Sir _Anth_. Hold, Sir! by this abrupt departure, I fancy you the Boy's Rival: Come, draw.
[_Draws_.
Sir _Tim_. How, draw, Sir!
Sir _Anth_. Ay, draw, Sir; not my Nephew have the Widow!
Sir _Tim_. With all my Soul, Sir; I love and honour your Nephew. I his Rival! alas, Sir, I'm not so fond of Cuckoldom. Pray, Sir, let me see you and Sir _Charles_ at my House, I may serve him in this business; and so I take my leave, Sir--Draw quoth-a! Pox upon him for an old Tory-rory.
[_Aside_.
[_Exit_.
_Enter as from Church, L_. Galliard, Closet, _and Footman_: Wilding _passes carelessly by her, Sir_ Charles Meriwill _following, wrapt up in his Cloke_.
Sir _Anth_. Who's here? _Charles_ muffled in a Cloke peering after a Woman?
My own Boy to a Hair! She's handsom too. I'll step aside; for I must see the meaning on't.
[_Goes aside_.
L. _Gal_. Bless me! how unconcern'd he pass'd!
_Clos_. He bow'd low, Madam.
L. _Gal_. But 'twas in such a fashion, as exprest Indifferency, much worse than Hate from _Wilding_.
_Clos_. Your Ladyship has us'd him ill of late; yet if your Ladyship please, I'll call him back.
L. _Gal_. I'll die first--Hah, he's going! Yet now I think on't I have a Toy of his, which to express my scorn, I'll give him back now--this Ring.
_Clos_. Shall I carry it, Madam?
L. _Gal_. You'll not express Disdain enough in the Delivery; and you may call him back.
[Clos. _goes to_ Wild.
Sir _Char_. By Heaven, she's fond of him. [_Aside_.
_Wild_. Oh, Mrs. Closet! is it you?--Madam, your Servant: By this Disdain, I fear your Woman, Madam, has mistaken her Man. Wou'd your Ladyship speak with me?
L. _Gal_. Yes.--But what? the God of Love instruct me. [_Aside_.
_Wild_. Command me quickly, Madam; for I have business.
L. _Gal_. Nay, then I cannot be discreet in Love. [_Aside_.
--Your business once was Love, nor had no idle hours To throw away on any other thought; You lov'd, as if you had no other Faculties, As if you'd meant to gain eternal Bliss, By that Devotion only: And see how now you're chang'd.
_Wild_. Not I, by Heaven; 'tis you are only chang'd.
I thought you'd lov'd me too, curse on the dull mistake!
But when I beg'd to reap the mighty Joy That mutual Love affords, You turn'd me off from Honour, That Nothing, fram'd by some old sullen Maid, That wanted Charms to kindle Flames when young.
Sir _Anth_. By George, he's i'th' right. [_Aside_.
Sir _Char_. Death! can she hear this Language? [_Aside_.
L. _Gal_. How dare you name this to me any more?
Have you forgot my Fortune, and my Youth, My Quality, and Fame?
_Wild_. No, by Heaven, all these increase my Flame.
L. _Gal_. Perhaps they might, but yet I wonder where You got the boldness to approach me with it.
_Wild_. Faith, Madam, from your own encouragement.
L. _Gal_. From mine! Heavens, what Contempt is this?
_Wild_. When first I paid my Vows, (good Heaven forgive me) They were for Honour all; But wiser you, thanks to your Mother's care too, Knowing my Fortune an uncertain hope, My Life of Scandal, and my leud Opinion, Forbad me wish that way; 'twas kindly urg'd; You cou'd not then forbid my Passion too, Nor did I ever from your Lips or Eyes Receive the cruel Sentence of my Death.
Sir _Anth_. Gad, a fine Fellow this!
L. _Gal_. To save my Life, I wou'd not marry thee.
_Wild_. That's kindly said.
But to save mine, thou't do a kinder thing; --I know thou wo't.
L. _Gal_. What, yield my Honour up!
And after find it sacrific'd anew, And made the scorn of a triumphing Wife!
Sir _Anth_. Gad, she's i'th' right too! a noble Girl I'll warrant her.
L. _Gal_. But you disdain to satisfy these fears; And like a proud and haughty Conqueror, Demand the Town, without the least Conditions.
Sir _Char_. By Heaven, she yields apace. [_Aside_.
_Sir. Anth_. Pox on't, wou'd I had ne'er seen her; now I have Legions of small Cupids at Hot-cockles in my Heart.
_Wild_. Now I am pausing on that word Conditions.
Thou say'st thou wou't not have me marry thee; That is, as if I lov'd thee for thy Eyes And put 'em out to hate thee; Or like our Stage-smitten Youth, who fall in Love with a Woman for acting finely, and by taking her off the Stage, deprive her of the only Charm she had, Then leave her to ill Luck.
Sir _Anth_. Gad, he's i'th' right again too! a rare Fellow!
_Wild_. For, Widow, know, hadst thou more Beauty, yet not all of 'em were half so great a Charm as they not being mine.
Sir _Anth_. Hum! how will he make that out now?
_Wild_. The stealths of Love, the midnight kind Admittance, The gloomy Bed, the soft breath'd murmuring Passion; Ah, who can guess at Joys thus snatch'd by parcels?
The difficulty makes us always wishing, Whilst on thy part, Fear makes still some resistance; And every Blessing seems a kind of Rape.
Sir _Anth_. H'as don't!--A Divine Fellow that; just of my Religion. I am studying now whether I was never acquainted with his Mother.
[L. Gal. _walks away_. Wild. _follows_.