Flaunt. Sure I rose the wrong way to day, I have had such damn’d ill luck every way: First, to be sent for to such a Man as this Bellmour, and, as the Devil wou’d have it, to find my Knight there; then to be just upon the Point of making my Fortune, and to be interrupted by that virtuous Brother of his; then to have a Quarrel happen, that (before I could whisper him in the Ear, to say so much as, Meet me here again— anon) forc’d me to quit the House, lest the Constable had done it for me; then that that silly Baud should discover all to my Cully. If this be not ill Luck, the Devil’s in’t—But Driver must bring matters about, that I may see this liberal Squire again—But here comes my Noddy, I must pretend to be angry.

Enter Sir Timothy.

Sir Tim. Lord, Lord, how ye look now, as if you had committed no Misdemeanour: Alas, good Innocent, what canst thou say for thy self, thou Renegado thou, for being false to my Bosom, say?

Flaunt. False to your Bosom! You silly impudent Sot you—who dares accuse me?

Sir Tim. E’en your trusty and well-beloved Friend, Mrs. Driver the Baud.

Flaunt. She! She’s an impudent confounded Lyar—and because she wou’d have your worshipful Custom—scandaliz’d me, to breed a difference between us.

Sir Tim. Ay, if you could make me believe that indeed, when she knew Me not, nor ever saw me all the Days of her Life before.

Flaunt. I know that, Simpleton; but when I went to enquire for you by your Name, and told her my Bus’ness, our Amours are not kept so secret, nor was she so dull, as not to understand how matters went between us.

Sir Tim. Now though I know this to be a damn’d Lye, yet the Devil has assisted her to make it look so like Truth, that I cannot in Honour but forgive her.

Flaunt. Forgive me!—Who shall forgive you your debauch’d Whoring and Drinking?—marry, ye had need so, you are such a Ruffler, at least if y’are every where as you are at home with me—No, Sirrah, I’ll never bed with you more; here I live sneaking without a Coach, or any thing to appear withal; when even those that were scandalous two Ages ago, can be seen in Hide-Park in their fine Chariots, as if they had purchas’d it with a Maidenhead; whilst I, who keep myself intirely for you, can get nothing but the Fragments of your Debauches—I’ll be damn’d before I’ll endure it.

Sir Tim. Just as the Baud said; yet I am mollify’d—nay, dear Betty, forgive me, and I’ll be very good for the future.

Flaunt. Will you swear to be so?

Sir Tim. Ay, by Fortune, I will.

Flaunt. Come, what will you give me then to be Friends? for you won Money last Night.

Sir Tim. Ay, that’s it that appeases her highest Storms—here, my Jewel, here’s a hundred Guineas to buy thee fine things.

Flaunt. Yes, great store of fine things indeed, with this pitiful Sum; let me feel in your Pockets, and see if you have no more. [She feels in his Pockets.

Sir Tim. So, ‘twas well I laid by the rest, my Peace had not been Made under every Rag on’t else; and what I was painfully cheating for All this Night, would have been laid out at the Mercers and Lacemans in half an Hour. —Well, are you satisfy’d I have no more?

Flaunt. Have you sunk none indeed and indeed, my Timmy?

Sir Tim. No, I need not, you sink mine fast enough, I thank ye. [Aside.

Flaunt. Well, get your self ready to go abroad with me.

[Exit Flaunt.

Sir Tim. I have other Matters in hand—now have I four hundred Guineas in Bank, which I won last Night of Bellmour, which I’ll make use of to debauch his Sister, with whom I’m damnably in love, and long for the return of my two Setting-dogs, to bring me News of the Game.

Enter Sham and Sharp.

Oh, are you come?

Sham. Ay, Sir, with News worth the hearing; I have been diligent, Sir, and got my self acquainted with the old Steward of the Family, an avaricious Judas, that will betray for Gold.

Sir Tim. And that we’ll furnish him with—his Master’s Gold, like all other mortal things, must return from whence it came.

Sharp. Not all, Sir; for Sham and I have dispos’d of part.

Sir Tim. Indeed you are a little shabby.

Sham. Ay, Sir, Fools were made to repair the Breaches of us that have Wit enough to manage ‘em.

Sir Tim. What—the Goldsmith paid the Money at sight, without demanding why?

Sharp. Readily, Sir—he’s a brave Fellow, and must not be lost so.

Sham. By no means, we must make use of him whilst he is hot; for I doubt the Humour is not natural, and I fear he may cool.

Sir Tim. But to our Business.

Sharp. Ay, Sir, this same Sister of his you must have; if it be but to put this insolent Whore Flauntit out of favour, who manages this Fop intirely. [Aside.

Sir Tim. Ay, but art thou sure there is no danger in this Enterprize? Shall I not have my Throat cut? and the rest.

Sham. We have none of that Italian Humour now-a-days, I can assure ye; they will sooner, with a brotherly kindness, assist the yielding Sister to the willing Gallant.

Sir Tim. A good thriving Inclination, by Fortune.

Sham. And, Sir, you have all Encouragement; her Brother, you heard, refus’d to pay her Portion, and you know the Fate of a handsom young Wench in this Town, that relies on weak Virtue—Then because she is in The House with her Uncle, this same Steward has contriv’d matters so, to bring you in at the Back-door, her Lodgings being in the Garden.

Sir Tim. This is something—Oh, I’m impatient to be with her—Well, I must in, and make some Lye to Betty for my Absence, and be with you presently. [Exit Sir Tim.

Sharp. What Design hast thou in hand? for I suppose there is no such real thing as debauching of this Lady.

Sham. Look ye, Sharp, take to thee an implicit Faith, and believe Impossibilities; for thou and I must cozen this Knight.

Sharp. What, our Patron?

Sham. Ay, Sharp, we are bound to labour in our Callings, but mum— here he comes.

Enter Sir Timothy.

Sir Tim. Come, let’s away, my Lyoness begins to roar.—You, Sharp, go seek after Bellmour, watch his Motions, and give us notice.

[Exeunt.

Flaunt. He is gone, and I believe [Betty Flauntit peeping out.] for no Goodness; I’ll after him, and watch him.

[Exit cross the Stage.