_Lord_. Yes, for she lov'd him passionately; when I first told her of my Designs to marry 'em together, she could not hide her Joy; which was one Motive, I urg'd it to him with such Violence.
_Char_. Persons so near of Kin do seldom prosper in the Marriage-Bed.
_Lord_. However 'tis, I now think fit to unmarry 'em; And as for him, I'll use him with what Rigor The utmost Limits of the Law allows me.
_Char_. Sir, I beseech you--
_Lord_. You beseech me! You, the Brother of the Villain! that has abus'd the best of all my Hopes!--No, I think--I shall grow (for his sake) to hate all that belong to him.
_Char_. Sir, how, have I offended?
_Lord_. Yes, Sir, you have offended me, and Nature has offended me; you are his Brother, and that's an Offence to me.
_Char_. Is that a Fault, my Lord?
_Lord_. Yes, Sir, a great one, and I'll have it so; and let me tell you, you nor your Sister (for that reason) must expect no more Friendship at my Hands, than from those that are absolute Strangers to you: Your Brother has refus'd you your Portions, and I'll have as little Mercy As he, and so farewel to you--But where's the Messenger that brought the Letter?
_Page_. Without, my Lord.
[_Ex_. Lord _and_ Page.
_Trust_. Here's like to be a hopeful end of a noble Family. My Comfort is, I shall die with Grief, and not see the last of ye. [_Weeps_.
_Char_. No, _Trusty_, I have not been so meanly educated, but I know how to live, and like a Gentleman: All that afflicts me in this Misfortune, is my dear Sister _Phillis_, she's young; and to be left poor in this loose Town, will ruin her for ever.
_Trust_. Sir, I think we were best to marry her out of the way.
_Char_. Marry her! To whom? who is't regards poor Virtue?
_Trust_. For that let me alone; and if you dare trust her to my Management, I'll undertake to marry her to a Man of 2000 pounds a Year; and if it fail, I'll be sure to keep her Honour safe.
_Char_. Prithee how wilt do this?
_Trust_. Sir, I have serv'd your Family these thirty Years, with Faith and Love; and if I lose my Credit now, I'll never pretend to't more.
_Char_. Do what thou wilt, for I am sure thou'rt honest, And I'll resign my Sister to thy Conduct, Whilst I endeavour the Conversion of my Brother.
[_Exit_ Charles.
_Enter_ Phillis.
_Phil_. No News yet of my Brother?
_Trust_. None: The Next you'll hear is, that he's undone, and that you must go without your Portions; and worse than that, I can tell you, your Uncle designs to turn you out of Doors.
_Phil_. Alas! what shou'd I do, if he shou'd be so cruel? Wou'd I were in _Flanders_ at my Monastery again, if this be true.
_Trust_. I have better Bus'ness for you, than telling of Beads--No, Mrs. _Phillis_, you must be married.
_Phil_. Alas! I am too young, and sad for Love.
_Trust_. The younger, and the less Love, the better.
_Enter_ Page.
_Page_. Mr. _Trusty_, here's a Gentleman would speak with you, he says his Name's Mr. _Sham_.
_Trust_. Gud's me, Mistress, put on all your Holiday Looks; for this is the little Merchant of Love by Retail, that brings you the Husband I promis'd you.
_Enter_ Sham.
_Sham_. Well, Mr. _Trusty_, I have brought Sir _Timothy_ as I promis'd, he is at the Garden-door.
_Trust_. The best time in the World, my Lord's out of the way.
_Sham_. But you know our Conditions.
_Trust_. Yes, that if he marry her, you are to have all the Money that he offers to debauch her.
_Sham_. Right.
_Trust_. Bring him in then, and I'll civilly withdraw.
[_Exit_ Trusty.
_Enter_ Sham, _bringing in Sir_ Timothy.
Sir _Tim_. Well, _Sham_, thou hast prepar'd all things, and there needs no Ceremony.
_Sham_. None, none, Sir; you may fall down-right to the Business.
[_Exit_.
_Enter_ Phillis.
Sir _Tim_. _sings_.
_Come, my_ Phillis, _let us improve Both our Joys of equal Love; Whilst we in yonder shady Grove, Count Minutes by our Kisses_.
_Phil_. What sort of Courtship's this? 'tis very odd!
Sir _Tim_. Pox on formal Fops; we have high-born and generous Souls, and scorn the common Road--Come, let's enjoy, whilst Youth and Beauty lasts.
_Phil_. What means this Rudeness? I'll tell my Brother.
Sir _Tim_. Your Brother! by Fortune, he's so leud, that should I he so unconscionable to leave thee a Virgin but this Night, he wou'd ravish thee himself, and that at cheaper Rates than I design to do it.
_Phil_. How dare you talk to me at this rate?
Sir _Tim_. Talk to thee--by Fortune, I'll play the _Tarquin_ with thee, if thou yieldest not quickly--for thou hast set me all on fire.
_Phil_. Defend me, Heaven, from such a Man.