Chapter 51

_Enter_ Charlot, _led by_ Foppington, _follow’d by Mrs_. Clacket.

_Char_. Stay, my Heart misgives me, I shall be undone. --Ah, whither was I going? [_Pulls her Hand from_ Fop.

_Fop_. Do, stay till the News arrives that he is married to her that had his Company to night, my Lady _Galliard_.

_Char_. Oh! Take heed lest you sin doubly, Sir.

_Fop_. By Heaven, ‘tis true, he past the Night with her.

_Char_. All night! what cou’d they find to do?

Mrs. _Clack_. A very proper Question; I’ll warrant you they were not idle, Madam.

_Char_. Oh, no; they lookt and lov’d and vow’d and lov’d, and swore eternal Friendship--Haste, haste, and lead me to the Church, the Altar; I’ll put it past my Power to love him more.

_Fop_. Oh, how you charm me! [_Takes her by the Hand_.

_Char_. Yet what art thou? a Stranger to my Heart. Wherefore, ah why, on what occasion shou’d I?

Mrs. _Clack_. Acquaintance, ‘tis enough, I know him, Madam, and I hope my Word will be taken for a greater matter in the City: In troth you’re beholden to the Gentleman for marrying you, your Reputation’s gone.

_Char_. How, am I not honest then?

Mrs. _Clack_. Marry, Heaven forbid! But who that knows you have been a single Hour in _Wilding’s_ Hands, wou’d not swear you have lost your Maidenhead? And back again I’m sure you dare not go unmarried; that wou’d be a fine History to be sung to your eternal Fame in a Ballad.

_Fop_. Right; and you see _Wilding_ has left you for the Widow, to whom perhaps you’ll shortly hear he’s married.

_Char_. Oh, you trifle, Sir; lead on.

[_They going out, meet Sir_ Anthony _with Musick: they return_.

Sir _Anth_. Come, come, Gentlemen, this is the House, and this the Window belonging to my Lady’s Bed-chamber: Come, come, let’s have some neat, soft, brisk, languishing, sprightly Air now.

_Fop_. Old Meriwill--how shall I pass by him! [_Stand by_.

Sir _Anth_. So, here’s Company too; ‘tis very well--Not have the Boy? I’ll warrant this does the Business--Come, come, screw up your Chitterling. [_They play_. --Hold, hold a little--Good morrow, my Lady _Galliard_. --Give your Ladyship Joy.

_Char_. What do I hear, my Lady _Galliard_ joy’d?

_Fop_. How, married her already?

_Char_. Oh, yes, he has. Lovely and false, hast thou deceiv’d my Faith?

Mrs. _Clack_. Oh, Heavens, Mr. _Foppington_, she faints.--ah me!

[_They hold her, Musick plays. Enter_ Wilding _and_ Dresswell, _disguis’d as before_.

_Wild_. Ah, Musick at _Galliard’s_ Door!

Sir _Anth_. Good morrow, Sir _Charles Meriwill_: give your Worship and your fair Lady Joy.

_Wild_. Hah, Meriwill married the Widow!

_Dres_. No matter; prithee advance, and mind thy own Affairs.

_Wild_. Advance, and not inquire the meaning on’t! Bid me not eat, when Appetite invites me; Not draw, when branded with the Name of Coward; Nor love, when Youth and Beauty meet my Eyes-- Hah!-- [_Sees Sir_ Charles _come into the Balcony undrest_.

Sir _Char_. Good morrow, Uncle. Gentlemen, I thank ye: Here, drink the King’s Health, with my Royal Master’s the Duke. [_Gives ‘em Money_.

_Fid_. Heaven bless your Honour, and your virtuous Bride.

_Fop. Wilding_! undone. [_Shelters_ Charlot, _that she may not see_ Wilding.

_Wild_. Death and the Devil, Meriwill above!

Sir _Anth_. Ah, the Boy’s Rival here! By George, here may be breathing this Morning--No matter, here’s two to two; come, Gentlemen, you must in. [_Thrusts the Musick in, and goes in_.

_Dres_. Is’t not what you expected? nay, what you wisht?

_Wild_. What then? it comes too suddenly upon me-- E’er my last Kiss was cold upon her Lips, Before the pantings of her Breast were laid, Rais’d by her joys with me; Oh, damn’d deluding Woman!

_Dres_. Be wise, and do not ruin where you love.

_Wild_. Nay, if thou com’st to reasoning, thou hast lost me. [_Breaks from him, and runs in_.

_Char_. I say ‘twas _Wilding’s_ Voice, and I will follow it.

_Fop_. How, Madam, wou’d you after him?

_Char_. Nay, force me not; by Heaven, I’ll cry a Rape, Unless you let me go--Not after him! Yes, to the infernal Shades--Unhand me, Sir.

_Fop_. How, Madam, have you then design’d my Ruin?

_Char_. Oh, trust me, Sir, I am a Maid of Honour. [_Runs in after_ Wild.

Mrs. _Clack_. So; a Murrain of your Projects, we’re all undone now: For my part I’ll e’en after her, and deny to have any hand in the Business. [_Goes in_.

_Fop_. Damn all ill Luck, was ever Man thus Fortune-bit, that he shou’d cross my Hopes just in the nick? But shall I lose her thus? No, Gad, I’ll after her; and come the worst, I have an Impudence shall out-face a Middlesex Jury, and out-swear a Discoverer. [_Goes in_.