_Charl_. See how thou hast inur'd thy Tongue to falshood!
Did you not send it to a certain Creature They call _Diana_, From off that Hand that plighted Faith to me?
_Wild_. By Heaven, 'tis Witchcraft all; Unless this Villain _Foppington_ betray me.
Those sort of Rascals would do any thing For ready Meat and Wine--I'll kill the Fool--hah, here!
[_Turns quick, and sees him behind him_.
_Fop_. Here, Lord! Lord!
Where were thy Eyes, dear _Wilding_?
_Wild_. Where they have spy'd a Rascal.
Where was this Property conceal'd?
_Fop_. Conceal'd! What dost thou mean, dear _Tom_?
Why, I stood as plain as the Nose on thy Face, mun.
_Wild_. But 'tis the ungrateful Quality of all your sort to make such base returns.
How got this Rogue Admittance, and when in, The Impudence to tell his treacherous Lyes?
_Fop_. Admittance! why thou art stark mad: Did not I come in with you, that is, follow'd you?
_Wild_. Whither?
_Fop_. Why, into the House, up stairs, stood behind you when you swore you wou'd come in, and follow'd you in!
_Wild_. All this, and I not see!
_Fop_. Oh, Love's blind; but this Lady saw me, Mrs. _Clacket_ saw me-- Admittance quotha!
_Wild_. Why did you not speak?
_Fop_. Speak! I was so amaz'd at what I heard, the villanous Scandals laid on you by some pick-thank Rogue or other, I had no Power.
_Wild_. Ay, thou know'st how I am wrong'd.
_Fop_. Oh, most damnably, Sir!
_Wild_. Abuse me to my Mistress too!
_Fop_. Oh, Villains! Dogs!
_Charl_. Do you think they have wrong'd him, Sir? For I'll believe you.
_Fop_. Do I think, Madam? Ay, I think him a Son of a Whore that said it; and I'll cut his Throat.
Mrs. _Clack_. Well, this Impudence is a heavenly Virtue.
_Wild_. You see now, Madam, how Innocence may suffer.
_Charl_. In spite of all thy villanous dissembling, I must believe, and love thee for my quiet.
_Wild_. That's kind; and if before to morrow I do not shew you I deserve your Heart, kill me at once by quitting me--Farewel--I know where both my Uncle's Will and other Writings lie, by which he made me Heir to his whole Estate. My Craft will be in catching; which if past, Her Love secures me the kind Wench at last. [_Aside_.
[_Goes out with_ Fop.
Mrs. _Clack_. What if he should not chance to keep his Word now?
_Charl_. How, if he shou'd not! by all that's good, if he shou'd not, I am resolv'd to marry him however. We two may make a pretty Shift with three thousand Pound a year; yet I wou'd fain be resolv'd how Affairs stand between the old Gentleman and him. I wou'd give the World to see that Widow too, that Lady _Galliard_.
Mrs. _Clack_. If you're bent upon't, I'll tell you what we'll do, Madam; There's every Day mighty Feasting here at his Uncle's hard by, and you shall disguise your self as well as you can, and so go for a Niece of mine I have coming out of Scotland; there you will not fail of seeing my Lady _Galliard_, though, I doubt, not Mr. _Wilding_, who is of late discarded.
_Charl_. Enough; I am resolv'd upon this Design; let's in and practise the northern Dialect.
[_Ex. both_.
SCENE II. _The Street_.
_Enter_ Wilding _and_ Foppington.
_Wild_. But then _Diana_ took the Ring at last?
_Fop_. Greedily, but rail'd, and swore, and ranted at your late Unkindness, and wou'd not be appeas'd.
_Enter_ Dresswell.
_Wild. Dresswell_, I was just going to see for thee.
_Dres_. I'm glad, dear _Tom_, I'm here to serve thee.
_Wild_. And now I've found thee, thou must along with me.
_Dres_. Whither? but I'll not ask, but obey.
_Wild_. To a kind Sinner, _Frank_.
_Dres_. Pox on 'em all; prithee turn out those petty Tyrants of thy Heart, and fit it for a Monarch, Love, dear _Wilding_, of which them never knew'st the Pleasure yet or not above a day.
_Wild_. Not knew the Pleasure! Death, the very Essence the first Draughts of Love. Ah, how pleasant 'tis to drink when a Man's a dry! The rest is all but dully sipping on.
_Dres_. And yet this _Diana_, for thither thou art going, thou hast been constant to this three or four Years.
_Wild_. A constant Keeper thou mean'st; which is indeed enough to get the Scandal of a Coxcomb: But I know not, those sort of Baggages have a kind of Fascination so inticing--and faith, after the Fatigues of formal Visits to a Man's dull Relations, or what's as bad, to Women of Quality; after the busy Afflictions of the Day, and the Debauches of the tedious Night, I tell thee, _Frank_, a Man's best Retirement is with a soft kind Wench. But to say Truth, I have a farther Design in my Visit now. Thou know'st how I stand past hope of Grace, excommunicated the Kindness of my Uncle.
_Dres_. True.
_Wild_. My leud Debauches, and being o'th' wrong Party, as he calls it, is now become an _irreconcilable_ Quarrel, so that I having many and hopeful Intrigues now depending, especially those of my charming Widow, and my City-Heiress, which can by no means be carried on without that damn'd necessary call'd ready Mony; I have stretcht my Credit, as all young Heirs do, till 'tis quite broke. New Liveries, Coaches, and Clothes must be had, they must, my Friend.
_Dres_. Why do'st thou not in this Extremity clap up a Match with my Lady _Galliard_? or this young Heiress you speak of?
_Wild_. But Marriage, _Frank_, is such a Bugbear! And this old Uncle of mine may one day be gathered together, and sleep with his Fathers, and then I shall have six thousand Pound a Year, and the wide World before me; and who the Devil cou'd relish these Blessings with the clog of a Wife behind him?--But till then, Money must be had, I say.