Sir _Char_. But for a Recompence of all my Sufferings-- L. _Gal_. Sprinkle my Handkerchief with Tuberose. [_To_ Clos. Sir _Char_. I beg a Favour you’d afford a Stranger. L. _Gal_. Sooner, perhaps. What Jewel’s that? [_To_ Clos. _Clos_. One Sir _Charles Merwill_-- L. _Gal_. Sent, and you receiv’d without my Order! No wonder that he looks so scurvily. Give him the Trifle back to mend his Humour. Sir _Anth_. I thank you, Madam, for that Reprimand. Look in that Glass, Sir, and admire that sneaking Coxcomb’s Countenance of yours: a pox on him, he’s past Grace, lost, gone: not a Souse, not a Groat; good b’ye to you, Sir. Madam, I beg your Pardon; the next time I come a wooing, it shall be for my self, Madam, and I have something that will justify it too; but as for this Fellow, if your Ladyship have e’er a small Page at leisure, I desire he may have Order to kick him down Stairs. A damn’d Rogue, to be civil now, when he shou’d have behav’d himself handsomely! Not an Acre, not a Shilling--buy Sir Softhead. [_Going out meets Wild, and returns_.] Hah, who have we here, hum, the fine mad Fellow? so, so, he’ll swinge him, I hope; I’ll stay to have the pleasure of seeing it done. _Enter_ Wilding, _brushes by Sir_ Charles. _Wild_. I was sure ‘twas Meriwill’s Coach at Door. [_Aside_. Sir _Char_. Hah, _Wilding_! Sir _Anth_. Ay, now, Sir, here’s one will waken ye, Sir. [_To Sir_ Char. _Wild_. How now, Widow, you are always giving Audience to Lovers, I see. Sir _Char_. You’re very free, Sir. _Wild_. I am always so in the Widow’s Lodgings, Sir. Sir _Anth_. A rare Fellow! Sir _Char_. You will not do’t elsewhere? _Wild_. Not with so much Authority. Sir _Anth_. An admirable Fellow! I must be acquainted with him. Sir _Char_. Is this the Respect you pay Women of her Quality? _Wild_. The Widow knows I stand not much upon Ceremonies. Sir _Anth_. Gad, he shall be my Heir. [_Aside still_. L. _Gal_. Pardon him, Sir, this is his Cambridge Breeding. Sir _Anth_. Ay, so ‘tis, so ‘tis, that two Years there quite spoil’d him. L. _Gal_. Sir, if you’ve any further Business with me, speak it; if not, I’m going forth. Sir _Char_. Madam, in short-- Sir _Anth_. In short to a Widow, in short! quite lost. Sir _Char_. I find you treat me ill for my Respect; And when I court you next, I will forget how very much I love you. Sir _Anth_. Sir, I shall be proud of your farther Acquaintance; for I like, love, and honour you. [_To_ Wild. _Wild_. I’ll study to deserve it, Sir. Sir _Anth_. Madam, your Servant. A damn’d sneaking Dog, to be civil and modest with a Pox! [_Ex. Sir_ Char, _and Sir_ Anth. L. _Gal_. See if my Coach be ready. [_Ex_. CIos. _Wild_. Whether are you janting now? L. _Gal_. Where you dare not wait on me, to your Uncle’s to Supper.