Volume Ii Part 79 (2/2)

L. _Gal_. Mad as the Seas when all the Winds are raging.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, ay, Madam, stark mad! Poor Soul--Neighbour, pray let her lie i'th' dark, d'ye hear.

Sir _Char_. How came you, pretty one, to lose your Wits thus?

_Charl_. With loving, Sir, strongly, with too much loving.

--Will you not let me see the lovely false one? [_To L_. Gal.

For I am told you have his Heart in keeping.

L. Gal_. Who is he? pray describe him.

_Charl_. A thing just like a Man, or rather Angel!

He speaks, and looks, and loves, like any G.o.d!

All fine and gay, all manly, and all sweet: And when he swears he loves, you wou'd swear too That all his Oaths were true.

Sir _Anth_. Who is she? some one who knows her and is wiser, speak--you, Mistress. [_To_ Clacket.

Mrs. _Clack_. Since I must speak, there comes the Man of Mischief: 'Tis you, I mean, for all your Leering, Sir. [_To_ Wild.

_Wild_. So.

Sir _Tim_. What, my Lord?

Mrs. _Clack_. I never knew your Nephew was a Lord: Has his Honour made him forget his Honesty?

[Charlot. _runs, and catches him in her Arms_.

_Charl_. I have thee, and I'll die thus grasping thee; Thou art my own, no Power shall take thee from me.

_Wild_. Never; thou truest of thy s.e.x, and dearest, Thou soft, thou kind, thou constant Sufferer, This moment end thy Fears; for I am thine.

_Charl_. May I believe thou art not married then?

_Wild_. How can I, when I'm yours?

How cou'd I, when I love thee more than Life?

Now, Madam, I am reveng'd on all your Scorn, [_To L_. Galliard.

--And, Uncle, all your Cruelty.

Sir _Tim_. Why, what, are you indeed my Nephew Thomas?

_Wild_. I am _Tom Wilding_, Sir, that once bore some such t.i.tle, till you discarded me, and left me to live upon my Wits.

Sir _Tim_. What, and are you no Polish Emba.s.sador then incognito?

_Wild_. No, Sir, nor you no King Elect, but must e'en remain as you were ever, Sir, a most seditious pestilent old Knave; one that deludes the Rabble with your Politicks, then leaves 'em to be hang'd, as they deserve, for silly mutinous Rebels.

Sir _Tim_. I'll peach the Rogue, and then he'll be hang'd in course, because he's a Tory. One comfort is, I have cozen'd him of his rich Heiress; for I'm married, Sir, to Mrs. _Charlot_.

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