Volume Ii Part 53 (2/2)

Sir _Char_. Death! can she hear this Language? [_Aside_.

L. _Gal_. How dare you name this to me any more?

Have you forgot my Fortune, and my Youth, My Quality, and Fame?

_Wild_. No, by Heaven, all these increase my Flame.

L. _Gal_. Perhaps they might, but yet I wonder where You got the boldness to approach me with it.

_Wild_. Faith, Madam, from your own encouragement.

L. _Gal_. From mine! Heavens, what Contempt is this?

_Wild_. When first I paid my Vows, (good Heaven forgive me) They were for Honour all; But wiser you, thanks to your Mother's care too, Knowing my Fortune an uncertain hope, My Life of Scandal, and my leud Opinion, Forbad me wish that way; 'twas kindly urg'd; You cou'd not then forbid my Pa.s.sion too, Nor did I ever from your Lips or Eyes Receive the cruel Sentence of my Death.

Sir _Anth_. Gad, a fine Fellow this!

L. _Gal_. To save my Life, I wou'd not marry thee.

_Wild_. That's kindly said.

But to save mine, thou't do a kinder thing; --I know thou wo't.

L. _Gal_. What, yield my Honour up!

And after find it sacrific'd anew, And made the scorn of a triumphing Wife!

Sir _Anth_. Gad, she's i'th' right too! a n.o.ble Girl I'll warrant her.

L. _Gal_. But you disdain to satisfy these fears; And like a proud and haughty Conqueror, Demand the Town, without the least Conditions.

Sir _Char_. By Heaven, she yields apace. [_Aside_.

_Sir. Anth_. Pox on't, wou'd I had ne'er seen her; now I have Legions of small Cupids at Hot-c.o.c.kles in my Heart.

_Wild_. Now I am pausing on that word Conditions.

Thou say'st thou wou't not have me marry thee; That is, as if I lov'd thee for thy Eyes And put 'em out to hate thee; Or like our Stage-smitten Youth, who fall in Love with a Woman for acting finely, and by taking her off the Stage, deprive her of the only Charm she had, Then leave her to ill Luck.

Sir _Anth_. Gad, he's i'th' right again too! a rare Fellow!

_Wild_. For, Widow, know, hadst thou more Beauty, yet not all of 'em were half so great a Charm as they not being mine.

Sir _Anth_. Hum! how will he make that out now?

_Wild_. The stealths of Love, the midnight kind Admittance, The gloomy Bed, the soft breath'd murmuring Pa.s.sion; Ah, who can guess at Joys thus s.n.a.t.c.h'd by parcels?

The difficulty makes us always wis.h.i.+ng, Whilst on thy part, Fear makes still some resistance; And every Blessing seems a kind of Rape.

Sir _Anth_. H'as don't!--A Divine Fellow that; just of my Religion. I am studying now whether I was never acquainted with his Mother.

[L. Gal. _walks away_. Wild. _follows_.

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