_Sir H._ Well then--[Reads.] _Out of my earnest inclination to serve your ladyship, and my cousin Angelica_--Ay, ay, the very words, I can say it by heart--_I have sent Sir Harry Wildair to_--What the devil's this?--_Sent Sir Harry Wildair to court my cousin_--He read to me quite a different thing--_He's a gentleman of great parts and fortune_--He's a son of a whore, and a rascal--_And would make your daughter very happy_ [Whistles.] _in a husband_.----[_Looks foolish, and hums a Song._]--Oh! poor Sir Harry, what have thy angry stars designed? _Ang._ Now, sir, I hope you need no instigation to redress our wrongs, since even the injury points the way. _Lady D._ Think, sir, that our blood for many generations has run in the purest channel of unsullied honour. _Sir H._ Ay, madam. [_Bows to her._ _Ang._ Consider what a tender flower is woman's reputation, which the least air of foul detraction blasts. _Sir H._ Yes, madam. [_Bows to the other._ _Lady D._ Call then to mind your rude and scandalous behaviour. _Sir H._ Right, madam. [_Bows again._ _Ang._ Remember the base price you offered me. [_Exit._ _Sir H._ Very true, madam. Was ever man so catechized? _Lady D._ And think that Vizard,--villain Vizard,--caused all this, yet lives: that's all: farewell. _Sir H._ Stay, madam, [_To_ LADY DARLING.] one word; is there no other way to redress your wrongs, but by fighting? _Lady D._ Only one, sir; which, if you can think of, you may do: you know the business I entertained you for. _Sir H._ I understand you, madam. [_Exit_ LADY DARLING.] Here am I brought to a very pretty dilemma. I must commit murder, or commit matrimony; which is the best now? a license from Doctors' Commons, or a sentence from the Old Bailey?--If I kill my man, the law hangs me; if I marry my woman, I shall hang myself.----But, damn it--cowards dare fight:--I'll marry, that's the most daring action of the two. [_Exit._ SCENE II. _Newgate._ CLINCHER SENIOR, _solus_. _Clinch. sen._ How severe and melancholy are Newgate reflections! Last week my father died; yesterday I turned beau; to-day I am laid by the heels, and to-morrow shall be hung by the neck.----I was agreeing with a bookseller about printing an account of my journey through France and Italy; but now the history of my travels must be through Holborn, to Tyburn.--"The last dying speech of Beau Clincher, that was going to the Jubilee--Come, a halfpenny a-piece."--A sad sound, a sad sound, 'faith! 'Tis one way to make a man's death make a great noise in the world. _Enter_ TOM ERRAND. A reprieve! a reprieve! thou dear, dear--damned rogue. Where have you been? Thou art the most welcome--son of a whore; where's my clothes? _Tom._ Sir, I see where mine are. Come, sir, strip, sir, strip.