_Wild_. The stealths of Love, the midnight kind Admittance, The gloomy Bed, the soft breath’d murmuring Passion; Ah, who can guess at Joys thus snatch’d by parcels? The difficulty makes us always wishing, Whilst on thy part, Fear makes still some resistance; And every Blessing seems a kind of Rape. Sir _Anth_. H’as don’t!--A Divine Fellow that; just of my Religion. I am studying now whether I was never acquainted with his Mother. [L. Gal. _walks away_. Wild. _follows_. L. _Gal_. Tempt me no more! what dull unwary Flame Possest me all this while! Confusion on thee, [_In Rage_. And all the Charms that dwell upon thy Tongue. Diseases ruin that bewitching Form, That with the soft feign’d Vows debaucht my Heart. Sir _Char_. Heavens! can I yet endure! [_Aside_. L. _Gal_. By all that’s good, I’ll marry instantly; Marry, and save my last Stake, Honour, yet, Or thou wilt rook me out of all at last. _Wild_. Marry! thou canst not do a better thing; There are a thousand Matrimonial Fops, Fine Fools of Fortune, Good-natur’d Blockheads too, and that’s a wonder. L. _Gal_. That will be manag’d by a Man of Wit. _Wild_. Right. L. _Gal_. I have an eye upon a Friend of yours. _Wild_. A Friend of mine! then he must be my Cuckold. Sir _Char_. Very fine! can I endure yet more? [_Aside_. L. _Gal_. Perhaps it is your Uncle. _Wild_. Hah, my Uncle! [_Sir_ Charles _makes up to ‘em_. Sir _Anth_. Hah, my _Charles_! why, well said, _Charles_, he bore up briskly to her. Sir _Char_. Ah, Madam, may I presume to tell you-- Sir _Anth_. Ah, Pox, that was stark naught! he begins like a Fore-man o’th’ Shop, to his Master’s Daughter. _Wild_. How, _Charles Meriwill_ acquainted with my Widow! Sir _Char_. Why do you wear that scorn upon your Face? I’ve nought but honest meaning in my Passion, Whilst him you favour so profanes your Beauties, In scorn of Marriage and Religious Rites, Attempts the ruin of your sacred Honour. L. _Gal_. Hah, _Wilding_ boast my Love! [_Aside_. Sir _Anth_. The Devil take him, my Nephew’s quite spoil’d! Why, what a Pox has he to do with Honour now? L. _Gal_. Pray leave me, Sir.-- _Wild_. Damn it, since he knows all, I’ll boldly own my flame. You take a liberty I never gave you, Sir. Sir _Char_. How, this from thee! nay, then I must take more. And ask you where you borrow’d that Brutality, T’ approach that Lady with your saucy Passion. Sir _Anth_. Gad, well done, _Charles_! here must be sport anon. _Wild_. I will not answer every idle Question. Sir _Char_. Death, you dare not. _Wild_. How, dare not! Sir _Char_. No, dare not; for if you did-- _Wild_. What durst you, if I did? Sir _Char_. Death, cut your Throat, Sir. [_Taking hold on him roughly_. Sir _Anth_. Hold, hold, let him have fair play, and then curse him that parts ye. [_Taking ‘em asunder, they draw_. L. _Gal_. Hold, I command ye, hold!