for seducing and most feloniously bearing away a young City-Heiress.  Dian. 
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 would 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.  Dian. 
Ay, Betty, were he but honest, Betty.  [Weep. Sir Tim. 
Honest! I think he will not steal; but for his Body, the Lord have mercy upon't, for he has none.  Dian. 
'Tis evident I am betrayed, abused;  
H'as looked, and sighed, and talked away my Heart;  
H'as sworn and vowed, and flattered me to ruin.  [Weep. Sir Tim. 
A small fault with him; he has flattered 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.)  Dian. 
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.  Dian. 
Were I a man, how would I be revenged!  Sir Tim. 
Your Ladyship might do it better as you are, were I worthy to advise you.  Dian. 
Name it.  Sir Tim. 
Why by marrying your Ladyship's most assured Friend, and most humble Servant, Timothy Treat-all of London, Alderman.  [Bowing. Bet. 
Ay, this is something, Mistress; here's Reason!  Dian. 
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 hanged him for a Rape.  Dian. 
What, though he had my consent?  Sir Tim. 
That's nothing, he had not ours.  Dian. 
Then should I marry you by stealth, the danger would 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 handsmooth with Ignoramus.  Enter Jervice. jer. 
Sir, there's such 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. 
Ha, coming! Call Censure to wait on the Lady to her Apartment.— 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 Privil dges of the honourable City; and not suffer the force or persuasion of any Arbitrary Lover whatsoever, to subvert their Ancient 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 learned from a Speech at the Election of a Burgess.  Leads her to the door: she goes out with Betty and Censure. Enter Music playing, Sir Anthony Meriwill dancing with a Lady in his hand, Sir Charles' with Lady Galliard, several other women and men. Sir Auth. [sing.] 

Philander was a jolly Swain,  
And loved by every Lass;  
Whom when he met upon the Plain,  
He laid upon the Grass.   

And here he kissed, and there he played  
With this, and then the tother,  
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 damned 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, sanctined 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 lewd 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 lewd design upon his Body! Nay, than I am jealous.  [Aside. L. Gall. 
I a lewd design upon your Body! for what, I wonder?  Sir Char. 
Why, for villainous Matrimony.  L. Gall. 
Who, I!  Sir Char. 
Who, you? yes, you.  
Why are those Eyes dressed 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, Charles, name 'em all.  [Each take a Glass, and force Sir Tim. on his knees. Sir Char. 
— Not ●ate 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. Music, play a Scotch Jig.  [Music plays, they drink. Sir Tim. 
This is mere Tyranny.  Enter Jervice. jer. 
Sir, there is just 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 should be the Renowned Mester de Hotell?  Sir Tim. 
Meter de Otell! I have not the honour to know any of that name; I am called 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'●, 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 Tim. 
I'm much obliged 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, pricked ye down for their succeeding King.  Sir Tim. 
How, my Lord, pricked me down for a King! Why this is wonderful! Pricked me, unworthy me, down for a King! How could 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 sits you to a hair. [Pulls out a Ribon and measures his head. You were by Heaven and Nature framed that Monarch.  Sir Anth. 
Ha, 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. 
Ha, Galliard— and so sweet on Meriwill!  [Aside. L. Gall. 
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 your liquour 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'll not refuse a Health of my Denomination.  Sir Anth. 
We scorn to be so uncivil.  [All take Glasses. Sir Tim. 
Why then here's a concealed 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. Gall. Sir Tim. 
Ay, my Lord, my noble Guests are my Wife and Children.  [Aside. Wild. 
Are you not married then? Death, she smiles on him!  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, Tantivie-Opinions, and Court-Notions.  Wild. 
Cannot your pious Examples convert him?  
By Heaven, she's fond of him!  [Aside. Sir Tim. 
Alas, I hav●●●y'd all ways, fair and foul; ●ay, had settled t'other day my whole Estate upon him, and just as I had signed the Writings, out comes me a damned Libel called, A Warning to all good Christians against the City-Magistrates; and I doubt he had a hand in Absalon and Achitophel; a Rogue: But some of our sober Party have clawed 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 Public 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, womans, and soforth.  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 we serious affairs, and oblige these fair ones.  Addresses himself to Galliard, Sir Charles puts him by. Enter Charlot disguised Clacket, and Fopington. Charl. 
Heavens, Clacket, yonder's my false one, and that my lovely Rival.  Pointing to Wild. and L. Gall. Enter Diana and Censure masked, and Betty. Dian. 
Dear Mrs. Censure, this Favour has obliged me.  Sen. 
I hope you'll not discover it to his Worship, Madam.  Wild. 
By her mien, this should be handsome.— [Goes to Diana.] Madam, I hope you have not made a Resolution to deny me the honour of your hand.  Dian. 
Ha, Wilding! Love can discover thee through all disguise.  Wild. 
Ha, Diana! Would '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 show 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 served, had I brought him the right woman.  [Aside. Dian. 
But do not think, dear Tommy, I would have served thee so; married thy Uncle, and have cozened thee of thy Birthright.— But see, we're observed!  Charlot listening behind him all this while. Charl. 
By all that's good, 'tis he! that Voice is his!  He going from Dian. turns upon Charlot and looks. Wild. 
Ha, 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.  Charl. 
Gued deed, and see ye shall, Sir, ●en you please. Tho l's not dance, Sir, I's tell ya that no.  Wild. 
Nor I: so we're well matched. By Heaven, she's wondrous like her.  Charl. 
By th' Mass, not so kind, Sir: 'Twere gued that e'en of us should dance to guide the other we'll.  Wild. 
How young, how innocent, and free she is?  
And would you, fair one, be guided by me?  Charl. 
In any thing that gued is.  Wild. 
I love you extremely, and would teach you to love.  Charl. 
Ah, we'll aday!  [Sighs and smiles. Wild. 
A thing I know you do not understand.  Charl. 
Gued faith, and you'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.  Charl. 
Gued deed, and so I have: Ya men make sa mickle ado aboot ens Eyes, ways me, I's e'en tired with sick-like Compliments.  Wild. 
Ah, if you give us Wounds, we must complain.  Charl. 
Ya may e'en keep out a harms way then.  Wild. 
Oh, we cannot; or if we could, we would not.  Char. 
