Volume Ii Part 68 (1/2)

L. _Gal_. Who is a most devout Baud, a precise Procurer; A Saint in the Spirit, and Wh.o.r.e in the Flesh; A Doer of the Devil's Work in G.o.d's Name.

Is she your Informer? nay, then the Lye's undoubted-- I say once more, adone with your idle t.i.ttle-Tattle, --And to divert me, bid Betty sing the Song which _Wilding_ made To his last Mistress; we may judge by that, What little Haunts, and what low Game he follows.

This is not like the Description of a rich Citizen's Daughter and Heir, but some common Hackney of the Suburbs.

_Clos_. I have heard him often swear she was a Gentlewoman, and liv'd with her Friends.

L. _Gal_. Like enough, there are many of these Gentlewomen who live with their Friends, as rank Prost.i.tutes, as errant Jilts, as those who make open profession of the Trade--almost as mercenary--But come, the Song.

[_Enter_ Betty.

SONG.

_In Phillis all vile Jilts are met, Foolish, uncertain, false, Coquette.

Love is her constant welcome Guest, And still the newest pleases best.

Quickly she likes, then leaves as soon; Her Life on Woman's a Lampoon.

Yet for the Plague of human Race, This Devil has an Angel's Face; Such Youth, such Sweetness in her Look, Who can be Man, and not be took?

What former Love, what Wit, what Art, Can save a poor inclining Heart?

In vain a thousand Times an hour Reason rebels against her Power.

In vain I rail, I curse her charms; One Look my feeble Rage disarms.

There is Inchantment in her Eyes; Who sees 'em, can no more be wise_.

_Enter_ Wilding, _who runs to embrace L_. Gal.

_Wild_. Twelve was the lucky Minute when we met: Most charming of your s.e.x, and wisest of all Widows, My Life, my Soul, my Heaven to come, and here!

Now I have liv'd to purpose, since at last--Oh, killing Joy!

Come, let me fold you, press you in my Arms, And kiss you Thanks for this dear happy Night.

L. _Gal_. You may spare your Thanks, Sir, for those that will deserve 'em; I shall give you no occasion for 'em.

_Wild_. Nay, no scruples now, dearest of Dears, no more, 'Tis most unseasonable-- I bring a Heart full fraight with eager Hopes, Opprest with a vast Load of longing Love; Let me unlade me in that soft white Bosom, That Storehouse of rich Joys and lasting Pleasures, And lay me down as on a Bed of Lillies.

[_She breaks from him_.

L. _Gal_. You're wondrous full of Love and Rapture, Sir; but certainly you mistake the Person you address 'em to.

_Wild_. Why, are you not my Lady _Galliard_, that very Lady _Galliard_, who, if one may take her Word for't, loves _Wilding_? Am I not come hither by your own Appointment; and can I have any other Business here at this time of night, but Love, and Rapture, and--

L. _Gal_. Scandalous and vain! by my Appointment, and for so leud a purpose; guard me, ye good Angels. If after an Affront so gross as this, I ever suffer you to see me more, Then think me what your Carriage calls me, An impudent, an open Prost.i.tute, Lost to all sense of Virtue, or of Honour.

_Wild_. What can this mean? [_Aside_.

Oh, now I understand the Mystery.

[_Looking on_ Closet.

Her Woman's here, that troublesome piece of Train.

--I must remove her. Hark ye, Mrs. Closet, I had forgot to tell you, as I came up I heard a Kinsman of yours very earnest with the Servants below, and in great haste to speak with you.

_Clos_. A Kinsman! that's very likely indeed, and at this time of night.