Act 4 — SCENE II. Changes.

Another Room in Lady Galliard’s House.

Enter Sir_ Charles Meriwill and Sir Anthony, Sir Charles drunk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sir Char. But hark ye, Uncle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enter Closet.

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

Sir Char. Where’s your Lady?

Clos. Softly, dear Sir.

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

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

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

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

Sir Char. I’ll not budge.

Sir Anth. No, not a Foot.

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

Sir Char. Damn the City.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enter Lady Galliard in rage, held by Wilding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wild. Oh, I must, or die.

L. Gal. By all the Powers, by—

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

L. Gal. Hah!

Wild. Or say a tedious Hour.

L. Gal. Death, never—

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

L. Gal. No, hear my Vows.

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

L. Gal. Ah, what—

Wild. Revoke that fatal Never then.

L. Gal. I dare not.

Wild. Oh, say you will.

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

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

L. Gal. Ah, Wilding— [Sighs.

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

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

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

L. Gal. Hah, young Meriwill’s Voice!

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

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

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

Wild. Nay, then I will obey.

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

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

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

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

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

Wild. The Back-Stairs Door is lockt.

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

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

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

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

Wild. I wou’d not be surpriz’d.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

L. Gal. Hold, hold, or I’ll call out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sir Char. What?

L. Gal. Marry you.

Sir Char. When?

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

Enter Sir Anth. and Closet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Exit.