Marry and I's have e'en 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 loved against my will,  
But wouldhave not break my Chain.  
I once was called a bonny Lad,  
Till that fair face if yours  
Betrayed the freedom once I had,  
And add my bleether hours.   

But no ways me, like Winter looks,  
My gloomy showering eyen,  
And on the banks of shaded Brooks,  
I pass my wearied time.  
I call the Streem that gleedeth on,  
To witness if it see,  
On all the flowery Brink along,  
A Swain so true as jee.    Wild. 
This very Swain am I, so true and so forlorn, unless you pity me. This is an excellently 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 myself.  [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. Gall. 
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 oftener.  
But you too much partake of the Inconstancy of this your fickle Chmat●  Maliciously to her. 
One day all Sunshine, and th' encouraged 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. Gall. observing him nearly. L. Gall. 
Ha, do not I know that railing Tongue of yours?  Wild. 
'Tis from your Guilt, not Judgement then.  
I was resolved to be to night a Witness  
Of that sworn Love you flattered me so often with.  
By Heaven, I saw you playing with my Rival,  
Sighed, and looked Babies in his gloating Eyes.  
When is the Assignation? when the Hours?  
For he's impatient as the raging Sea,  
lose as the Winds, and amorous as the Sun  
That kisses all the Beauties of the Spring.  L. Gall. 
I take him for a soberer person, Sir.  Wild. 
Have I been the Companion of his Riots  
In all the lewd course of our early Youth,  
Where like unwearied Bees we gathered Flowers?  
But no kind Blossom could oblige our stay,  
We rifled and were gone.  L. Gall. 
Your Virtues I perceive are pretty equal;  
Only his Love's the honester o'th' two.  Wild. 
Honester! that is, he would owe his good fortune to the Parson of the Parish;  
And I would be obliged to you alone.  
He would have a Licence to boast he lies with you,  
And I would 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 Gilting and Hypocrisy cheat the world best.  
— But we both love, and who shall blab the secret?  [In a soft tone. L. Gall. 
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 enchanting Reasons.  Wild. 
You must.  L. Gall. 
I will not.  Wild. 
Indeed you must.  L. Gall. 
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. Gall. 
This night?  Wild. 
This very night.  L. Gall. 
I'd die first— At what hour?  [First turns away, than Sighs and looks on him. Wild. 
O●, name it; and if I fail—  [With joy. L. Gall. 
I would not for the World—  Wild. 
That I should fail!  L. Gall. 
Not name the guilty hour.  Wild. 
Then I through eager haste shall come too soon,  
And do your Honour wrong.  L. Gall. 
My Honour! Oh that word!  Wild. 
Which the Devil was in me for naming.  [Aside. 
— At Twelve!  L. Gall. 
My Women and my Servants then are up.  Wild. 
At One, or Two.  L. Gall. 
So late! 'twill be so quickly day!  Wild. 
Ay, so it will:  
That half our business will be left unfinished.  L. Gall. 
Ha, 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. Gall. 
Be extremely honest.  Wild. 
As you can wish.  L. Gall. 
Rather as I command: for should he know my wish, I were undone.  Aside. Wild. 
The Sign.—  L. Gall. 
Oh, press me not;— yet you may come at midnight under my Chamber-window.  [Sir Char. seas 'em so close, comes to 'em. Sir Char. 
Hold, Sir, hold! Whilst I am listening 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. Charl. 
Persuade me not; I burst with Jealousy.  [Wild, turns, sees Clacket. Wild. 
Death and the Devil Clacket! then 'tis Charlot, and I'm discovered to her.  Charl. 
Say, are not you a false dissembling thing?  [To Wild, in 〈◊〉. Wild. 
What, my little Northern Lass translated into English!  
This 'tis to practise Art in spite of Nature.  
●as, thy Virtue, Youth, and Innocence,  
Were never made for Cunning.  
I found ye out through all your forced Disguise.  Charl. 
Hah, did you know me then?  Wild. 
At the first glance, and found you knew me too,  
And talked 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 concealed from her; that's all.  Charl. 
And is that all, on honour? is it, Dear?  Wild. 
What, no Belief, no Faith in villainous women?  Charl. 
Yes, when I see the Writings.  Wild. 
Go home; I die if you should be discovered;  
And credit me, I'll bring you all you ask.  
Clacket, you and I must have an odd 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 his 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, than 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 myself, I must retire: first waiting on your Lordship to show you your Apartment, then leave you to cher entire; and tomorrow, my Lord, you and I will settle the Nation, and resolve on what return we will make to the noble Polanders.  Exeunt all but Wild. Dress. and Fop. Sir Char. leading out L. Gall. Sir Anth. 
Well said, Charles, thou leavest her not, till she's thy own, Boy.— And  
Philander was a jolly Swain, etc.  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 Lanterns, Pistols, Habits and visards, Sir.  Fop. 
I have provided Portmantles to carry off the Treasure.  Dress. 
I perceive you are resolved to make a through-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 tother.  Wild. 
We will consider on't. 'tis now just struck Eleven: within this hour is the dear Assignation with Galliard.  Dress. 
What, whether our affairs be finished or not?  Wild. 
'Tis but at next door; I shall return time enough for that trivial business.  Dress. 
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.— Labour do you feign to be drunk, and lie on the Hall-table; and when I give the sign, let me softly in.  Dress. 
Death, Sir, will you venture at such a time!  Wild. 
My life and future hope— I am resolved,  
Let Politician's 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 hurled,  
Give me but Woman, I'll despise the World.    

ACT the Fourth.  

SCENE the First. A Dressing-room.  Lady Galliard is discovered 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. Gall. 
COme, leave your everlasting Chambermaid's Chat, your dull Road of  
Slandering by rote, and lay that Paint aside. Thou art fuller of false  
News, than an unlicensed Mercury.  Clos. 
I have good proof, Madam, of what I say.  L. Gall. 
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 Mine, and such a pleasant Wit!  L. Gall. 
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! should 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 lived 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. Gall. 
Eternal rattle, peace!—  
Mrs. Charlot Gettall go away with Wilding!  
A man of Wilding's extravagant life  
Get a Fortune in the City!  
Thou might'st as well have told me, a Holder forth were married to a Nun.  
