Chapter 43

_Enter_ Wilding _and_ Foppington.

_Wild_. But then _Diana_ took the Ring at last?

_Fop_. Greedily, but rail’d, and swore, and ranted at your late Unkindness, and wou’d not be appeas’d.

_Enter_ Dresswell.

_Wild. Dresswell_, I was just going to see for thee.

_Dres_. I’m glad, dear _Tom_, I’m here to serve thee.

_Wild_. And now I’ve found thee, thou must along with me.

_Dres_. Whither? but I’ll not ask, but obey.

_Wild_. To a kind Sinner, _Frank_.

_Dres_. Pox on ‘em all; prithee turn out those petty Tyrants of thy Heart, and fit it for a Monarch, Love, dear _Wilding_, of which them never knew’st the Pleasure yet or not above a day.

_Wild_. Not knew the Pleasure! Death, the very Essence the first Draughts of Love. Ah, how pleasant ‘tis to drink when a Man’s a dry! The rest is all but dully sipping on.

_Dres_. And yet this _Diana_, for thither thou art going, thou hast been constant to this three or four Years.

_Wild_. A constant Keeper thou mean’st; which is indeed enough to get the Scandal of a Coxcomb: But I know not, those sort of Baggages have a kind of Fascination so inticing--and faith, after the Fatigues of formal Visits to a Man’s dull Relations, or what’s as bad, to Women of Quality; after the busy Afflictions of the Day, and the Debauches of the tedious Night, I tell thee, _Frank_, a Man’s best Retirement is with a soft kind Wench. But to say Truth, I have a farther Design in my Visit now. Thou know’st how I stand past hope of Grace, excommunicated the Kindness of my Uncle.

_Dres_. True.

_Wild_. My leud Debauches, and being o’th’ wrong Party, as he calls it, is now become an _irreconcilable_ Quarrel, so that I having many and hopeful Intrigues now depending, especially those of my charming Widow, and my City-Heiress, which can by no means be carried on without that damn’d necessary call’d ready Mony; I have stretcht my Credit, as all young Heirs do, till ‘tis quite broke. New Liveries, Coaches, and Clothes must be had, they must, my Friend.

_Dres_. Why do’st thou not in this Extremity clap up a Match with my Lady _Galliard_? or this young Heiress you speak of?

_Wild_. But Marriage, _Frank_, is such a Bugbear! And this old Uncle of mine may one day be gathered together, and sleep with his Fathers, and then I shall have six thousand Pound a Year, and the wide World before me; and who the Devil cou’d relish these Blessings with the clog of a Wife behind him?--But till then, Money must be had, I say.

_Fop_. Ay, but how, Sir?

_Wild_. Why, from the old Fountain, _Jack_, my Uncle; he has himself decreed it: He tells me I must live upon my Wits, and will, _Frank_.

_Fop_. Gad, I’m impatient to know how.

_Wild_. I believe thee, for thou art out at Elbows; and when I thrive, you show it i’th’ Pit, behind the Scenes, and at Coffee-houses. Thy Breeches give a better account of my Fortune, than Lilly with all his Schemes and Stars.

_Fop_. I own I thrive by your influence, Sir.

_Dres_. Well, but to your Project, Friend, to which I’ll set a helping Hand, a Heart, a Sword, and Fortune.

_Wild_. You make good what my Soul conceives of you. Let’s to _Diana_ then, and there I’ll tell thee all. [_Going out, they meet_ Diana, _who enters with her Maid_ Betty, _and Boy, looks angrily_. --_Diana_, I was just going to thy Lodgings!

_Dia_. Oh, las, you are too much taken up with your rich City-Heiress.

_Wild_. That’s no cause of quarrel between you and I, _Diana_: you were wont to be as impatient for my marrying, as I for the Death of my Uncle; for your rich Wife ever obliges her Husband’s Mistress; and Women of your sort, _Diana_, ever thrive better by Adultery than Fornication.

_Dia_. Do, try to appease the easy Fool with these fine Expectations--No, I have been too often flatter’d with the hopes of your marrying a rich Wife, and then I was to have a Settlement; but instead of that, things go backward with me, my Coach is vanish’d, my Servants dwindled into one necessary Woman and a Boy, which to save Charges, is too small for any Service; my twenty Guineas a Week, into forty Shillings; a hopeful Reformation!

_Wild_. Patience, _Diana_, things will mend in time.

_Dia_. When, I wonder? Summer’s come, yet I am still in my embroider’d Manteau, when I’m drest, lin’d with Velvet; ‘twould give one a Fever but to look at me: yet still I am flamm’d off with hopes of a rich Wife, whose Fortune I am to lavish.--But I see you have neither Conscience nor Religion in you; I wonder what a Devil will become of your Soul for thus deluding me! [_Weeps_.

_Wild_. By Heaven, I love thee!

_Dia_. Love me! what if you do? how far will that go at the Exchange for Point? Will the Mercer take it for current Coin?--But ‘tis no matter, I must love a Wit with a Pox, when I might have had so many Fools of Fortune: but the Devil take me, if you deceive me any longer. [_Weeping_.

_Wild_. You’ll keep your word, no doubt, now you have sworn.

_Dia_. So I will. I never go abroad, but I gain new Conquests. Happy’s the Man that can approach nearest the Side-box where I sit at a Play, to look at me; but if I deign to smile on him, Lord, how the overjoy’d Creature returns it with a Bow low as the very Benches; Then rising, shakes his Ears, looks round with Pride, to see who took notice how much he was in favour with charming Mrs. _Dy_.

_Wild_. No more, come, let’s be Friends, _Diana_; for you and I must manage an Uncle of mine.

