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

Sir Char. William, you may stay, William.

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

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

Will. I shall, Sir. [Goes out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

L. Gal. You will?

Sir Char. You’ll find it so.

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

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

L. Gal. Death, I will cuckold thee.

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

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

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

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

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

Enter William.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enter Sir Anth. Wild, and Dres.

Dres. Prithee, dear Wilding, moderate thy Passion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enter Charlot weeping, and Clacket.

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

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

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

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

L. Gal. Alas, what wou’dst thou?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wild. So.

Sir Tim. What, my Lord?

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

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

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

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

Charl. May I believe thou art not married then?

Wild. How can I, when I’m yours? How cou’d I, when I love thee more than Life? Now, Madam, I am reveng’d on all your Scorn, [To L. Galliard. —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 Embassador 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 Politicks, then leaves ‘em to be hang’d, as they deserve, for silly mutinous Rebels.

Sir Tim. I’ll peach the Rogue, and then he’ll be hang’d in course, because he’s a Tory. One comfort is, I have cozen’d him of his rich Heiress; for I’m 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.

Sir Charl. How, Mrs. Dy Ladyfi’d! This is an excellent way of disposing an old cast-off Mistress.

Sir Tim. How, have I married a Strumpet then?

Dia. You give your Nephew’s Mistress, Sir, too coarse a Name. ‘Tis true, I lov’d 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 e’er a Witness to be had between this and Salamanca for Money.

Wild. Do your worst, Sir; Witnesses are out of fashion now, Sir, thanks to your Ignoramus Juries.

Sir Tim. Then I’m resolv’d to disinherit him.

Wild. See, Sir, that’s past your Skill too, thanks to my last Night’s Ingenuity; they’re [shews him the Writings.] sign’d, seal’d, and deliver’d in the presence of, &c.

Sir Tim. Bear Witness, ‘twas he that rob’d me last night.

Sir Anth. We bear witness, Sir, we know of no such matter we. I thank you for that, Sir; wou’d you make Witnesses of Gentlemen?

Sir Tim. No matter for that, I’ll have him hang’d, nay, drawn and quarter’d.

Wild. What, for obeying your Commands, and living on my Wits?

Sir Anth. Nay, then ‘tis a clear Case, you can neither hang him or 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 Charl. 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 Charl. See, my dear Creature, even this hard old Man is mollify’d at last into good Nature; yet you’ll still be cruel.

L. Gal. No, your unwearied Love at last has vanquisht 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 Charl. 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 decrepid 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.

[Exeunt.

EPILOGUE.

Written by a Person of Quality: Spoken by Mrs. Boteler.

My Plot, I fear, will take but with a few, A rich young Heiress to her first Lover true! ’.is damn’d unnatural, and past enduring, Against the fundamental Laws of Whoring. Marrying’s the Mask, which Modesty assures, Helps to get new, and covers old Amours; And Husband sounds so dull to a Town-Bride, Ye now-a-days condemn him e’er he’s try’d; E’er in his Office he’s confirmed Possessor, Like Trincaloes you chuse 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 e’er he enters. But for short Carnivals of stain good Cheer, You’re after forc’d to keep Lent all the Year; Till brought at last to a starving Nun’s Condition, You break into our Quarters for Provision; Invade Fop-corner with your glaring Beauties, And ‘tice our Loyal Subjects from their Duties. Pray, Ladies, leave that Province to our Care; A Fool is the Fee-simple of a Player, In which we Women claim a double share. In other things the Men are Rulers made; But catching 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 of 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 Touth 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 abus’d by some of you, We’re full as fair—perhaps as wholesom too. But if at best our hopeful Sport and Trade is, And nothing now will serve you but great Ladies; May question’d 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.