Did my Julia know how I languish in this cruel Separation, she would afford me her pity, and write oftner. If only the Expectation of two thousand a year kept me from you, ah! Julia, how easily would I abandon that Trifle for your more valued sight; but that I know a fortune will render me more agreeable to the charming Julia, I should quit all my Interest here, to throw my self at her Feet, to make her sensible how I am intirely her Adorer. Charles Gayman.

—Faith, Charles, you lie—you are as welcome to me now, Now when I doubt thy Fortune is declining, As if the Universe were thine.

Pert. That, Madam, is a noble Gratitude. For if his Fortune be declining, ‘tis sacrificed to his Passion for your Ladyship. —’Tis all laid out on Love.

L. Ful. I prize my Honour more than Life, Yet I had rather have given him all he wish’d of me, Than be guilty of his Undoing.

Pert. And I think the Sin were less.

L. Ful. I must confess, such Jewels, Rings and Presents as he made me, must needs decay his Fortune.

Bred. Ay, Madam, his very Coach at last was turned into a Jewel for your Ladyship. Then, Madam, what Expences his Despair have run him on —As Drinking and Gaming, to divert the Thought of your marrying my old Master.

L. Ful. And put in Wenching too.—

Bred. No, assure your self, Madam—

L. Ful. Of that I would be better satisfied—and you too must assist me, as e’er you hope I should be kind to you in gaining you Diana. [To Bredwel.

Bred. Madam, I’ll die to serve you.

Pert. Nor will I be behind in my Duty.

L. Ful. Oh, how fatal are forc’d Marriages! How many Ruins one such Match pulls on! Had I but kept my Sacred Vows to Gayman, How happy had I been—how prosperous he! Whilst now I languish in a loath’d embrace, Pine out my Life with Age—Consumptions, Coughs. —But dost thou fear that Gayman is declining?

Bred. You are my Lady, and the best of Mistresses— Therefore I would not grieve you, for I know You love this best—but most unhappy Man.

L. Ful. You shall not grieve me—prithee on.

Bred. My Master sent me yesterday to Mr. Crap, his Scrivener, to send to one Mr. Wasteall, to tell him his first Mortgage was out, which is two hundred pounds a Year—and who has since ingaged five or six hundred more to my Master; but if this first be not redeem’d, he’ll take the Forfeit on’t, as he says a wise Man ought.

L. Ful. That is to say, a Knave, according to his Notion of a wise Man.

Bred. Mr. Crap, being busy with a borrowing Lord, sent me to Mr. Wasteall, whose Lodging is in a nasty Place called Alsatia, at a Black-Smith’s.

L. Ful. But what’s all this to Gayman?

Bred. Madam, this Wasteall was Mr. Gayman.

L. Ful. Gayman! Saw’st thou Gayman?

Bred. Madam, Mr. Gayman, yesterday.

L. Ful. When came he to Town?

Bred. Madam, he has not been out of it.

L. Ful. Not at his Uncle’s in Northamptonshire?

Bred. Your Ladyship was wont to credit me.

L. Ful. Forgive me—you went to a Black-Smith’s—

Bred. Yes, Madam; and at the door encountred the beastly thing he calls a Landlady; who lookt as if she had been of her own Husband’s making, compos’d of moulded Smith’s Dust. I ask’d for Mr. Wasteall, and she began to open—and did so rail at him, that what with her Billinsgate, and her Husband’s hammers, I was both deaf and dumb—at last the hammers ceas’d, and she grew weary, and call’d down Mr. Wasteall; but he not answering—I was sent up a Ladder rather than a pair of Stairs; at last I scal’d the top, and enter’d the inchanted Castle; there did I find him, spite of the noise below, drowning his Cares in Sleep.

L. Ful. Whom foundst thou? Gayman?

Bred. He, Madam, whom I waked—and seeing me, Heavens, what Confusion seiz’d him! which nothing but my own Surprize could equal. Asham’d—he wou’d have turn’d away; But when he saw, by my dejected Eyes, I knew him, He sigh’d, and blusht, and heard me tell my Business: Then beg’d I wou’d be secret; for he vow’d his whole Repose and Life depended on my silence. Nor had I told it now, But that your Ladyship may find some speedy means to draw him from this desperate Condition.

L. Ful. Heavens, is’t possible?

Bred. He’s driven to the last degree of Poverty— Had you but seen his Lodgings, Madam!

L. Ful. What were they?

Bred. ‘Tis a pretty convenient Tub, Madam. He may lie a long in’t, there’s just room for an old join’d Stool besides the Bed, which one cannot call a Cabin, about the largeness of a Pantry Bin, or a Usurer’s Trunk; there had been Dornex Curtains to’t in the days of Yore; but they were now annihilated, and nothing left to save his Eyes from the Light, but my Landlady’s Blue Apron, ty’d by the strings before the Window, in which stood a broken six-penny Looking-Glass, that shew’d as many Faces as the Scene in Henry the Eighth, which could but just stand upright, and then the Comb-Case fill’d it.

L. Ful. What a leud Description hast thou made of his Chamber?

Bred. Then for his Equipage, ‘tis banisht to one small Monsieur, who (saucy with his Master’s Poverty) is rather a Companion than a Footman.

L. Ful. But what said he to the Forfeiture of his Land?

Bred. He sigh’d and cry’d, Why, farewel dirty Acres; It shall not trouble me, since ‘twas all but for Love!

L. Ful. How much redeems it?

Bred. Madam, five hundred Pounds.

L. Ful. Enough—you shall in some disguise convey this Money to him, as from an unknown hand: I wou’d not have him think it comes from me, for all the World: That Nicety and Virtue I’ve profest, I am resolved to keep.

Pert. If I were your Ladyship, I wou’d make use of Sir Cautious’s Cash: pay him in his own Coin.

Bred. Your Ladyship wou’d make no Scruple of it, if you knew how this poor Gentleman has been us’d by my unmerciful Master.

L. Ful. I have a Key already to his Counting-House; it being lost, he had another made, and this I found and kept.

Bred. Madam, this is an excellent time for’t, my Master being gone to give my Sister Leticia at Church.

L. Ful. ‘Tis so, I’ll go and commit the Theft, whilst you prepare to carry it, and then we’ll to dinner with your Sister the Bride.

[Exeunt.