Mrs. _Clack_. Oh, Heavens, I have not the Key! hold it, hold it fast, sweet, sweet Mr. _Foppington_. Oh, should there be Murder done, what a Scandal wou’d that be to the House of a true Protestant! [_Knocks_. _Charl_. Heavens! what will he say or think, to see me shut in with a Man? Mrs. _Clack_. Oh, I’ll say you’re sick, asleep, or out of Humour. _Charl_. I’d give the World to see him. [_Knocks_. _Wild_. [_Without_,] _Charlot, Charlot_! am I deny’d an entrance? By Heaven, I’ll break the Door. [_Knocks again_; Fop. _still holding it_. _Fop_. Oh, I’m a dead Man, dear Clacket! [_Knocking still_. Mrs. _Clack_. Oh, hold, Sir, Mrs. _Charlot_ is very sick. _Wild_. How, sick, and I kept from her! Mrs. _Clack_. She begs you’ll come again an Hour hence. _Wild_. Delay’d! by Heaven, I will have entrance. _Fop_. Ruin’d! undone! for if he do not kill me, he may starve me. Mrs. _Clack_. Oh, he will not break in upon us! Hold, Sir, hold a little; Mrs. _Charlot_ is just--just--shifting her self, Sir; you will not be so uncivil as to press in, I hope, at such a Time. _Charl_. I have a fine time on’t, between ye, to have him think I am stripping my self before Mr. _Foppington_--Let go, or I’ll call out and tell him all. [Wild, _breaks open the Door and rushes in_: Fop. _stands close up at the entrance till he is past him, then venturing to slip out, finds_ Wild, _has made fast the Door: so he is forc’d to return again and stand close up behind_ Wild. _with signs of Fear_. _Wild_. How now, _Charlot_, what means this new Unkindness? what, not a Word? _Charl_. There is so little Musick in my Voice, you do not care to hear it: you have been better entertain’d, I find, mightily employ’d, no doubt. _Wild_. Yes, faith, and so I have, _Charlot_: damn’d Business, that Enemy to Love, has made me rude. _Charl_. Or that other Enemy to Love, damn’d Wenching. _Wild_. Wenching! how ill hast thou tim’d thy Jealousy! What Banker, that to morrow is to pay a mighty Sum, wou’d venture out his Stock to day in little Parcels, and lose his Credit by it? _Charl_. You wou’d, perfidious as you are, though all your Fortune, all your future Health, depended on that Credit. [_Angry_. _Wild_. So, hark ye, Mrs. Clacket, you have been prating I find in my Absence, giving me a handsom Character to _Charlot_--You hate any good thing shou’d go by your own Nose. [_Aside to_ Clacket. Mrs. _Clack_. By my Nose, Mr. _Wilding_! I defy you: I’d have you to know, I scorn any good thing shou’d go by my Nose in an uncivil way. _Wild_. I believe so.