There are not two such Contraries in Nature;  
'Tis flamm, '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. Gall. 
Who is a most devout Bawd, a precise Procurer;  
Saint in the Spirit, and Whore in the Flesh;  
A Doer of the Devils work in God's Name.  
Is she your Informer? nay, than the lies 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 lived with her  
Friends.  L. Gall. 
Like enough; there are many of these Gentlewomen who live with their  
Friends, as rank Prostitutes, as errand 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 Humane 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 Enchantment in her Eyes;  
Who sees 'em, can no more be wise.    Enter Wilding, who runs to embrace L. Gall. 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 lived to purpose, since at last— Oh, killing Joy!—  
Come, let me sold you, press you in my arms,  
And kiss you thanks for this dear happy night.  L. Gall. 
You may spare your thanks, Sir, for those that will deserve 'em; I shall give ye 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,  
Oppressed 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 Lilies.  [She breaks from him. L. Gall. 
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. Gall. 
Scandalous and vain! by my appointment, and for so lewd 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 ve, 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 Fathers own Mother's Uncle's Sisters Son; what d'ye call him?  Clos. 
Ay, what d'ye call him indeed; I should 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 Countryman of yours, as I was saying—  L. Gall. 
Changed 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 would be alone with your Lady; know your Queen, and retire.  Clos. 
How, Sir!  Wild. 
Learn, I say, to understand Reason when you hear it. Leave us a while;  
Love is not a Game for three to play at.  [Gives her Money. Clos. 
I must own to all the world, you have convinced 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 forget myself. Well, your most obedient Servant: Whenever you've occasion, Sir, be pleased to use me freely.  Wild. 
Nay, dear Impertinent, no more Compliments, you see I'm busy now; prithee be gone, you see I'm busy.  Clos. 
I'm all Obedience to you, Sir—  
Your most obedient—  L. Gall. 
Whither are you ●isking and gigiting now?  Clos. 
Madam, I am going down, and will return immediately, immediately.  Exit Clos. Wild. 
So, she's gone; Heaven and broad Gold be praised for the deliverance: And now, dear Widow, let's lose no more precious time; we've fooled away too much already.  L. Gall. 
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 yourself, you resolve, like other Widows, with all you're worth to buy a Governor, commonly called 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. Gall. 
Trouble not yourself, Sir, to make Excuses; I'm not so fond of the offer to take you at your word. Marry you! a Rakes●●●e, who have not esteem enough for the Sex to believe your own Mother honest— without Money or Credit, without Land either in present or prospect; and half a dozen hungry Vices, like so many bawling 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 Gettall?  Wild. 
Married to her? do I know her, you should rather ask. What Fool has forged this unlikely Lie? But suppose 'twere true, could you be jealous of a woman I marry? do you take me for such an Ass, to suspect I shall love my own Wise? On the other side, I have a great charge of Vices, as you well observe, and I must not be so barbarous to let them starve. Every body in this Age takes care to provide for their Vices, though they send their Children a begging; I should be worse than an Infidel to neglect them. No, I must marry some stiff awkward thing or other with an ugly face and a handsome Estate, that's certain: but whoever is ordained to make my Fortune, 'tis you only that can make me happy.— Come, do it then.  L. Gall. 
I never will.  Wild. 
Unkindly said, you must.  L. Gall. 
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 would you be so base? and could you have the heart  
To take th' advantage on'● to ruin me,  
To make me infamous, despised, loathed, pointed at?  Wild. 
You reason false.—  
According to the strictest rules of Honour,  
Beauty should still be the Reward of Love,  
Not the vile Merchandise of Fortune,  
Or the cheap Drug of a Church-Ceremony.  
She's only infamous, who to her Bed,  
For interest, takes some nauseous Olown she hates:  
And though a Jointure or a Vow in public  
●e her price, that makes her but the dearer whore.  L. Gall. 
I understand not these new Morals.  Wild. 
Have patience, I say 'tis clear.  
All the desires of mutual Love are virtuous.  
Can Heaven or Man be angry that you please  
Yourself 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. Gall. 
Heaven will know't; and I— that that's enough:  
But when you're weary of me, first your Friend, then his, than all the world.  Wild. 
Think not that time will ever come.  L. Gall. 
Oh, it must, it will!  Wild. 
Or if it should, could I be such a Villain—  
Ah Cruel! if you loved me as you say,  
You would not thus distrust me.  L. Gall. 
You do me wrong; I love you more than ere 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. Gall. 
I bring you hither! how can you say it?  
I suffered you indeed to come, but not  
For the base end you fancied, 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. 
Cozened, abused, she loves some other man!  
Dull Blockhead not to find it out before!  [Aside. 
— Well, Madam, may I at last believe  
This is your fixed and final Resolution?  
And does your Tongue now truly speak your Heart,  
That has so long belied it?  L. Gall. 
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. Gall. 
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. Lapp-fool and Mr. Love-all; they'll do it better, and are more at leisure.  L. Gall. 
Hear me a little: You know I both despise, and hate those civil Coxcombs, as much as Lesteem and love you. But why will you be gone so soon? and why are you so cruel to urge me thus to part either with your good Opinion or your Kindness? I would fain keep 'em both.  [In a soft tone. Wild. 
Then keep your word, Madam.  L. Gall. 
My word! And have I promised 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 loathed 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 run away from shadows.  
Already some pert Fop, some Ribon-fool,  
Some dancing Coxcomb, has supplanted me  
In that unsteady treacherous woman's heart of yours.  L. Gall. 
Believe it if you will. Yes, let me be false, unjust, ungrateful, any thing but a— Whore—  Wild. 
Oh, Sex on purpose formed to plague Mankind!  
All that you are, and that you do, 's a lie.  
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 damned deceitful Love is all o'er false.  L. Gall. 
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. Gall. 
Said you most easily? Oh, inhuman!  
Your cruel words have waked 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 would not be thought false.  [In a soft tone, coming near him. Wild. 
Nor would I think you so; give me not cause.  L. Gall. 
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. Gall. 
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 would not any more deny you.  Wild. 
Oh, heavenly sound! Oh, charming Creature! speak that word again, again, again! for ever let me hear it.  L. Gall. 
But did you not indeed? and will you never, never love Mrs. Charlot, never?  Wild. 
