_Arch._ You a lover, and not find a way to get off!--Let me see. _Aim._ You bleed, Archer. _Arch._ 'Sdeath, I'm glad on't; this wound will do the business--I'll amuse the old lady and Mrs. Sullen about dressing my wound, while you carry off Dorinda. _Lady B._ Gentlemen, could we understand how you would be gratified for the services---- _Arch._ Come, come, my lady, this is no time for compliments; I'm wounded, madam. _Lady B. and Mrs. Sul._ How! wounded! _Dor._ I hope, sir, you have received no hurt? _Aim._ None but what you may cure---- [_Makes love in dumb Show._ _Lady B._ Let me see your arm, sir--I must have some powder sugar, to stop the blood----O me! an ugly gash; upon my word, sir, you must go into bed. _Arch._ Ay, my lady, a bed would do very well----Madam, [_To_ MRS. SULLEN.] will you do me the favour to conduct me to a chamber? _Lady B._ Do, do, daughter,----while I get the lint, and the probe, and plaister ready. [_Runs out one Way_; AIMWELL _carries off_ DORINDA _another_. _Arch._ Come, madam, why don't you obey your mother's commands? _Mrs. Sul._ How can you, after what is past, have the confidence to ask me? _Arch._ And if you go to that, how can you, after what is past, have the confidence to deny me?----Was not this blood shed in your defence, and my life exposed for your protection?--Lookye, madam, I'm none of your romantic fools, that fight giants and monsters for nothing; my valour is downright Swiss; I am a soldier of fortune, and must be paid. _Mrs. Sul._ 'Tis ungenerous in you, sir, to upbraid me with your services. _Arch._ 'Tis ungenerous in you, madam, not to reward them. _Mrs. Sul._ How! at the expense of my honour! _Arch._ Honour! Can honour consist with ingratitude? If you would deal like a woman of honour, do like a man of honour: d'ye think I would deny you in such a case? _Enter_ GIPSEY. _Gip._ Madam, my lady ordered me to tell you, that your brother is below at the gate. _Mrs. Sul._ My brother! Heavens be praised:--Sir, he shall thank you for your services; he has it in his power. _Arch._ Who is your brother, madam? _Mrs. Sul._ Sir Charles Freeman:----You'll excuse me, sir; I must go and receive him. [_Exit._ _Arch._ Sir Charles Freeman! 'Sdeath and hell!----My old acquaintance. Now, unless Aimwell has made good use of his time, all our fair machine goes souse into the sea, like an Eddistone. [_Exit._ SCENE IV. _The Gallery in the same House._ _Enter_ AIMWELL _and_ DORINDA. _Dor._ Well, well, my lord, you have conquered:--your late generous action will, I hope, plead for my easy yielding; though, I must own, your lordship had a friend in the fort before. _Aim._ The sweets of Hybla dwell upon her tongue--Here, doctor!---- _Enter_ FOIGARD, _with a Book_. _Foig._ Are you prepared bote? _Dor._ I'm ready. But first, my lord, one word--I have a frightful example of a hasty marriage in my own family; when I reflect upon't, it shocks me.--Pray, my lord, consider a little----