_Wild_. You see now, Madam, how Innocence may suffer. _Charl_. In spite of all thy villanous dissembling, I must believe, and love thee for my quiet. _Wild_. That’s kind; and if before to morrow I do not shew you I deserve your Heart, kill me at once by quitting me--Farewel--I know where both my Uncle’s Will and other Writings lie, by which he made me Heir to his whole Estate. My Craft will be in catching; which if past, Her Love secures me the kind Wench at last. [_Aside_. [_Goes out with_ Fop. Mrs. _Clack_. What if he should not chance to keep his Word now? _Charl_. How, if he shou’d not! by all that’s good, if he shou’d not, I am resolv’d to marry him however. We two may make a pretty Shift with three thousand Pound a year; yet I wou’d fain be resolv’d how Affairs stand between the old Gentleman and him. I wou’d give the World to see that Widow too, that Lady _Galliard_. Mrs. _Clack_. If you’re bent upon’t, I’ll tell you what we’ll do, Madam; There’s every Day mighty Feasting here at his Uncle’s hard by, and you shall disguise your self as well as you can, and so go for a Niece of mine I have coming out of Scotland; there you will not fail of seeing my Lady _Galliard_, though, I doubt, not Mr. _Wilding_, who is of late discarded. _Charl_. Enough; I am resolv’d upon this Design; let’s in and practise the northern Dialect. [_Ex. both_. SCENE II. _The Street_. _Enter_ Wilding _and_ Foppington. _Wild_. But then _Diana_ took the Ring at last? _Fop_. Greedily, but rail’d, and swore, and ranted at your late Unkindness, and wou’d not be appeas’d. _Enter_ Dresswell. _Wild. Dresswell_, I was just going to see for thee. _Dres_. I’m glad, dear _Tom_, I’m here to serve thee. _Wild_. And now I’ve found thee, thou must along with me. _Dres_. Whither? but I’ll not ask, but obey. _Wild_. To a kind Sinner, _Frank_. _Dres_. Pox on ‘em all; prithee turn out those petty Tyrants of thy Heart, and fit it for a Monarch, Love, dear _Wilding_, of which them never knew’st the Pleasure yet or not above a day. _Wild_. Not knew the Pleasure! Death, the very Essence the first Draughts of Love. Ah, how pleasant ‘tis to drink when a Man’s a dry! The rest is all but dully sipping on. _Dres_. And yet this _Diana_, for thither thou art going, thou hast been constant to this three or four Years. _Wild_. A constant Keeper thou mean’st; which is indeed enough to get the Scandal of a Coxcomb: But I know not, those sort of Baggages have a kind of Fascination so inticing--and faith, after the Fatigues of formal Visits to a Man’s dull Relations, or what’s as bad, to Women of Quality; after the busy Afflictions of the Day, and the Debauches of the tedious Night, I tell thee, _Frank_, a Man’s best Retirement is with a soft kind Wench. But to say Truth, I have a farther Design in my Visit now. Thou know’st how I stand past hope of Grace, excommunicated the Kindness of my Uncle. _Dres_. True.