Never, never.  L. Gall. 
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 Bedchamber, Wild. leading her with his arms about her. Enter Sir Charles Meriwill and Sir Anthony, Sir Char. drunk. SCENE changes. Sir Anth. 
A Dog, a Rogue, to leave her!  Sir Char. 
Why look ye, Uncle, what would 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, followed you out, winked, smiled, and nodded, cried, ' buy Charles, ' buy 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 should bring thee up with no more fear of God before my Eyes!  Sir Char. 
Nay, dear Uncle, don't break my heart now. Why I did proffer, and press, and swear, and lied, and— but a Pox on her, she has the damndest wheedling way with her, as, Dear Charles, nay prithee, he, 'tis late, to morrow, my Honour, which if you loved, you would preserve; and such obliging Reasons.  Sir Anth. 
Reasons! Reason! a Lover, and talk of Reason! You lie, Sirrah, you lie. 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 myself alone with her in this pickle, lest I should a fallen soul on her.  Sir Anth. 
Why there's it; 'tis that you should adone: I am mistaken if she be not one of those Ladies that love to be ravished of a Kindness. Why, your willing Rape is all the fashion, Charles.  Sir Char. 
But hark ye, Uncle.  Sir Anth. 
Why how now, Jack-sawce, 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 〈◊〉 these occasions.  Sir Anth. 
Are you so, Sir? and I'll make you willing, or try Toledo with you, Sir.— When, what, I shall have ye 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 yourself on the whole Sex.  Sir Char. 
My dear Uncle, come kiss me and be friends, I will be ruled  [Kisses him. Sir Anth. 
— A most admirable good-natured 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 quits 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 are 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, backed by my noble Uncle, I'll venture on her, had she all Cupid's Arrows, Venus' Beauty, and Ma●alina'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 a resistless Lewdness 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 Bedchamber. 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 〈◊〉—  Sir Char. 
Damn the City.  Sir Anth. 
All the Whigs, Charles, all the Whigs.  Sir Char. 
In short, I am resolved, d'ye see, to go to the Widows Chamber.  Sir Anth. 
Hark ye, Mrs. Closet, I thought I had entirely engaged you this evening.  Clos. 
I am perfectly yours, Sir; but now it happens so, her Mother being there—  
Yet if you would withdraw for half an hour, into my Chamber, till she were gone—  Sir Anth. 
This is Reason, Charles. Here, here's two Pieces to buy thee a Gorget.  Gives her Money. Sir Char. 
And here's my two, because 〈…〉 illustrious.  Gives her Monies and goes out with her. Enter Lady Galliard in rage, held by Wilding. L. Gall. 
What have I done? Ah, whither shall I fly?  [Weeps. Wild. 
Why all these Tears? Ah, why this cruel Passion?  L. Gall. 
Undone, undone! Unhand me, false, sorsworn;  
Be gone, and let me rage till I am dead.  
What should I do with guilty Life about me?  Wild. 
Why, where's the harm of what we two have done?  L. Gall. 
Ah, leave me—  
Leave me alone to sigh to flying Winds,  
That the infection may be born aloft,  
And reach no humane Ear.  Wild. 
Cease, lovely Charmer, cease to wound me more.  L. Gall. 
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-winged God, harmless and innocent,  
Young as Desire, wanton as Summer-breezes,  
Soft as thy Smiles, resistless as thy Eyes.  L. Gall. 
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 Enchantment wrought,  
That first undo the heedless Gazers on,  
Then show their natural deformity.  Wild. 
Ah, my Galliard, am I grown ugly then?  
Has my increase of Passion lessened yours?  [In a soft tone. L. Gall. 
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. Gall. 
By Heaven, not all thy Art  
Shall draw me to the tempting sin again.  Wild. 
Oh, I must, or die.  L. Gall. 
By all the Powers, by—  Wild. 
Oh, do not swear, lest Love should take it ill  
That Honour should pretend to give him Laws,  
And make an Oath more powerful than his Godhead.  
— Say that you will half a long hour hence—  L. Gall. 
Ha?  Wild. 
Or say a tedious hour.  L. Gall. 
Death, never—  Wild. 
Or if you must— promise me then to morrow.  L. Gall. 
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. Gall. 
Ah, what—  Wild. 
Revoke that fatal Never then.  L. Gall. 
I dare not.  Wild. 
Oh, say you will.  L. Gall. 
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. Gall. 
Ah, Wilding—  [Sighs. Wild. 
It touched my Soul! Repeat that sigh again.  L. Gall. 
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. Gall. 
Ha, 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. Gall. 
Be gone, or you will ruin me for ever.  [In disorder. Wild. 
Nay, than I will obey.  L. Gall. 
Here, down the back-stairs.—  
As you have Honour, go and cherish mine.  [Pulling him. 
— He's gone; and now methinks the shivering fit of Honour is returned.  Enter Sir Charles, rudely pushing Closet aside, with Sir Anthony. Sir Char. 
Denied an entrance! nay, then there is a Rival in the case, or so; and  
I'm resolved to discover the Hellish Plot, d'ye see.  Just as he enters drunk at one door, Wild. returns at the other. L. Gall. 
Ha, Wilding returned! shield me, ye Shades of Night.  Puts out the Candles, and goes to Wild. Wild. 
The back-stairs-door is locked.  L. Gall. 
Oh, I am lost! curse on this fatal night!  
Art thou resolved on my undoing every way?  Clos. 
Nay, now we're by dark, let me alone to guide you, sir.  [Too Wild. Sir Char. 
What, what, all in darkness? Do you make Love like Cats, by Starlight?  [Reeling about. L. Gall. 
Ah, he knows he's here!— Oh, what a pain is Guilt!  [Aside. Wild. 
I would not be surprised.  As Closet takes him to lead him out, he takes out his Sword, and by dark, pushes by Sir Charles, and almost overthrows Sir Anthony; at which they both draw, whilst he goes out with Closet. Sir Char. 
Ha, Gad 'twas a Spark!— What, vanished! 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. 
— Ha, why what have we here,— my none flesh and blood?  [Embracing his uncle. Sir Anth. 
Cry mercy, Sir! Pray how fell we out?  Sir Char. 
