_Wild_. Ay, _Charles_ with the dearest She-Saint, and I hope Sinner. Sir _Char_. What, at Church? Pox, I shall be discover’d now in my Amours. That’s an odd place for Love-Intrigues. _Wild_. Oh, I am to pass for a sober, discreet Person to the Relations; but for my Mistress, she’s made of no such sanctify’d Materials; she is a Widow, _Charles_, young, rich, and beautiful. Sir _Char_. Hah! if this shou’d prove my Widow, now. [_Aside_. _Wild_. And though at her own dispose, yet is much govern’d by Honour, and a rigid Mother, who is ever preaching to her against the Vices of Youth, and t’other end of the Town Sparks; dreads nothing so much as her Daughter’s marrying a villanous Tory. So the young one is forc’d to dissemble Religion, the best Mask to hide a kind Mistress in. Sir _Char_. This must be my Lady _Galliard_. [_Aside_. _Wild_. There is at present some ill understanding between us; some damn’d Honourable Fop lays siege to her, which has made me ill received; and I having a new Intrigue elsewhere, return her cold Disdain, but now and then she crosses my Heart too violently to resist her. In one of these hot Fits I now am, and must find some occasion to speak to her. Sir _Char_. By Heaven, it must be she--I am studying now, amongst all our She-Acquaintance, who this shou’d be. _Wild_. Oh, this is of Quality to be conceal’d; but the dearest loveliest Hypocrite, white as Lillies, smooth as Rushes, and plump as Grapes after a Shower, haughty her Mein, her Eyes full of Disdain, and yet bewitching sweet; but when she loves soft, witty, wanton, all that charms a Soul, and but for now and then a fit of Honour, Oh, damn the Nonsense! wou’d be all my own. Sir _Char_. ‘Tis she, by Heaven! [_Aside_.] Methinks this Widow shou’d prove a good Income to you, as things now stand between you and your Uncle. _Wild_. Ah, _Charles_, but I am otherways dispos’d of. There is the most charming pretty thing in nature fallen in love with this Person of mine, a rich City-Heiress, _Charles_, and I have her in possession. Sir _Char_. How can you love two at once? I’ve been as wild and as extravagant, as Youth and Wealth cou’d render me; but ne’er arrived to that degree of Leudness, to deal my Heart about: my Hours I might, but Love shou’d be intire. _Wild_. Ah, _Charles_, two such bewitching Faces wou’d give thy Heart the lye:--But Love divides us, and I must into Church. Adieu till Night. [_Exit_. Sir _Char_. And I must follow, to resolve my Heart in what it dreads to learn. Here, my Cloke. [_Takes his Cloke from his Man, and puts it on_.] Hah, Church is done! See, they are coming forth! _Enter People cross the Stage, as from Church; amongst ‘em Sir_ Anthony Meriwill, _follow’d by Sir_ Timothy Treat-all. Hah, my Uncle! He must not see me here. [_Throws his Cloke over his Face_. Sir _Tim_. What my old Friend and Acquaintance, Sir Anthony Meriwill!