_Wild_. Command me quickly, Madam; for I have business. L. _Gal_. Nay, then I cannot be discreet in Love. [_Aside_. --Your business once was Love, nor had no idle hours To throw away on any other thought; You lov’d, as if you had no other Faculties, As if you’d meant to gain eternal Bliss, By that Devotion only: And see how now you’re chang’d. _Wild_. Not I, by Heaven; ‘tis you are only chang’d. I thought you’d lov’d me too, curse on the dull mistake! But when I beg’d to reap the mighty Joy That mutual Love affords, You turn’d me off from Honour, That Nothing, fram’d by some old sullen Maid, That wanted Charms to kindle Flames when young. Sir _Anth_. By George, he’s i’th’ right. [_Aside_. Sir _Char_. Death! can she hear this Language? [_Aside_. L. _Gal_. How dare you name this to me any more? Have you forgot my Fortune, and my Youth, My Quality, and Fame? _Wild_. No, by Heaven, all these increase my Flame. L. _Gal_. Perhaps they might, but yet I wonder where You got the boldness to approach me with it. _Wild_. Faith, Madam, from your own encouragement. L. _Gal_. From mine! Heavens, what Contempt is this? _Wild_. When first I paid my Vows, (good Heaven forgive me) They were for Honour all; But wiser you, thanks to your Mother’s care too, Knowing my Fortune an uncertain hope, My Life of Scandal, and my leud Opinion, Forbad me wish that way; ‘twas kindly urg’d; You cou’d not then forbid my Passion too, Nor did I ever from your Lips or Eyes Receive the cruel Sentence of my Death. Sir _Anth_. Gad, a fine Fellow this! L. _Gal_. To save my Life, I wou’d not marry thee. _Wild_. That’s kindly said. But to save mine, thou’t do a kinder thing; --I know thou wo’t. L. _Gal_. What, yield my Honour up! And after find it sacrific’d anew, And made the scorn of a triumphing Wife! Sir _Anth_. Gad, she’s i’th’ right too! a noble Girl I’ll warrant her. L. _Gal_. But you disdain to satisfy these fears; And like a proud and haughty Conqueror, Demand the Town, without the least Conditions. Sir _Char_. By Heaven, she yields apace. [_Aside_. _Sir. Anth_. Pox on’t, wou’d I had ne’er seen her; now I have Legions of small Cupids at Hot-cockles in my Heart. _Wild_. Now I am pausing on that word Conditions. Thou say’st thou wou’t not have me marry thee; That is, as if I lov’d thee for thy Eyes And put ‘em out to hate thee; Or like our Stage-smitten Youth, who fall in Love with a Woman for acting finely, and by taking her off the Stage, deprive her of the only Charm she had, Then leave her to ill Luck. Sir _Anth_. Gad, he’s i’th’ right again too! a rare Fellow! _Wild_. For, Widow, know, hadst thou more Beauty, yet not all of ‘em were half so great a Charm as they not being mine. Sir _Anth_. Hum! how will he make that out now?