Ou●, Sir! prithee where's my Rival? where's the Spark, the— Gad, I took thee for an errand Rival: Where, where is he?  [Searching about. L. Gall. 
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 damned Domestic 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. Gall. 
Oh, what a Coward's gilded! 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 may 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 lewd as the best of 'em, God grant him life and Health.  [Aside. L. Gall. 
'Tis late, and I entreat your absence, Sir: These are my hours of prayer, which this unseasonable Visit has disturbed.  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. Gall. 
Hold, Sir, you drive the Jest too far;  
And I am in no humour now for mirth.  Sir Char. 
Jest! Gad ye lie, 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. Gall. 
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 reach her her duty.  [bushes her out, and goes out. L. Gall. 
Stay, Closet, I command ye.  
— What have you seen in me should move you to this rudeness?  [To Sir Char. Sir Char. 
No drowning; for by this dear night, 'tis charity, care of your Reputation, Widow: and therefore I am resolved nobody shall lie with you but myself. You have dangerous 〈◊〉 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 God shall judge your Soul, d●ye see, to marry me to morrow.  L. Gall. 
To morrow! Oh, I have urgent business then.  Sir Char. 
So have I. Nay Gad, an you be for the nearest way to wood, the sober discreet way of loving, I am for you, look ye.  [He begins to undress. L. Gall. 
Hold, Sir, what mean you?  Sir Char. 
Only to go to bed, that's all.  [Still undressing. L. Gall. 
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. Gall. 
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 outdoes my expectations of him.  L. Gall. 
What Imposition's this! I'll call for help.  Sir Char. 
You need not, you'll do my business better alone.  [Pulls her. L. Gall. 
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 helped to spoil him; and sick or well, found 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. Gall. 
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. He fumbling to undo his breeches. 
Hold, I do swear I will—  Sir Char. 
What?  L. Gall. 
Marry you.  Sir Char. 
When?  L. Gall. 
Nay, that's too much.— Hold, hold, I will to morrow.  
— Now you are satisfied, you will withdraw?  Enter Sir Anth. and Closet. Sir Anth. 
Charles, Joy Charles, give ye 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 darest swear what thou sayest.  L. Gall. 
How, upon the catch, Sir! am I betrayed?  
Base and unkind, is this your humble Love!  
Is all your whining come to this, false man! By Heaven, I'll be revenged.  She goes out in rage, with Closet. Sir Char. 
Nay, Gad you're caught, struggle and Flounder as you please, Sweetheart, you'll but entangle more; let me alone to tickle your Gills, ●●aith.  [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!— ' Buy, 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 a 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.    

ACT the Fifth.  

SCENE the First. Sir Timothy's House.  Enter Dresswell, Fopington, and five or six more disguised with visards, and dark Lanterns. Fop. 
NOt yet! a Plague of this damned Widow: the Devil owed him an unlucky Cast, and has thrown it him to night.  Enter Wild. in Rapture and joy.. 
— Ha, 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 designed for Love and Play!  Dress. 
'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 employed to remember.  Wild. 
The day to come!  
Death, who could be so dull in such dear Joys,  
To think of time to come, or aught 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. Dress. 
All's still and hush, as if Nature meant to favour our design.  〈◊〉 
'Tis well: And hark ye, my Friends, I'll proscribe you no bounds, or 〈◊〉 for I have considered 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 Portmantua here.  Exeunt as into the house. After a small time, Enter Jervice undressed, crying out, pursued by some of the Thiefs. jer. 
Murder, Murder! Thiefs, 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. Dress. 
Well, we have bound all within hearing in their Beds, ere they could 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 secred nook contious of Treasure.  [All go in, leaving Jervice bound on the Stage. Enter Censure running half undressed as from Sir Timothy's Chamber, with his Velvet-coat on her shoulders. Sen. 
Help, help! Murder! Murder!  [Dress. Laboir, and others pursue her. Dress. 
What have we here, a Female bolted from Mr. Alderman's Bed?  Holding his Lantern to her face. Sen. 
Ah mercy, Sir, alas, I am a Virgin.  Dress. 
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.  Dress. 
That's well.— The sanctified 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. Dress. 
What have we here? A Sermon preached 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 scandalised! I went but to tuck his Worship in.  Dress. 
And comment upon the Text a little, which I suppose may be increase and multiply.— Here, gag and bind her.  [Exit Dress. 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 Nightgown and Nightcaps. Sir Tim. 
Gentlemen, why Gentlemen, I beseech you use a Conscience in what you do, and have a feeling of what you go about.— Pity my Age.  Wild. 
Damned 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 aimed at as a Sacrifice for the Nation? 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 have 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 great service, very great service, for I have been, d'ye see, in a small Trial 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, should they swear against his Holiness himself, 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 Commonwealths-men 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 resolved to assassinate me then?  Wild. 
You trifle, Sir, and know our business better, than to think we come to take your Life, which would 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 Rhetoric, but ready Money.  Aloud, and threatening. 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 would not for the world his Lordship should be disturbed.  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, disgraced! What will the Polanders say, that I should expose their Ambassador 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. Exeunt all. Sir Tim. 
Ay, ay, what you please, Gentlemen, since my Lord's bound.— Oh what Recompense can I make for so unhospitable usage? I am a most unfortunate Magistrate!— Ha, 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 ravished, oh Heavens, ravished! The young Rogues will have no mercy, jervice; nay, perhaps as thou sayest, they'll carry her away.— Oh that thought! Gad I'd rather the City-Charter were lost. [Enter some with bags of Money.— Why Gentlemen, rob like Christians, Gentlemen.  〈◊〉 
〈◊〉, do you mutter, Dog?  〈…〉. 
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 you Arbitrary Power, jervice; here's the rule of the Sword now for you: These are your Tory Rogues, your Tantivie Roisters; but we shall cry quits with you, Rascals, erelong: and if we do come to our old Trade of Plunder and Sequestration, we will so handle ye— 〈…〉 neither Prince, Peer, nor Prelate. Oh, I long to have a Voice at your fat Churchmen, your Crape-Gown-orums.  Enter Wild. and the rest, with more Bags. Wild. 
A Prize, a Prize, my Lads, in ready Guinies! Contribution, my Beloved.  Dress. 
