Maun. I thought so too at first, Madam, till going to conduct Mr. Knowell through the Garden, he finding Mr. Wittmore there with Isabella drew on him, and they both fought out of the Garden: what mischief’s done I know not.—But, Madam, I hope Mr. Knowell was not uncivil to your Ladyship. I had no time to ask what pass’d between you.

L. Fan. Oh, name it not: I gave him all I had reserv’d for Wittmore. I was so possess’d with the thoughts of that dear false one, I had no sense free to perceive the cheat:—but I will be reveng’d.—Come let me end my Letter, we are safe from interruption.

Maun. Yes, Madam, Sir Patient is not yet up, the Doctors have been with him, and tell him he is not so bad as we persuaded him.

L. Fan. And was he soft and kind?—By all that’s good, she loves him, and they contriv’d this meeting.—My Pen and Ink—I am impatient to unload my Soul of this great weight of Jealousy.— Sits down, and writes.

Enter Sir Patient, looking over her Shoulder a tip-toe.

Maun. Heaven! here’s Sir Patient, Madam.

L. Fan. Hah,—and ’tis too late to hide the Paper; I was just going to subscribe my Name.

Sir Pat. Good morrow, my Lady Fancy, your Ladyship is well employ’d, I see.

L. Fan. Indeed I was, and pleasantly too: I am writing a Love-letter, Sir.—But, my Dear, what makes you so soon up?

Sir Pat. A Love-letter!—let me see’t. Goes to take it.

L. Fan. I’ll read it to you, Sir.

Maun. What mean you, Madam? Aside.

Lady Fancy reads.

It was but yesterday you swore you lov’d me, and I poor easy Fool believ’d; but your last Night’s Infidelity has undeceiv’d my Heart, and render’d you the falsest Man that ever Woman sigh’d for. Tell me, how durst you, when I had prepared all things for our Enjoyment, be so great a Devil to deceive my languishing Expectations? and in your room send one that has undone

Your—

Maun. Sure she’s mad to read this to him.

Sir Pat. Hum,—I profess ingenuously—I think it is indeed a Love-letter. My Lady Fancy, what means all this? as I take it, here are Riddles and Mysteries in this Business.

L. Fan. Which thus, Sir, I’ll unfold.— Takes the Pen, and writes Isabella.

Sir Pat. How! undone—Your—Isabella, meaning my Daughter?

L. Fan. Yes, my Dear, going this morning into her Chamber, she not being there, I took up a Letter that lay open on her Table, and out of curiosity read it; as near as I can remember ’twas to this purpose: I writ it out now, because I had a mind thou shou’dst see’t; for I can hide nothing from thee.

Sir Pat. A very good Lady, I profess! to whom is it directed?

L. Fan. Why,—Sir—What shall I say, I cannot lay it now on Lodwick— Aside.

I believe she meant it to Mr. Fainlove, for whom else cou’d it be design’d? she being so soon to marry him.

Sir Pat. Hah,—Mr. Fainlove! so soon so fond and amorous!

L. Fan. Alas, ’tis the excusable fault of all young Women, thou knowst I was just such another Fool to thee, so fond—and so in love.—

Sir Pat. Ha,—thou wert indeed, my Lady Fancy, indeed thou wert.—But I will keep the Letter however, that this idle Baggage may know I understand her Tricks and Intrigues. Puts up the Letter.

L. Fan. Nay then ’twill out: No, I beseech you, Sir, give me the Letter, I wou’d not for the World Isabella shou’d know of my theft, ’twou’d appear malicious in me:—Besides, Sir, it does not befit your Gravity to be concern’d in the little Quarrels of Lovers.

Sir Pat. Lovers! Tell me not of Lovers, my Lady Fancy; with Reverence to your good Ladyship, I value not whether there be Love between ’em or not. Pious Wedlock is my Business,—nay, I will let him know his own too, that I will, with your Ladyship’s permission.

L. Fan. How unlucky I am!—Sir, as to his Chastisement, use your own discretion, in which you do abound most plentifully. But pray let not Isabella hear of it; for as I wou’d preserve my Duty to thee, by communicating all things to thee, so I wou’d conserve my good Opinion with her.

Sir Pat. Ah, what a Blessing I possess in so excellent a Wife! and in regard I am every day descending to my Grave.—ah—I will no longer hide from thee the Provision I have made for thee, in case I die.—

L. Fan. This is the Musick that I long’d to hear.—Die!—Oh, that fatal Word will kill me— Weeps.

Name it no more, if you’d preserve my Life.

