Act 2 — SCENE III. Changes to a Chamber.

Enter L. Galliard, Wilding, Closet. To them Wilding, delivers the Fan, and is retiring.

L. Gal. 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. Gal. Such Railers never think when they’re abusive; but something you have said, a Lye so infamous!

Wild. A Lye, and infamous of you! impossible! What was it that I call’d you, Wise or Honest?

L. Gal. How can you accuse me with the want of either?

Wild. Yes, of both: Had you a grain of Honesty, or intended ever to be thought so, wou’d you have the impudence to marry an old Coxcomb, a Fellow that will not so much as serve you for a Cloke, he is so visibly and undeniably impotent?

L. Gal. 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. Gal. Which you, with all your railing Rhetorick, shall not have power to hinder.

Wild. Not if you can help it; for I perceive you are resolved to be a leud incorrigible Sinner, and marry’st 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 purchas’d, for fear otherwise we should mistake, and think thee honest.

L. Gal. 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 wou’d be glad of you.

L. Gal. Of which hopeful number your self 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. Gal. 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 reveng’d, hang me.

Wild. Yes, you are reveng’d; I had the fame of vanquishing where’er I laid my Seige, till I knew thee, hard-hearted thee; had the honest Reputation of lying with the Magistrates Wives, when their Reverend Husbands Were employ’d 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 lye 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 wou’d 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 resolv’d I will redeem my Reputation again, if never seeing you, nor writing to you more, will do it. And so farewel, faithless and scandalous honest Woman.

L. Gal. Stay, Tyrant.

Wild. I am engag’d.

L. Gal. You are not.

Wild. I am, and am resolv’d to lose no more time on a peevish Woman, who values her Honour above her Lover. [He goes out.

L. Gal. Go, this is the noblest way of losing thee.

Clos. Must I not call him back?

L. Gal. 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, wou’d speak with your Ladyship.

L. Gal. Admit him; sure ‘tis Sir Charles his Uncle; if he come to treat a Match with me for his Nephew, he takes me in a critical Minute. Wou’d 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 tutor’d 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 wou’d 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. Gal. Please you sit, Sir.

Sir Char. Madam, I beg your Pardon for my Rudeness.

L. Gal. Still whining?— [Dressing her self carelesly.

Sir Anth. D’ye hear that, Sirrah? oh, damn it, beg Pardon! the Rogue’s quite out of’s part.

Sir Char. Madam, I fear my Visit is unseasonable.

Sir Anth. Unseasonable! damn’d Rogue, unseasonable to a Widow?—Quite out.

L. Gal. There are indeed some Ladies that wou’d be angry at an untimely Visit, before they’ve put on their best Faces, but I am none of those that wou’d be fair in spite of Nature, Sir—Put on this Jewel here. [To 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, vext.

L. Gal. You are still so full of University Complements—

Sir Anth. D’ye hear that, Sirrah?—Ay, 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 shew your self a Coxcomb.

L. Gal. To tire me with Discourses of your Passion— Fie, how this Curl fits! [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, damn’d Rogue! Madam, by George, he lyes; 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 your self like a Man; be impudent, be saucy, forward, bold, touzing, and leud, 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. Gal. You will do well to do so—lay by that Necklace, I’ll wear Pearl to day. [To Clos.

Sir Anth. Confounded Blockhead!—by George, he lyes 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. Gal. Wou’d I cou’d 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 Windows. 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 lov’d you, my Despairs shall witness: for I will die to purchase your Content. [She rises.

Sir Anth. Die, a damn’d Rogue! Ay, ay, I’ll disinherit him: A Dog, die, with a Pox! No, he’ll be hang’d first, Madam.

Sir Char. And sure you’ll pity me when I’m dead.

Sir Anth. A curse on him; pity, with a Pox. I’ll give him ne’er a Souse.

L. Gal. Give me that Essence-bottle. [To Clos.

Sir Char. But for a Recompence of all my Sufferings—

L. Gal. Sprinkle my Handkerchief with Tuberose. [To Clos.

Sir Char. I beg a Favour you’d afford a Stranger.

L. Gal. Sooner, perhaps. What Jewel’s that? [To Clos.

Clos. One Sir Charles Merwill—

L. Gal. Sent, and you receiv’d 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 Reprimand. Look in that Glass, Sir, and admire that sneaking Coxcomb’s Countenance of yours: a pox on him, he’s past Grace, lost, gone: not a Souse, not a Groat; good b’ye to you, Sir. Madam, I beg your Pardon; the next time I come a wooing, it shall be for my self, 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. A damn’d Rogue, to be civil now, when he shou’d have behav’d himself handsomely! Not an Acre, not a Shilling—buy Sir Softhead. [Going out meets Wild, and returns.] Hah, 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. Hah, 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 am 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 upon Ceremonies.

Sir Anth. Gad, he shall be my Heir. [Aside still.

L. Gal. Pardon him, Sir, this is his Cambridge Breeding.

Sir Anth. Ay, so ‘tis, so ‘tis, that two Years there quite spoil’d him.

L. Gal. Sir, if you’ve any further 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. [To Wild.

Wild. I’ll study to deserve it, Sir.

Sir Anth. Madam, your Servant. A damn’d sneaking Dog, to be civil and modest with a Pox! [Ex. Sir Char, and Sir Anth.

L. Gal. See if my Coach be ready. [Ex. CIos.

Wild. Whether are you janting now?

L. Gal. Where you dare not wait on me, to your Uncle’s 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 chuse, Whig-land offers 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 not been so great a Disappointment; and if he sees me here, I ruin all the Plots I’ve laid for him. Ha, 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 abandon’d 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 Gett-all, I would have made use of the Authority of my Lady Galliard’s House to have secur’d her, till I got things in order for our Marriage; but my Lady, to put me off, cries I have an Uncle.

L. Gal. 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 shew my self so undutiful an Uncle, as not to give the Gentlewoman a little House-room: 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 his Association. [Goes out.

Sir Tim. Come, Madam, my Coach waits below.

[Exit.