Nay then 'tis lawful Prize, in spite of Ignoramus and all his Tribe.— What hast thou there?  [To Fop. who enters with a bag full of Papers. Fop. 
A whole Bag of Knavery, damned Sedition, Libels, Treason, Successions, Rights and Privileges, with a new-fashioned Oath of Abjuration, called the Association.— Ah Rogue, what will you say when these shall be made public?  Sir Tim. 
Say, Sir? why I'll deny it, Sir: for what Jury will believe so wise a Magistrate as I, could communicate such Secrets to such as you? I'll say you forged 'em, and put 'em in,— or print every one of 'em, and own 'em, as long as they were writ and published 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 Jurymen. 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. Dress. 
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 show our faces. Come, come, to binding.  Fop. 
And who shall bind the last man?  Wild. 
Honest Laboir, d'ye hear, Sirrah? you got drunk and lay in your Clothes under the Hall-table; d'ye conceive me? Look to't, ye Rascal, and carry things discreetly, or you'll all be hanged, that's certain.  [Exit Wild. and Dress. Fop. 
So; now will I i'th' morning to Charlot, and give her such a character of her Lover, as if she have resentment, makes her mine.  [Exit Fop. Sir Tim. 
[calls within.] Ho, jenkin, Roger, Simon! where are these Rogues? None left alive to come to my assistance? So ho, ho, ho! Rascals, Sluggards, Drones! So ho, ho, ho!  Lab. 
So, now's my Queen— 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. 
Ha, 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 Lantern in's hand. Sir Tim. 
Oh, neither, neither, but mere mortal Sir Timothy Treat-all, robbed and bound.  [Coming out led by Lab. Lab. 
How, our generous Host?  Sir Tim. 
How, one of my Lords 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 waked me; and crawling from my Kennel to secure the black Jack, I stumb'ed upon this Lantern, 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 ashamed to look in the face, I am an errand Sarazen.  [Exit Sir Tim. and Lab. SCENE changes to Wilding's Chamber. He discovered sitting in a Chair bound his Vallet bound by him; to them Sir Timothy and Laboir. Wild. 
Peace, Sirrah, for sure I hear some coming.— Villains, Rogues! I care not for myself, but 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 prayed that drowsy Slave asleep, the Thiefs broke in upon us unawares, I having laid my Sword aside.  Sir Tim. 
Oh, Heavens, at his Prayers! damned Ruffians, and would they not stay till you had said your Prayers?  Wild. 
By no persuasion.— Can you not guests who they should be, Sir?  Sir Tim. 
Oh, some damned 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 passed our reach by this time.  Wild. 
Oh, Sir, they are nearer than you imagine:  
〈…〉 each corner of your house, I'll warrant.  〈◊〉. 
Think ye so, my Lord? Ay, this comes of keeping Open House; which makes so many shut up their doors at Dinnertime.  Enter Dresswell. Dress. 
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.  [Exit 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 Rosebuds 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 changes to Diana's Chamber. She is discovered dressing, with Betty. Dian. 
Methinks I'm up as early as if I had a mind to what I'm going to do, marry this old rich Coxcomb.  Bet. 
And you do well to lose no time.  Dian. 
Ah, Betty, and could thy prudence prefer an old Husband, because rich, before so young, so handsome, 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, Money and Quality may.  Dian. 
Ay, but to be obliged to lie with such a Beast; aye, 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 withered Lips,  
Trembling with Palsy, stinking with Disease,  
By Age and Nature barricaded up  
With a kind Nose and Chin;  
What fancy or what thought can make my hours supportable?  Bet. 
What? why six thousand pound a year, mistress.  
He'll quickly die and leave you rich, and then do what you please.  Dian. 
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 outlive me.  [Sighs. Bet. 
In grace a God he may be hanged first, Mistress.— Ha, one knoc 〈◊〉 lief 'tis he.  [She goes to open 〈◊〉 Dian. 
I cannot bring my heart to like this business;  
One sight of my dear Tom would 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 welcomed in the day;  
This happy day to be enrolled  
In Rubrick-letters, and in Gold.  
— Hum, I am profoundly eloquent this morning.  [Aside. 
— Fair Excellence, I approach—  [Going towards her. Dian. 
Like Physic in a morning next one's heart;  [Aside. 
Which though 'tis necessary, is most filthy loathsome.  [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.  [Aside. Dian. 
It will not down.  [Turning to him, looks on him, and turns away. Sir Tim. 
Alas, ye Gods, am I despised and scorned?  
Did I for this, ponder upon the Question,  
Whether I should be King or Alderman?  [Heroickly. Dian. 
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?  Dian. 
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 are a-bed, that we have nothing else to do.  [Takes her hand. Dian. 
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.  Dian. 
A Pox upon him now for naming Wilding.  [Weeps. Sir Tim. 
How, weep at naming my ungracious Nephew? Nay, than I am provoked— 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.  Dian. 
A Halter rather.  [Aside. Sir Tim. 
Ay, and it fits it too: and am I slighted, I that shall receive Billet Deux from Infantas? 'tis most uncivil and impolitic.  Dian. 
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 entirely yours.  Gives him her hand, they go out. SCENE changes to a Street. Enter Charlot, led by Fopington, followed by Mrs. Clacket. Charl. 
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.  Charl. 
Oh take heed, lest you sin doubly, Sir.  Fop. 
By Heaven, 'tis true, he passed the night with her.  Charl. 
All night? what could they find to do?  Mrs. Clack. 
A very proper Question: I'll warrant you they were not idle, Madam.  Charl. 
Oh no; they looked and loved, and vowed and loved, 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. Charl. 
Yet what art thou? a stranger to my heart.  
Wherefore, ah why, on what occasion should I?  Mrs. Clack. 
Acquaintance, 'tis enough, I know him, Madam, and I hope my word will be taken for a greater matter i'th' City: In troth you're beholding to the Gentleman for marrying you; your Reputation's gone.  Charl. 
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, that would not swear you'd lost your Maidenhead? And back again I'm sure you dare not go unmarried; that would 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.  Charl. 
Oh, you trifle, Sir; lead on.  They going out, meet Sir Anthony with Music: they return. Sir Anth. 
Come, come, Gentlemen, this is the House, and this the window belonging to my Lady's Bedchamber: 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.  Charl. 
