Sir _Char_. How, Sir!
Sir _Tim_. Nay, never huff, Sir; for I have six thousand Pound a Year, and value no Man: Neither do I speak so much for your particular, as for the Company you keep, such Tarmagant Tories as these, [To Fop.] who are the very Vermin of a young Heir, and for one tickling give him a thousand bites.
_Fop_. Death! meaning me, Sir?
Sir _Tim_. Yes, you, Sir. Nay, never stare, Sir; I fear you not; No Man's hectoring signifies this--in the City, but the Constables: no body dares be saucy here, except it be in the King's name.
Sir _Char_. Sir, I confess he was to blame.
Sir _Tim_. Sir _Charles_, thanks to Heaven, you may be leud, you have a plentiful Estate, may whore, drink, game, and play the Devil: your Uncle, Sir Anthony Meriwill, intends to give you all his Estate too. But for such Sparks as this, and my Fop in Fashion here, why, with what Face, Conscience, or Religion, can they be leud and vitious, keep their Wenches, Coaches, rich Liveries, and so forth, who live upon Charity, and the Sins of the Nation?
Sir _Char_. If he hath youthful Vices, he has Virtues too.
Sir _Tim_. Yes, he had, but I know not, you have bewitch'd him Amongst ye.
[weeping.
Before he fell to Toryism, he was a sober, civil Youth, and had some Religion in him, wou'd read ye Prayers Night and Morning with a laudable Voice, and cry Amen to 'em; 'twou'd have done one's Heart good to have heard him--wore decent Clothes, was drunk but on Sundays and Holidays; and then I had Hopes of him.
[_Still weeping_.
_Wild_. Ay, Heaven forgive me.
Sir _Char_. But, Sir, he's now become a new Man, is casting off all his Women, is drunk not above five or six times a week, swears not above once in a quarter of an Hour, nor has not gam'd this two Days--
Sir _Tim_. 'Twas because the Devil was in's Pocket then.
Sir _Char_.--Begins to take up at Coffee-houses, talks gravely in the City, speaks scandalously of the Government, and rails most abominably against the Pope and the French King.
Sir _Tim_. Ay, ay, this shall not wheedle me out of one English Guinea; and so I told him yesterday.
_Wild_. You did so, Sir.
Sir _Tim_. Yes; by a good Token you were witty upon me, and swore I lov'd and honoured the King no where but on his Coin.
Sir _Char_. Is it possible, Sir.
_Wild_. God forgive me, Sir; I confess I was a little overtaken.
Sir _Tim_. Ay, so it shou'd seem: for he mistook his own Chamber, and went to bed to my Maid's.
Sir _Char_. How! to bed to your Maid's! Sure, Sir, 'tis scandal on him.
Sir _Tim_. No, no, he makes his brags on't, Sir. Oh, that crying Sin of Boasting! Well fare, I say, the Days of old Oliver, he by a wholesom Act made it death to boast; so that then a Man might whore his Heart out, and no body the wiser.
Sir _Char_. Right, Sir, and then the Men pass'd for sober religious Persons, and the Women for as demure Saints--
Sir _Tim_. Ay, then there was no scandal; but now they do not only boast what they do, but what they do not.
_Wild_. I'll take care that fault shall be mended, Sir.
Sir _Tim_. Ay, so will I, if Poverty has any Feats of Mortification; and so farewel to you, Sir.
[Going.
_Wild_. Stay, Sir, are you resolv'd to be so cruel then, and ruin all my Fortunes now depending?
Sir _Tim_. Most religiously--
_Wild_. You are?
Sir _Tim_. I am.
_Wild_. Death, I'll rob.
Sir _Tim_. Do and be hang'd.
_Wild_. Nay, I'll turn Papist.
Sir _Tim_. Do and be damn'd.
Sir _Char_. Bless me, Sir, what a Scandal would that be to the Family of the _Treat-alls_!
Sir _Tim_. Hum! I had rather indeed he turn'd Turk or Jew, for his own sake; but as for scandalizing me, I defy it: My Integrity has been known ever since Forty one; I bought three Thousand a year in Bishops Lands, as 'tis well known, and lost it at the King's return; for which I'm honour'd by the City. But for his farther Satisfaction, Consolation, and Destruction, know, That I Sir _Timothy Treat-all_, Knight and Alderman, do think my self young enough to marry, d'ye see, and will wipe your Nose with a Son and Heir of my own begetting, and so forth.
[_Going away_.
_Wild_. Death! marry!
Sir _Char_. Patience, dear Tom, or thou't spoil all.
_Wild_. Damn him, I've lost all Patience, and can dissemble no longer, though I lose all--Very good, Sir; harkye, I hope she's young and handsome; or if she be not, amongst the numerous lusty-stomacht Whigs that daily nose your publick Dinners, some maybe found, that either for Money, Charity, or Gratitude, may requite your Treats. You keep open House to all the Party, not for Mirth, Generosity or good Nature, but for Roguery. You cram the Brethren, the pious City-Gluttons, with good Cheer, good Wine, and Rebellion in abundance, gormandizing all Comers and Goers, of all Sexes, Sorts, Opinions and Religions, young half-witted Fops, hot-headed Fools, and Malecontents: You guttle and fawn on all, and all in hopes of debauching the King's Liege-people into Commonwealthsmen; and rather than lose a Convert, you'll pimp for him. These are your nightly Debauches--Nay, rather than you shall want it, I'll cuckold you my self in pure Revenge.
Sir _Tim_. How! Cuckold his own natural Uncle!
Sir _Char_. Oh, he cannot be so profane.
_Wild_. Profane! why he deny'd but now the having any share in me; and therefore 'tis lawful. I am to live by my Wits, you say, and your old rich good-natur'd Cuckold is as sure a Revenue to a handsome young Cadet, as a thousand Pound a Year. Your tolerable Face and Shape is an Estate in the City, and a better Bank than your Six per Cent, at any time.
Sir _Tim_. Well, Sir, since Nature has furnisht you so well, you need but up and ride, show and be rich; and so your Servant, witty Mr. _Wilding_.
[_Goes out. He looks after him_.
Sir _Char_. Whilst I am labouring another's good, I quite neglect my own.
This cursed, proud, disdainful Lady _Galliard_, is ever in my Head; she's now at Church, I'm sure, not for Devotion, but to shew her Charms, and throw her Darts amongst the gazing Croud; and grows more vain by Conquest. I'm near the Church, and must step in, though it cost me a new Wound.
[Wild, _stands pausing_.
_Wild_. I am resolv'd--Well, dear _Charles_, let's sup together to night, and contrive some way to e reveng'd of this wicked Uncle of mine. I must leave thee now, for I have an Assignation here at Church.
Sir _Char_. Hah! at Church!
_Wild_. Ay, _Charles_ with the dearest She-Saint, and I hope Sinner.
Sir _Char_. What, at Church? Pox, I shall be discover'd now in my Amours.