_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_.
SCENE II. _Lord_ Plotwell's _House_.
_Enter Lord_ Plotwell, Charles, Trusty, _and two Servants_.
_Lord_. In a Baudy-house, with Whores, Hectors, and Dice! Oh, that I should be so deceiv'd in Mankind, he whom I thought all Virtue and Sobriety! But go some of you immediately, and take Officers along with you, and remove his Quarters from a Baudy-house to a Prison: charge him with the Murder of his Wife.
_Char_. My Lord, when I demanded her, he said indeed that she was dead, and kill'd by him; but this I guess was the Effects of Madness, which Debauchery, and want of Sleep has brought him to.
_Lord_. That shall be try'd; go to the Place where _Charles_ has directed you, and do as I command you.
[_Ex. Servants_.
--Oh, sweet _Diana_, in whom I had plac'd my absolute Delight, And gave thee to this Villain, because I wish'd thee happy.
And are my Expectations fall'n to this?
Upon his Wedding Night to abandon thee, And shew his long dissembled natural Leudness!
_Char_. My Lord, I hope, 'tis not his natural Temper; For e'er we parted, from a brutal Rudeness, He grew to all the Softness Grief could dictate.
He talkt of breach of Vows, of Death, and Ruin, And dying at the Feet of a wrong'd Maid; I know not what he meant.
_Lord_. Ay, there's his Grief; there is some jilting Hussy has drawn him in; but I'll revenge my self on both.
_Enter_ Page.
_Page_. A Letter for your Lordship.
Lord _reads_.
My LORD,
_As your Goodness has been ever great towards me, so I humbly beseech you to continue it; and the greatest Proofs you can give me of it, is to use all your Interest to undo that tye between_ Bellmour _and my self, which with such Joy you knit. I will say no more, but as you love my Life, and my dearer Honour, get a Divorce, or you will see both ruin'd in Your_ Diana.
[_Gives_ Charles _the Letter_.
_Lord_. A Divorce! yes, if all my Interest or Estate can purchase it-- some Joy yet that thou art well.
_Char_. Doubtless her Reasons must be great for this Request.