What do I hear, my Lady Galliard joyed?  Fop. 
How, married her already?  Charl. 
Oh, yes he has. Lovely and false, hast thou deceived my Faith?  Mrs. Clack. 
Oh Heavens, Mr. Fopington, she faints— ah me!  They hold her, Music plays. Enter Wilding and Dresswell disguised as before. Wild. 
Ah, Music at Galliard's door!  Sir Anth. 
Good morrow, Sir Charles Meriwill; give your Worship and your fair Lady joy.  Wild. 
Ha, Meriwill married the Widow?  Dress. 
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 meets my eyes.— Ha!—  Sees Sir Charles come into the Belconey undressed. 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. 
Ha, the Boys Rival here! By George, here may be breathing this morning.— No matter, here's two to two; come, Gentlemen, you must in.  Thrusts the Music in, and goes in. Dress. 
Is't not what you expected? nay, what you wished?  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 damned deluding Woman!  Dress. 
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. Charl. 
I say 'twas Wilding's voice, and I will follow it.  Fop. 
How, Madam, would you after him?  Charl. 
Nay, force me not: By Heaven I'll cry a Rape,  
Unless you let me go.— Not after him!  
Yes to th'infernal Shades.— Unhand me, Sir.  Fop. 
How, Madam, have you then designed my ruin?  Charl. 
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 ●●ck, was ever man thus Fortune-bit, that he should 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 outface a Middlesex- Jury, and out-swear a Discoverer.  [Goes in. SCENE changes to a Chamber. Enter Lady Galliard pursued by Sir Charles, and Footman. L. Gall. 
Sirrah, run to my Lord Mayors 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. Gall. 
I say, obey me, Sirrah.  Sir Char. 
Sirrah, I say— know your Lord and Master.  Will. 
I shall, Sir.  [Goes out. L. Gall. 
Was ever woman teazed thus? pursue me not.  Sir Char. 
You are mistaken, I'm disobedient grown,  
Since we became one Family; and when I've used you thus a week or two, you will grow weary of this peevish fooling.  L. Gall. 
Malicious thing, I won't, I am resolved I'll tire thee out merely in spite to have the better of thee.  Sir Char. 
Gad I'm as resolved as you, and do your worst:  
For I'm resolved never to quit thy house.  L. Gall. 
But Malice, there are Officers, Magistrates i'th' City, that will not see me used 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 hanged in Heavens good time.  L. Gall. 
Are you resolved to be thus obstinate?  
Fully resolved to make this way your Conquest?  Sir Char. 
Most certainly, I'll keep you honest to your word, my Dear, I've Witness—  L. Gall. 
You will?  Sir Char. 
You'll find it so.  L. Gall. 
Then know, if thou darest marry me, I will so plague thee, be so revenged for all those tricks thou'st played 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. Gall. 
Death, I will cuckold thee.  Sir Char. 
Why then I shall be free o'th' Reverend City.  L. Gall. 
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. Gall. 
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 denied 〈…〉  L. Gall. 
Ha, Wilding! Oh my eternal shame! now thou hast done thy 〈◊〉  Sir Char. 
Now for a struggle 'twixt your Love and Honour.  
— Yes, here's the Bar to all my Happiness,  
You would 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 lose to Ruin: Consider and be wise.  L. Gall. 
Oh, he has touched 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 be asked, I take it, Sir.  L. Gall. 
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 Dress. Dress. 
Prithee, dear Wilding, moderate thy Passion.  Wild. 
By Heaven, I will; she shall not have the pleasure to see I am concerned.— Morrow, Widow; you are early up, you mean to thrive I see, you're like a Mill that grinds with every Wind.  Sir Char. 
Ha, 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 thy love. I can forgive a hasty word or two.  Wild. 
I thank thee, Charles'— What, you are married then?  L. Gall. 
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 loved me, you'd pitched upon a Blockhead,  
Some spruce gay fool of Fortune, and no more,  
Who would have taken so much care of his own ill-favoured  
Person, he should have had no time to have minded yours,  
But left it to the care of some fond longing Lover.  L. Gall. 
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 feigned last night.  [In a soft tone aside to her. L. Gall. 
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 〈◊〉. Wild. 
Faith, Madam, you have used 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. Gall. 
Perjured— 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;  
〈…〉 was then your Modesty and sense of Honour?  [Aside to her in a low tone. 〈◊〉 
Ay, where indeed, when you so quickly vanquished?  [Soft. 
〈◊〉 I find are come prepared to rail.  [Aloud. Wild. 
No, 'twas with thee to make my last effort against your scorn.  Shows her the Writings. 
And this I hoped, when all my Vows and Love,  
When all my Languishments could nought prevail,  
Had made ye mine for ever.  [Aloud. Enter Sir Anthony pulling in Sir Timothy and Diana. Sir Anth. 
‛ Morrow, Charles, ' Morrow to your Ladyship: Charles, bid Sir Timothy welcome; I met him luckily at the door, and am resolved none of my Friends shall pass this joyful day without giving thee Joy, Charles, and drinking my Lady's Health.  Wild. 
Ha, my Uncle here so early?  [Aside. Sir Tim. 
What has your Ladyship served me so? How finely I had been mumped now, if I had not took heart a grace and showed 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 Gettall, 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 you 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. Gall. 
I must own, Sir Timothy, you have made the better choice.  Sir Tim. 
I could not help my destiny; Marriages are made in Heaven, you know.  Enter Charlot weeping, and Clacket. Charl. 
Stand off, and let me lose as are my Griefs, which can no more be bounded: Oh let me face the perjured, false, forsworn!  L. Gall. 
Fair Creature, who is't that you seek with so much sorrow?  Charl. 
Thou, thou fatally fair enchantress.  [Weeps. Wild. 
Charlot! Nay then I am discovered.  L. Gall. 
Alas, what wouldst 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 claimed? Why how now, Sirrah, have you been dabbling 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 could find in my heart to take her at her word.  L. Gall. 
Vile man, this will not pass your falsehood 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 〈…〉 me?  Charl. 
To you! Alas, who are you? for till this moment I never saw your 〈◊〉▪  L. Gall. 
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?  [Too L. Gall. 
For I am told you have his heart in keeping.  L. Gall. 
