_Wit._ Why, sure you do not carry Death in your Embraces, I find no Terror in that lovely Shape, no Daggers in that pretty scornful Look; that Breath that utters so much Anger now, last night was sweet as new-blown Roses are,--and spoke such Words, so tender and so kind.
_Isab._ And canst thou think they were address"d to thee?
_Wit._ No, nor cou"d the Shade of Night hide the Confusion which disorder"d you, at the discovery that I was not he, the blessed he you look"d for.
_Isab._ Leave me, thou hated Object of my Soul.
_Wit._ This will not serve your turn, for I must marry you.
_Isab._ Then thou art a Fool, and drawest thy Ruin on; why, I will hate thee,--hate thee most extremely.
_Wit._ That will not anger me.
_Isab._ Why, I will never let thee touch me, nor kiss my Hand, nor come into my sight.
_Wit._ Are there no other Women kind, fair, and to be purchas"d? he cannot starve for Beauty in this Age, that has a stock to buy.
_Isab._ Why, I will cuckold thee, look to"t, I will most d.a.m.nably.
_Wit._ So wou"d you, had you lov"d me, in a year or two; therefore like a kind civil Husband, I"ve made provision for you, a Friend, and one I dare trust my Honour with,--"tis Mr. _Knowell_, Madam.
_Isab._ _Lodwick!_ What Devil brought that Name to his knowledge?--Canst thou know him, and yet dare hope to marry me?
_Wit._ We have agreed it, and on these conditions.
_Isab._ Thou basely injurest him, he cannot do a Deed he ought to blush for: _Lodwick_ do this! Oh, do not credit it,--prithee be just and kind for thy own Honour"s sake; be quickly so, the hasty minutes fly, and will anon make up the fatal Hour that will undo me.
_Wit._ "Tis true, within an hour you must submit to _Hymen_, there"s no avoiding it.
_Isab._ Nay, then be gone, my poor submissive Prayers, and all that dull Obedience Custom has made us Slaves to.--Do sacrifice me, lead me to the Altar, and see if all the holy mystick Words can conjure from me the consenting Syllable: No, I will not add one word to make the Charm complete, but stand as silent in the inchanting Circle, as if the Priests were raising Devils there.
Enter _Lodwick_.
_Lod._ Enough, enough, my charming _Isabella_, I am confirm"d.
_Isab._ _Lodwick!_ what good Angel conducted thee hither?
_Lod._ E"en honest _Charles Wittmore_ here, thy Friend and mine, no Bug-bear Lover he.
_Isab._ _Wittmore!_ that Friend I"ve often heard thee name? Now some kind mischief on him, he has so frighted me, I scarce can bring my Sense to so much order, to thank him that he loves me not.
_Lod._ Thou shalt defer that payment to more leisure; we"re Men of business now. My Mother, knowing of a Consultation of Physicians which your Father has this day appointed to meet at his House, has bribed Monsieur _Turboone_ his _French_ Doctor in Pension, to admit of a Doctor or two of her recommending, who shall amuse him with discourse till we get ourselves married; and to make it the more ridiculous, I will release Sir _Credulous_ from the Basket, I saw it in the Hall as I came through, we shall have need of the Fool.
[Exit _Wittmore_.
Enter _Wittmore_, pulling in the Basket.
_Wit._ "Twill do well.
_Lod._ Sir _Credulous_, how is"t, Man? [Opens the Basket.
Sir _Cred._ What, am I not at the Carrier"s yet?--Oh _Lodwick_, thy Hand, I"m almost poison"d--This Basket wants airing extremely, it smells like an old Lady"s Wedding Gown of my acquaintance.--But what"s the danger past, Man?
_Lod._ No, but there"s a necessity of your being for some time disguis"d to act a Physician.
Sir _Cred._ How! a Physician! that I can easily do, for I understand Simples.
_Lod._ That"s not material, so you can but banter well, be very grave, and put on a starch"d Countenance.
Sir _Cred._ Banter! what"s that, Man?
_Lod._ Why, Sir, talking very much, and meaning just nothing; be full of Words without any connection, sense or conclusion. Come in with me, and I"ll instruct you farther.
Sir _Cred._ Pshaw, is that all? say no more on"t, I"ll do"t, let me alone for Bantering--But this same d.a.m.n"d Rival--
_Lod._ He"s now watching for you without and means to souse upon you; but trust to me for your security; come away, I have your Habit ready.
[Goes out.] --This day shall make thee mine, dear _Isabella_.--
[Exit _Lodwick_ and _Wittmore_.
Enter Sir _Patient_, _Leander_, and _Roger_.
Sir _Pat._ Marry _Lucretia_! is there no Woman in the City fit for you, but the Daughter of the most notorious fantastical Lady within the Walls?
_Lean._ Yet that fantastical Lady you thought fit for a Wife for me, Sir.
Sir _Pat._ Yes, Sir, Foppery with Money had been something; but a poor Fop, hang"t, "tis abominable.
_Lean._ Pray hear me, Sir.
Sir _Pat._ Sirrah, Sirrah, you"re a Jackanapes, ingenuously you are, Sir: marry _Lucretia_, quoth he?
_Lean._ If it were so, Sir, where"s her fault?
Sir _Pat._ Why, Mr. c.o.xcomb, all over. Did I with so much care endeavour to marry thee to the Mother, only to give thee opportunity with _Lucretia_?
Enter Lady _Knowell_.
_Lean._ This Anger shews your great Concern for me.
Sir _Pat._ For my Name I am, but "twere no matter if thou wert hang"d, and thou deservest it for thy leud cavaliering Opinion.--They say thou art a Papist too, or at least a Church-of-_England_ Man, and I profess there"s not a Pin to chuse.--Marry _Lucretia_!
L. _Kno._ Were I querimonious, I shou"d resent the Affront this _Balatroon_ has offer"d me.
_Isab._ Dear Madam, for my sake do not anger him now. [Aside to her.
L. _Kno._ Upon my Honour, you are very free with my Daughter, Sir.
Sir _Pat._ How! she here! now for a Peal from her eternal Clapper; I had rather be confin"d to an Iron-mill.