Volume Ii Part 79 (1/2)

[_Shews her the Writings_.

And this I hop'd, when all my Vows and Love, When all my Languishments cou'd nought avail, Had made ye mine for ever.

[_Aloud_.

_Enter Sir_ Anthony, _pulling in Sir_ Tim. _and_ Diana.

Sir _Anth_. Morrow, _Charles_; Morrow to your Ladys.h.i.+p: _Charles_, bid Sir _Timothy_ welcome; I met him luckily at the Door, and am resolv'd none of my Friends shall pa.s.s this joyful Day without giving thee Joy, _Charles_, and drinking my Lady's Health.

_Wild_. Hah, my Uncle here so early? [_Aside_.

Sir _Tim_. What, has your Ladys.h.i.+p serv'd me so? How finely I had been mump'd now, if I had not took Heart of Grace, and shew'd your Ladys.h.i.+p Trick for Trick? for I have been this Morning about some such Business of Life too, Gentlemen: I am married to this fair Lady, the Daughter and Heiress of Sir _Nicholas Gett-all_, Knight and Alderman.

_Wild_. Ha, married to _Diana_! How fickle is the Faith of common Women!

[_Aside_.

Sir _Tim_. Hum, who's here, my Lord? What, I see your Lords.h.i.+p has found the way already to the fair Ladies; but I hope your Lords.h.i.+p will do my Wedding-dinner the Honour to grace it with your Presence.

_Wild_. I shall not fail, Sir. A Pox upon him, he'll discover all.

[_Aside_.

L. _Gal_. I must own, Sir Timothy, you have made the better Choice.

Sir _Tim_. I cou'd not help my Destiny; Marriages are made in Heaven, you know.

_Enter_ Charlot _weeping, and_ Clacket.

_Charl_. Stand off, and let me loose as are my Griefs, Which can no more be bounded: Oh, let me face The perjur'd, false, forsworn!

L. _Gal_. Fair Creature, who is't that you seek with so much Sorrow?

_Charl_. Thou, thou fatally fair Inchantress.

[_Weeps_.

_Wild. Charlot_! Nay, then I am discover'd.

L. _Gal_. Alas, what wou'dst thou?

_Charl_. That which I cannot have, thy faithless Husband.

Be Judge, ye everlasting Powers of Love, Whether he more belongs to her or me.

Sir _Anth_. How, my Nephew claim'd! Why, how now, Sirrah, have you been dabling here?

Sir _Char_. By Heaven, I know her not.--Hark ye, Widow, this is some Trick of yours, and 'twas well laid: and Gad, she's so pretty, I cou'd find in my Heart to take her at her word.

L. _Gal_. Vile Man, this will not pa.s.s your Falshood off.

Sure, 'tis some Art to make me jealous of him, To find how much I value him.

Sir _Char_. Death, I'll have the Forgery out;--Tell me, thou pretty weeping Hypocrite, who was it set thee on to lay a Claim to me?

_Charl_. To you! Alas, who are you? for till this moment I never saw your Face.