_Lod._ Let me alone to dispatch this Fool, I long to have him out of the way, he begins to grow troublesome:--but now my Mother expects you.
_Lean._ Prithee be careful of me.-- [Exit _Lean._
Sir _Cred._ What was this long Whisper, something about me?
_Lod._ Why, yes, faith, I was persuading him to speak to his Friend about this Business; but he swears there's no hopes of a Reconciliation: you are a dead Man, unless some cleanly conveyance of you be soon thought on.
Sir _Cred._ Why, I'll keep within doors, and defy Malice and foul Weather.
_Lod._ Oh, he means to get a Warrant, and search for stolen Goods, prohibited Commodities or Conventicles; there's a thousand Civil Pretences in this Town to commit Outrages--let me see.-- [They both pause a while.
Sir _Cred._ Well, I have thought,--and of such a Business, that the Devil's in't if you don't say I am a man of Intrigue.
_Lod._ What is't?
Sir _Cred._ Ha, ha, ha, I must have leave to laugh to think how neatly I shall defeat this Son of a Whore of a thunder thumping Hector.
_Lod._ Be serious, Sir, this is no laughing matter; if I might advise, you should steal into the Country, for two or three days, till the Business be blown over.
Sir _Cred._ Lord, thou art so hasty and conceited of thy own Invention, thou wilt not give a Man leave to think in thy company: why, these were my very thoughts; nay more, I have found a way to get off clever, though he watch me as narrowly as an enraged Serjeant upon an Escape.
_Lod._ That indeed wou'd be a Master-piece.
Sir _Cred._ Why, look ye, do you see that great Basket there?
_Lod._ I do,--this you mean.-- [Pulls in a Basket.
Sir _Cred._ Very well, put me into this Basket, and cord me down, send for a couple of Porters, hoist me away with a Direction, to an old Uncle of mine, one Sir _Anthony Bubleton_ at _Bubleton-Hall_ in _Essex_; and then whip slap-dash, as _Nokes_ says in the Play, I'm gone, and who's the wiser?
_Lod._ I like it well.
Sir _Cred._ Nay, lose no time in applauding, I'll in, the Carrier goes this Morning; farewel, _Lodwick_.-- [Goes Into the Basket.
I'll be here again on _Thursday_. [_Lod._ writes a Direction.
Enter Boy.
_Lod._ By all means, Sir,--Who's there,--call a couple of Porters.
[Exit Boy.
Sir _Cred._ One word more, the Carrier lies at the _Bell_ in _Friday-street_, pray take care they set me not on my Head.-- [Pops in again.
Enter Boy and two Porters.
_Lod._ Come hither, cord up this Basket, and carry it where he shall direct.--_Leander_ will never think he's free from a Rival, till he have him in his possession--To Mr. _Leander Fancy's_ at the next door; say 'tis things for him out of the Country.--Write a Direction to him on the Basket-lid. [Aside to the Boy.
[Porters going to carry off the Basket on a long Pole between 'em.
Enter Lady _Knowell_.
L. _Kno._ What's this? whither goes this Basket?
Sir _Cred._ Ah Lord! they are come with the Warrant.
[Peeps out of the Basket.
_Lod._ Only Books, Madam, offer'd me to buy, but they do not please me.
L. _Kno._ Books! nay then set down the Basket, Fellows, and let me peruse 'em; who are their Authors, and what their Language?
Sir _Cred._ A pox of all Learning, I say,--'tis my Mother-in-law.
[Porters going to set down the Basket.
_Lod._ Hold, hold, Madam, they are only _English_ and some Law-_French_.
L. _Kno._ Oh, faugh, how I hate that vile sort of Reading! up with 'em again, Fellows, and away.
[The Porters take up and go out.
_Lod._ God-a-mercy, Law-_French_. [Aside.
L. _Kno._ Law-_French_! out upon't, I cou'd find in my heart to have the Porters bring it back, and have it burnt for a Heresy to Learning.
_Lod._ Or thrown into the _Thames_, that it may float back to _Normandy_, to have the Language new modell'd.
L. _Kno._ You say well; but what's all this _ad Iphicli bonis_, where's Sir _Credulous_ all this while? his Affairs expect him.
_Lod._ So does _Leander_ your Ladyship within.
L. _Kno._ _Leander!_ _Hymen, Hymenae_, I'll wait on him, _Lodwick_; I am resolv'd you shall marry _Isabella_ too; I have a design in my head that cannot fail to give you the possession of her within this two or three hours.
_Lod._ Such an Indulgence will make me the happiest of Men, and I have something to say to your Ladyship that will oblige you to hasten the design.
L. _Kno._ Come in, and let me know it.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II. _A Chamber in Sir _Patient Fancy's_ House. A Table and Chairs._
Enter Lady _Fancy_ in a Morning-dress, _Maundy_ with Pen, Ink and Paper.
L. _Fan._ _Wittmore_ in the Garden, sayst thou, with _Isabella_! Oh perjur'd Man! it was by his contrivance then I was betray'd last night.
_Maun._ I thought so too at first, Madam, till going to conduct Mr.
_Knowell_ through the Garden, he finding Mr. _Wittmore_ there with _Isabella_ drew on him, and they both fought out of the Garden: what mischief's done I know not.--But, Madam, I hope Mr. _Knowell_ was not uncivil to your Ladyship. I had no time to ask what pass'd between you.
L. _Fan._ Oh, name it not: I gave him all I had reserv'd for _Wittmore_.
I was so possess'd with the thoughts of that dear false one, I had no sense free to perceive the cheat:--but I will be reveng'd.--Come let me end my Letter, we are safe from interruption.
_Maun._ Yes, Madam, Sir _Patient_ is not yet up, the Doctors have been with him, and tell him he is not so bad as we persuaded him.
L. _Fan._ And was he soft and kind?--By all that's good, she loves him, and they contriv'd this meeting.--My Pen and Ink--I am impatient to unload my Soul of this great weight of Jealousy.-- [Sits down, and writes.