Sir _Tim_. Sir _Charles_, thanks to Heaven, you may be leud, you have a plentiful Estate, may whore, drink, game, and play the Devil: your Uncle, Sir Anthony Meriwill, intends to give you all his Estate too. But for such Sparks as this, and my Fop in Fashion here, why, with what Face, Conscience, or Religion, can they be leud and vitious, keep their Wenches, Coaches, rich Liveries, and so forth, who live upon Charity, and the Sins of the Nation? Sir _Char_. If he hath youthful Vices, he has Virtues too. Sir _Tim_. Yes, he had, but I know not, you have bewitch’d him Amongst ye. [weeping. Before he fell to Toryism, he was a sober, civil Youth, and had some Religion in him, wou’d read ye Prayers Night and Morning with a laudable Voice, and cry Amen to ‘em; ‘twou’d have done one’s Heart good to have heard him--wore decent Clothes, was drunk but on Sundays and Holidays; and then I had Hopes of him. [_Still weeping_. _Wild_. Ay, Heaven forgive me. Sir _Char_. But, Sir, he’s now become a new Man, is casting off all his Women, is drunk not above five or six times a week, swears not above once in a quarter of an Hour, nor has not gam’d this two Days-- Sir _Tim_. ‘Twas because the Devil was in’s Pocket then. Sir _Char_.--Begins to take up at Coffee-houses, talks gravely in the City, speaks scandalously of the Government, and rails most abominably against the Pope and the French King. Sir _Tim_. Ay, ay, this shall not wheedle me out of one English Guinea; and so I told him yesterday. _Wild_. You did so, Sir. Sir _Tim_. Yes; by a good Token you were witty upon me, and swore I lov’d and honoured the King no where but on his Coin. Sir _Char_. Is it possible, Sir. _Wild_. God forgive me, Sir; I confess I was a little overtaken. Sir _Tim_. Ay, so it shou’d seem: for he mistook his own Chamber, and went to bed to my Maid’s. Sir _Char_. How! to bed to your Maid’s! Sure, Sir, ‘tis scandal on him. Sir _Tim_. No, no, he makes his brags on’t, Sir. Oh, that crying Sin of Boasting! Well fare, I say, the Days of old Oliver, he by a wholesom Act made it death to boast; so that then a Man might whore his Heart out, and no body the wiser. Sir _Char_. Right, Sir, and then the Men pass’d for sober religious Persons, and the Women for as demure Saints-- Sir _Tim_. Ay, then there was no scandal; but now they do not only boast what they do, but what they do not. _Wild_. I’ll take care that fault shall be mended, Sir. Sir _Tim_. Ay, so will I, if Poverty has any Feats of Mortification; and so farewel to you, Sir. [Going. _Wild_. Stay, Sir, are you resolv’d to be so cruel then, and ruin all my Fortunes now depending? Sir _Tim_. Most religiously-- _Wild_. You are? Sir _Tim_. I am. _Wild_. Death, I’ll rob. Sir _Tim_. Do and be hang’d. _Wild_. Nay, I’ll turn Papist. Sir _Tim_. Do and be damn’d. Sir _Char_. Bless me, Sir, what a Scandal would that be to the Family of the _Treat-alls_!