Sir Pat. Hah—now cannot I refrain joining with her in affectionate Tears.—No, but do not weep for me, my excellent Lady, for I have made a pretty competent Estate for thee. Eight thousand Pounds, which I have conceal’d in my Study behind the Wainscot on the left hand as you come in.

L. Fan. Oh, tell me not of transitory Wealth, for I’m resolv’d not to survive thee. Eight thousand Pound say you?—Oh, I cannot endure the thoughts on’t. Weeps.

Sir Pat. Eight thousand Pounds just, my dearest Lady.

L. Fan. Oh, you’ll make me desperate in naming it,—is it in Gold or Silver?

Sir Pat. In Gold, my dearest, the most part, the rest in Silver.

L. Fan. Good Heavens! why should you take such pleasure in afflicting me? Weeps. —Behind the Wainscot say you?

Sir Pat. Behind the Wainscot, prithee be pacified,—thou makest me lose my greatest Virtue, Moderation, to see thee thus: alas, we’re all born to die.—

L. Fan. Again of dying! Uncharitable Man, why do you delight in tormenting me?—On the left hand, say you as you go in?

Sir Pat. On the left hand, my Love: had ever Man such a Wife?

L. Fan. Oh, my Spirits fail me—lead me, or I shall faint,—lead me to the Study, and shew me where ’tis,—for I am able to hear no more of it.

Sir Pat. I will, if you will promise indeed and indeed, not to grieve too much. Going to lead her out.

Enter Wittmore.

Wit. Heaven grant me some kind opportunity to speak with Lucia! hah, she’s here,—and with her the fond Cuckold her Husband.—Death, he has spy’d me, there’s no avoiding him.—

Sir Pat. Oh, are you there, Sir?—Maundy, look to my Lady,—I take it, Sir, you have not dealt well with a Person of my Authority and Gravity. Gropes for the Letter in his pocket.

Wit. So this can be nothing less than my being found out to be no Yorkshire Esq; a Pox of my Geneva Breeding; it must be so, what the Devil shall I say now?

Sir Pat. And this disingenuous dealing does ill become the Person you have represented, I take it.

Wit. Represented! ay, there ’tis, wou’d I were handsomely off o’ this Business; neither Lucia nor Maundy have any intelligence in their demure looks that can instruct a Man.—Why, faith, Sir,—I must confess,—I am to blame—and that I have—a—

L. Fan. Oh, Maundy, he’ll discover all, what shall we do?

Sir Pat. Have what, Sir?

Wit. From my violent Passion for your Daughter—

L. Fan. Oh, I’m all Confusion.—

Wit. Egad, I am i’th wrong, I see by Lucia’s Looks.

Sir Pat. That you have, Sir, you wou’d say, made a Sport and May-game of the Ingagement of your Word; I take it, Mr. Fainlove, ’tis not like the Stock you come from.

Wit. Yes, I was like to have spoil’d all, ’sheart, what fine work I had made—but most certainly he has discover’d my Passion for his Wife.—Well, Impudence assist me—I made, Sir, a trifle of my Word, Sir! from whom have you this Intelligence?

Sir Pat. From whom shou’d I, Sir, but from my Daughter Isabella?

Wit. Isabella! The malicious Baggage understood to whom my first Courtship was address’d last Night, and has betray’d me.

Sir Pat. And, Sir, to let you see I utter nothing without Precaution, pray read that Letter.

Wit. Hah—a Letter! what can this mean,—’tis Lucia’s Hand, with Isabella’s Name to’t.—Oh, the dear cunning Creature, to make her Husband the Messenger too.—How, I send one in my room! He reads.

L. Fan. Yes, Sir, you think we do not know of the Appointment you made last Night; but having other Affairs in hand than to keep your Promise, you sent Mr. Knowell in your room,—false Man.

Wit. I send him, Madam! I wou’d have sooner died.

Sir Pat. Sir, as I take it, he cou’d not have known of your Designs and Rendezvous without your Informations.—Were not you to have met my Daughter here to night, Sir?

Wit. Yes, Sir, and I hope ’tis no such great Crime, to desire a little Conversation with the fair Person one loves, and is so soon to marry, which I was hinder’d from doing by the greatest and most unlucky Misfortune that ever arriv’d: but for my sending him, Madam, credit me, nothing so much amazes me and afflicts me, as to know he was here.

