L. _Gal_. Marry you.
Sir _Char_. When?
L. _Gal_. Nay, that"s too much--Hold, hold, I will to morrow--Now you are satisfy"d, you will withdraw?
_Enter Sir_ Anth. _and_ Closet.
Sir _Anth. Charles_, Joy, _Charles_, give you Joy, here"s two substantial Witnesses.
_Clos_. I deny it, Sir; I heard no such thing.
Sir _Anth_. What, what, Mrs. Closet, a Waiting-woman of Honour, and flinch from her Evidence! Gad, I"ll d.a.m.n thy Soul if thou dar"st swear what thou say"st.
L. _Gal_. How, upon the Catch, Sir! am I betray"d?
Base and unkind, is this your humble Love?
Is all your whining come to this, false Man?
By Heaven, I"ll be reveng"d.
[_She goes out in a Rage with_ Closet.
Sir _Char_. Nay, Gad, you"re caught, struggle and flounder as you please, Sweetheart, you"ll but intangle more; let me alone to tickle your Gills, i"faith. [_Looking after her_.--Uncle, get ye home about your Business; I hope you"ll give me the good morrow, as becomes me--I say no more, a Word to the Wise--
Sir _Anth_. By George, thou"rt a brave Fellow; why, I did not think it had been in thee, Man. Well, adieu; I"ll give thee such a good morrow, _Charles_--the Devil"s in him!--"Bye, Charles--a plaguy Rogue!--"night, Boy--a divine Youth!
[_Going and returning, as not able to leave him. Exit_.
Sir _Char_. Gad, I"ll not leave her now, till she is mine; Then keep her so by constant Consummation.
Let Man o" G.o.d do his, I"ll do my Part, In spite of all her Fickleness and Art; There"s one sure way to fix a Widow"s Heart.
[_Exit_.
ACT V.
SCENE I. _Sir_ Timothy"s _House_.
_Enter_ Dresswell, Foppington, Laboir, _and five or six more disguised with Wizards and dark Lanthorns_.
_Fop_. Not yet! a plague of this d.a.m.n"d Widow: The Devil ow"d him an unlucky Cast, and has thrown it him to night.
_Enter_ Wild, _in Rapture and Joy_.
--Hah, dear _Tom_, art thou come?
_Wild_. I saw how at her length she lay! I saw her rising Bosom bare!
_Fop_. A Pox of her rising Bosom! My dear, let"s dress and about our Business.
_Wild_. Her loose thin Robes, through which appear A Shape design"d for Love and Play!
_Dres_. Sheart, Sir, is this a time for Rapture? "tis almost day.
_Wild_. Ah, _Frank_, such a dear Night!
_Dress_. A Pox of Nights, Sir, think of this and the Day to come: which I perceive you were too well employ"d to remember.
_Wild_. The Day to come! Death, who cou"d be so dull in such dear Joys, To think of Time to come, or ought beyond "em! And had I not been interrupted by _Charles Meriwill_, who, getting drunk, had Courage enough to venture on an untimely Visit, I"d had no more power of returning, than committing Treason: But that conjugal Lover, who will needs be my Cuckold, made me then give him way, that he might give it me another time, and so unseen I got off. But come--my Disguise.
[_Dresses_.
_Dres_. All"s still and hush, as if Nature meant to favour our Design.
_Wild_. "Tis well: and hark ye, my Friends, I"ll prescribe ye no Bounds, nor Moderation; for I have consider"d, if we modestly take nothing but the Writings,"twill be easy to suspect the Thief.
_Fop_. Right; and since "tis for the securing our Necks, "tis lawful Prize--Sirrah, leave the Portmantle here.
[_Exeunt as into the House_.
_After a small time, Enter_ Jervice _undres"d, crying out, pursued by some of the Thieves_.
_Jer_. Murder, Murder! Thieves, Murder!
_Enter_ Wilding _with his Sword drawn_.
_Wild_. A plague upon his Throat; set a Gag in"s Mouth and bind him, though he be my Uncle"s chief Pimp--so--
[_They bind and gag him_.
_Enter_ Dresswell, _and_ Laboir.
_Dres_. Well, we have bound all within hearing in their Beds, e"er they cou"d alarm their Fellows by crying out.
_Wild_. "Tis well; come, follow me, like a kind Midnight-Ghost, I will conduct ye to the rich buried Heaps--this Door leads to my Uncle"s Apartment; I know each secret Nook conscious of Treasure.
[_All go in, leaving_ Jervice _bound on the Stage_.
_Enter_ Sensure _running half undressed, as from Sir_ Timothy"s _Chamber, with his Velvet-Coat on her Shoulders_.
_Sen_. Help, help! Murder! Murder!
[Dres. Lab. _and others pursue her_.
_Dres_. What have we here, a Female bolted from Mr. Alderman"s Bed?
[Holding a Lanthorn to his Face.
_Sen_. Ah, mercy, Sir, alas, I am a Virgin.
_Dres_. A Virgin! Gad and that may be, for any great Miracles the old Gentleman can do.
_Sen_. Do! alas, Sir, I am none of the Wicked.