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 would 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 learing, Sir.  [Too 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?  [Charl. 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.  Charl. 
May I believe thou art not married then?  Wild. 
How can I, when I'm yours?  
How could I, when I love thee more than Life?  
— Now, Madam, I'm revenged on all your scorn.  [Too L. Gall. 
— And, Uncle, all your cruelty.  Sir Tim. 
Why, what are you indeed my Nephew, Thomas?  Wild. 
I am Tom Wilding, Sir, that once bore some such Title, till you discarded me, and left me to live upon my Wits.  Sir Tim. 
What, and are you no Polish Ambassador then incognito?  Wild. 
No, Sir, nor you no King Elect, but must e'en remain as you were ever, Sir, a most seditious pestilent old Knave; one that deludes the Rabble with your Politics, then leave 'em to be hanged, as they deserve, for silly mutinous Rebels.  Sir Tim. 
I'll peach the Rogue, and then he'll be hanged in course, because he's a Tory. One comfort is, I have cozened him of his rich Heiress; for I am married, Sir, to Mrs. Charlot.  Wild. 
Rather Diana, Sir; I wish you Joy: See here's Charlot! I was not such a Fool to trust such Blessings with the Wicked.  〈◊〉 
How Mrs. Die Ladyfied! This is an excellent way of disposing an old 〈◊〉▪  〈◊〉 
How, have I married a Strumpet then?  Dial. 
You give your Nephew's Mistress, Sir, too coarse a name: 'Tis true, I loved him, only him, and was true to him.  Sir Tim. 
Undone, undone! I shall ne'er make Guildhall-speech more; but he shall hang for't, if there be ere a Witness to be had between this and Salamancha for Money.  Wild. 
Do your worst, Sir; Witnesses are out of fashion now, Sir, thanks to your Ignoramus Juries.  Sir Tim. 
Then I'm resolved to disinherit him.  Wild. 
See, Sir, that's past your skill too, thanks to my last night's Ingenuity: they're [shows him the Writings] signed, sealed, and delivered in the presence of, etc.  Sir Tim. 
Bear Witness, 'twas he that robbed me last night.  Sir Anth. 
We bear Witness, Sir, we know of no such matter we. I thank you for that, Sir, would you make Witnesses of Gentlemen?  Sir Tim. 
No matter for that, I'll have him hanged, nay drawn and quartered.  Wild. 
What, for obeying your Commands, and living on my Wits?  Sir Anth. 
Nay, then 'tis a clear case you can neither hang him nor blame him.  Wild. 
I'll propose fairly now, if you'll be generous and pardon all: I'll render your Estate back during Life, and put the Writings in Sir Anthony Meriwill's and Sir Charles● his hands.—  
I have a Fortune here that will maintain me,  
Without so much as wishing for your death.  All. 
This is but Reason.  Sir Char. 
With this Proviso, that he makes not use on't to promote any mischief to the King and Government.  All. 
Good and just.  [Sir Tim. pauses▪ Sir Tim. 
Hum, I'd as good quietly agree to't, as lose my Credit by making a noise.— Well, Tom, I pardon all, and will be Friends.  [Gives him his hand. Sir Char. 
See, my dear Creature, even this hard old man is mollified at last into good nature; yet you'll still be cruel.  L. Gall. 
No, your unwearied Love at last has vanquished me. Here, be as happy as a Wife can make ye— One last look more, and then— be gone fond Love.  Sighing and looking on Wilding, giving Sir Charles her hand. Sir Char. 
Come, Sir, you must receive Diana too; she is a cheerful witty Girl, and handsome, one that will be a Comfort to your Age, and bring no scandal home. Live peaceably, and do not trouble your decrepit Age with business of State.  
Let all things in their own due order move,  
Let Caesar be the Kingdom's care and love:  
Let the Hot-headed Mutineers petition,  
And meddle in the Rights of Just Succession;  
But may all honest hearts as one agree  
To bless the King, and Royal Albany.  
THE END.    

EPILOGUE, Written by a Person of Quality. SPOKEN by Mrs. BOTELER.  
MY Part, I fear, will take with but a few,  
A rich young Heiress to her first Love true!  
'Tis damned unnatural, and past enduring,  
Against the fundamental Laws of Whoring.  
Marrying the Mask, which Modesty assures,  
Helps to get new, and covers old Amours;  
And Husband sounds so dull to a Town-Bride,  
You nowadays condemn him ere he's tried;  
Ere in his Office he's confirmed Possessor,  
Like Trincaloes you choose him a Successor,  
In the gay spring of Love, when free from doubts,  
With early shoots his Velvet Forehead sprouts.  
Like a poor Parson bound to hard Indentures,  
You make him pay his First-fruits ere he enters.  
But for short Carnivals' of stolen good Cheer,  
You're after forced to keep Lent all the Year;  
Till brought at last to a starving Nuns condition,  
You break into our Quarters for Provision:  
Invade Fop-corner with your glaring Beauties,  
And Vice our Loyal Subjects from their Duties.  
Pray, Ladies, ●ave that Province to our care;  
A Fool is the Fee-simple of a Player,  
In which we Women claim a double share.  
〈◊〉 things the Men are Rulers made;  
〈…〉 Woodcocks is our proper Trade.  
If by Stage-Fops they a poor Living get,  
We can grow rich, thanks to our Mother Wit,  
By the more natural Blockheads in the Pit.  
Take then the Wits, and all their useless Prattles;  
But as for Fools, they are our Goods and Chattels.  
Return, Ingrates, to your first Haunt the Stage;  
We taught your Youth, and helped your feeble Age.  
What is't you see in Quality we want?  
What can they give you which we cannot grant?  
We have their Pride, their Frolicks, and their Paint.  
We feel the same Youth dancing in our Blood;  
Our dress as gay— All underneath as good.  
Most men have found us hitherto more true,  
And, if we're not abused by some of you,  
We●re full as fair— perhaps as wholesome too.  
But if at best our hopeful Sport and Trade is,  
And nothing now will serve you but great Ladies;  
May questioned Marriages your Fortune be,  
And Lawyers drain your Pockets more than we:  
May judges puzzle a clear Case with Laws,  
And Musquetoon at last decide the Cause.  
FINIS.