_Dia_. When, I wonder? Summer’s come, yet I am still in my embroider’d Manteau, when I’m drest, lin’d with Velvet; ‘twould give one a Fever but to look at me: yet still I am flamm’d off with hopes of a rich Wife, whose Fortune I am to lavish.--But I see you have neither Conscience nor Religion in you; I wonder what a Devil will become of your Soul for thus deluding me! [_Weeps_. _Wild_. By Heaven, I love thee! _Dia_. Love me! what if you do? how far will that go at the Exchange for Point? Will the Mercer take it for current Coin?--But ‘tis no matter, I must love a Wit with a Pox, when I might have had so many Fools of Fortune: but the Devil take me, if you deceive me any longer. [_Weeping_. _Wild_. You’ll keep your word, no doubt, now you have sworn. _Dia_. So I will. I never go abroad, but I gain new Conquests. Happy’s the Man that can approach nearest the Side-box where I sit at a Play, to look at me; but if I deign to smile on him, Lord, how the overjoy’d Creature returns it with a Bow low as the very Benches; Then rising, shakes his Ears, looks round with Pride, to see who took notice how much he was in favour with charming Mrs. _Dy_. _Wild_. No more, come, let’s be Friends, _Diana_; for you and I must manage an Uncle of mine. _Dia_. Damn your Projects, I’ll have none of ‘em. _Wild_. Here, here’s the best softner of a Woman’s Heart; ‘tis Gold, two hundred Pieces: Go, lay it out, till you shame Quality into plain Silk and Fringe. _Dia_. Lord, you have the strangest power of persuasion! Nay, if you buy my Peace, I can afford a Pennyworth. _Wild_. So thou canst of anything about thee. _Dia_. Well, your Project, my dear _Tommy_? _Wild_. Thus then--Thou, dear _Frank_, shalt to my Uncle, tell him, that Sir _Nicholas Gett-all_, as he knows, being dead, and having left, as he knows too, one only Daughter his whole Executrix, Mrs. _Charlot_, I have by my civil and modest Behaviour, so won upon her Heart, that two Nights since she left her Father’s Country-house at _Lusum_ in _Kent_, in spite of all her strict Guards, and run away with me. _Dres_. How, wilt thou tell him of it, then? _Wild_. Hear me--That I have hitherto secur’d her at a Friend’s House here in the City; but diligent search being now made, dare trust her there no longer: and make it my humble Request by you, my Friend, (who are only privy to this Secret) that he wou’d give me leave to bring her home to his House, whose very Authority will defend her from being sought for there. _Dres_. Ay, Sir, but what will come of this, I say? _Wild_. Why, a Settlement; you know he has already made me Heir to all he has, after his decease: but for being a wicked Tory, as he calls me, he has after the Writings were made, sign’d, and seal’d, refus’d to give ‘em in trust. Now when he sees I have made my self Master of so vast a Fortune, he will immediately surrender; that reconciles all again.