_Dia_. Damn your Projects, I’ll have none of ‘em.

_Wild_. Here, here’s the best softner of a Woman’s Heart; ‘tis Gold, two hundred Pieces: Go, lay it out, till you shame Quality into plain Silk and Fringe.

_Dia_. Lord, you have the strangest power of persuasion! Nay, if you buy my Peace, I can afford a Pennyworth.

_Wild_. So thou canst of anything about thee.

_Dia_. Well, your Project, my dear _Tommy_?

_Wild_. Thus then--Thou, dear _Frank_, shalt to my Uncle, tell him, that Sir _Nicholas Gett-all_, as he knows, being dead, and having left, as he knows too, one only Daughter his whole Executrix, Mrs. _Charlot_, I have by my civil and modest Behaviour, so won upon her Heart, that two Nights since she left her Father’s Country-house at _Lusum_ in _Kent_, in spite of all her strict Guards, and run away with me.

_Dres_. How, wilt thou tell him of it, then?

_Wild_. Hear me--That I have hitherto secur’d her at a Friend’s House here in the City; but diligent search being now made, dare trust her there no longer: and make it my humble Request by you, my Friend, (who are only privy to this Secret) that he wou’d give me leave to bring her home to his House, whose very Authority will defend her from being sought for there.

_Dres_. Ay, Sir, but what will come of this, I say?

_Wild_. Why, a Settlement; you know he has already made me Heir to all he has, after his decease: but for being a wicked Tory, as he calls me, he has after the Writings were made, sign’d, and seal’d, refus’d to give ‘em in trust. Now when he sees I have made my self Master of so vast a Fortune, he will immediately surrender; that reconciles all again.

_Dres_. Very likely; but wo’t thou trust him with the Woman, Thomas.

_Wild_. No, here’s _Diana_, who, as I shall bedizen, shall pass for as substantial an Alderman’s Heiress as ever fell into wicked Hands. He never knew the right _Charlot_, nor indeed has any body ever seen her but an old Aunt and Nurse, she was so kept up--And there, _Diana_, thou shall have a good opportunity to lye, dissemble, and jilt in abundance, to keep thy hand in ure. Prithee, dear _Dresswell_, haste with the News to him.

_Dres_. Faith, I like this well enough; this Project may take, and I’ll about it. [_Goes out_.

_Wild_. Go, get ye home, and trick and betauder your self up like a right City-Lady, rich, but ill-fashion’d; on with all your Jewels, but not a Patch, ye Gypsy, nor no Spanish Paint d’ye hear.

_Dia_. I’ll warrant you for my part.

_Wild_. Then before the old Gentleman, you must behave your self very soberly, simple, and demure, and look as prew as at a Conventicle; and take heed you drink not off your Glass at Table, nor rant, nor swear: one Oath confounds our Plot, and betrays thee to be an arrant Drab.

_Dia_. Doubt not my Art of Dissimulation.

_Wild_. Go, haste and dress-- [_Ex_. Dian. Bet. _and Boy_.

_Enter Lady_ Gall, _and_ Closet, _above in the Balcony_; Wild. _going out, sees them, stops, and reads a Paper_.

_Wild_. Hah, who’s yonder? the Widow! a Pox upon’t, now have I not power to stir; she has a damn’d hank upon my Heart, and nothing but right down lying with her will dissolve the Charm. She has forbid me seeing her, and therefore I am sure will the sooner take notice of me. [_Reads_.

_Clos_. What will you put on to night, Madam? You know you are to sup at Sir _Timothy Treat-all’s_.

L. _Gal_. Time enough for that; prithee let’s take a turn in this Balcony, this City-Garden, where we walk to take the fresh Air of the Sea-coal Smoak. Did the Footman go back, as I ordered him, to see how _Wilding_ and Sir _Charles_ parted?

_CIos_. He did, Madam, and nothing cou’d provoke Sir _Charles_ to fight after your Ladyship’s strict Commands. Well, I’ll swear he’s the sweetest natur’d Gentleman--has all the advantages of Nature and Fortune: I wonder what Exception your Ladyship has to him.

L. _Gal_. Some small Exception to his whining Humour; but I think my chiefest dislike is, because my Relations wish it a Match between us. It is not hate to him, but natural contradiction. Hah, is not that _Wilding_ yonder? he’s reading of a Letter sure.

_Wild_. So, she sees me. Now for an Art to make her lure me up: for though I have a greater mind than she, it shall be all her own; the Match she told me of this Morning with my Uncle, sticks plaguily upon my Stomach; I must break the Neck on’t, or break the Widow’s Heart, that’s certain. If I advance towards the Door now, she frowningly retires; if I pass on, ‘tis likely she may call me. [_Advances_.

L. _Gal_. I think he’s passing on, Without so much as looking towards the Window.

_Clos_. He’s glad of the excuse of being forbidden.

L. _Gal_. But, Closet, know’st thou not he has abus’d my Fame, And does he think to pass thus unupbraided? Is there no Art to make him look this way? No Trick--Prithee feign to laugh. [Clos. _laughs_.

_Wild_. So, I shall not answer to that Call.

L. _Gal_. He’s going! Ah, Closet, my Fan!-- [_Lets fall her Fan just as he passes by; he takes it up, and looks up_. Cry mercy, Sir, I am sorry I must trouble you to bring it.

_Wild_. Faith, so am I; and you may spare my Pains, and send your Woman for’t, I’m in haste.

L. _Gal_. Then the quickest way will be to bring it. [_Goes out of the Balcony with_ Closet.

_Wild_. I knew I should be drawn in one way or other.