_Aim_. I am no lord, but a poor needy man, come with a mean, a scandalous design to prey upon your fortune; but the beauties of your mind and person have so won me from myself that, like a trusty servant, I prefer the interest of my mistress to my own. _Dor_. Sure I have had the dream of some poor mariner, a sleepy image of a welcome port, and wake involved in storms!--Pray, sir, who are you? _Aim_. Brother to the man whose title I usurped, but stranger to his honour or his fortune. {39} _Dor_. Matchless honesty!--Once I was proud, sir, of your wealth and title, but now am prouder that you want it: now I can show my love was justly levelled, and had no aim but love.--Doctor, come in. _Enter Foigard at one door, Gipsy at another-, who whispers Dorinda_. [_To Foigard_.] Your pardon, sir, we shan't want you now.--[_To Aimweil_.] Sir, you must excuse me--I 'll wait on you presently. [_Exit with Gipsy_. _Foi_. Upon my shoul, now, dis is foolish. [_Exit_. _Aim_. Gone! and bid the priest depart!--It has an ominous look. _Enter Archer_. _Arch_. Courage, Tom!--Shall I wish you joy? {50} _Aim_. No. _Arch_. 'Oons, man, what ha' you been doing? _Aim_. O Archer! my honesty, I fear, has ruined me. _Arch_. How? _Aim_. I have discovered myself. _Arch_. Discovered! and without my consent? What! have I embarked my small remains in the same bottom with yours, and you dispose of all without my partnership? _Aim_. O Archer! I own my fault. 60 _Arch_. After conviction--'tis then too late for pardon.-- You may remember, Mr. Aimwell, that you proposed this folly: as you begun, so end it. Henceforth I 'll hunt my fortune single--so farewell! _Aim_. Stay, my dear Archer, but a minute. _Arch_. Stay! what, to be despised, exposed, and laughed at! No, I would sooner change conditions with the worst of the rogues we just now bound, than bear one scornful smile from the proud knight that once I treated as my equal. {70} _Aim_. What knight? _Arch_. Sir Charles Freeman, brother to the lady that I had almost--but no matter for that, 'tis a cursed night's work, and so I leave you to make the best on't. [_Going_. _Aim_. Freeman!--One word, Archer. Still I have hopes; methought she received my confession with pleasure. _Arch_. 'Sdeath, who doubts it? _Aim_. She consented after to the match; and still I dare believe she will be just. {81} _Arch_. To herself, I warrant her, as you should have been. _Aim_. By all my hopes she comes, and smiling comes! _Re-enter Dorinda, mighty gay_. _Dor_. Come, my dear lord--I fly with impatience to your arms--the minutes of my absence were a tedious year. Where's this priest? _Re-enter Foigard_. _Arch_. 'Oons, a brave girl! _Dor_. I suppose, my lord, this gentleman is privy to our affairs? {90} _Arch_. Yes, yes, madam, I 'm to be your father. _Dor_. Come, priest, do your office.