Sir Pat. He speaks well, ingenuously, he does.—Well, Sir, for your Father’s sake, whose Memory I reverence, I will for once forgive you. But let’s have no more Night-works, no more Gambols, I beseech you, good Mr. Fainlove.

Wit. I humbly thank ye, Sir, and do beseech you to tell the dear Creature that writ this, that I love her more than Life or Fortune, and that I wou’d sooner have kill’d the Man that usurp’d my place last Night, than have assisted him.

L. Fan. Were you not false, then?—Now hang me if I do not credit him. Aside.

Sir Pat. Alas, good Lady! how she’s concern’d for my Interest, she’s even jealous for my Daughter. Aside.

Wit. False! charge me not with unprofitable Sins; wou’d I refuse a Blessing, or blaspheme a Power that might undo me? wou’d I die in my full vigorous Health, or live in constant Pain? All this I cou’d, sooner than be untrue.

Sir Pat. Ingenuously, my Lady Fancy, he speaks discreetly, and to purpose.

L. Fan. Indeed, my Dear, he does, and like an honest Gentleman: and I shou’d think my self very unreasonable not to believe him.—And, Sir, I’ll undertake your Peace shall be made with your Mistress.

Sir Pat. Well, I am the most fortunate Man in a Wife, that ever had the blessing of a good one.

Wit. Madam, let me fall at your Feet, and thank you for this Bounty.—Make it your own case, and then consider what returns ought to be made to the most passionate and faithful of Lovers. Kneels.

Sir Pat. I profess a wonderful good natur’d Youth, this; rise, Sir, my Lady Fancy shall do you all the kind Offices she can, o’ my word, she shall.

L. Fan. I’m all Obedience, Sir, and doubtless shall obey you.

Sir Pat. You must, indeed you must; and, Sir, I’ll defer your Happiness no longer, this Day you shall be marry’d.

Wit. This Day, Sir!—why, the Writings are not made.

Sir Pat. No matter, Mr. Fainlove; her Portion shall be equivalent to the Jointure you shall make her, I take it, that’s sufficient.

Wit. A Jointure, quoth he! it must be in new Eutopian Land then.—And must I depart thus, without a kind Word, a Look, or a Billet, to signify what I am to expect. Looking on her slily.

Sir Pat. Come, my Lady Fancy, shall I wait on you down to Prayer! Sir, you will get your self in order for your Marriage, the great Affair of human Life; I must to my Morning’s Devotion: Come, Madam. She endeavours to make Signs to Wittmore.

L. Fan. Alas, Sir, the sad Discourse you lately made me, has so disorder’d me, and given me such a Pain in my Head, I am not able to endure the Psalm-singing.

Sir Pat. This comes of your Weeping; but we’ll omit that part of th’ Exercise, and have no Psalm sung.

L. Fan. Oh, by no means, Sir, ’twill scandalize the Brethren; for you know a Psalm is not sung so much out of Devotion, as ’tis to give notice of our Zeal and pious Intentions: ’tis a kind of Proclamation to the Neighbourhood, and cannot be omitted.—Oh, how my Head aches!

Wit. He were a damn’d dull Lover, that cou’d not guess what she meant by this. Aside.

Sir Pat. Well, my Lady Fancy, your Ladyship shall be obey’d,—come, Sir, we’ll leave her to her Women. Exit Sir Pat.

As Wittmore goes out, he bows and looks on her; she gives him a Sign.

Wit. That kind Look is a sufficient Invitation. Exit.

L. Fan. Maundy, follow ’em down, and bring Wittmore back again.— Exit Maun. There’s now a necessity of our contriving to avoid this Marriage handsomly,—and we shall at least make two Hours our own; I never wish’d well to long Prayers till this Minute.

Enter Wittmore.

Wit. Oh my dear Lucia!

L. Fan. Oh Wittmore! I long to tell thee what a fatal Mistake had like to have happened last Night.

Wit. My Friend has told me all, and how he was prevented by the coming of your Husband from robbing me of those sacred Delights I languish for. Oh, let us not lose inestimable Time in dull talking; but haste to give each other the only Confirmation we can give, how little we are our own.

L. Fan. I see Lodwick’s a Man of Honour, and deserves a Heart if I had one to give him.

Exeunt.