_Wild_. Honester! that is, he wou’d owe his good Fortune to the Parson of the Parish; And I would be oblig’d to you alone. He wou’d have a Licence to boast he lies with you, And I wou’d do’t with Modesty and Silence: For Virtue’s but a Name kept free from Scandal, Which the most base of Women best preserve, Since Jilting and Hypocrisy cheat the World best. --But we both love, and who shall blab the Secret? [_In a soft Tone_. L. _Gal_. Oh, why were all the Charms of speaking given To that false Tongue that makes no better use of ‘em? --I’ll hear no more of your inchanting Reasons. _Wild_. You must. L. _Gal_. I will not. _Wild_. Indeed you must. L. _Gal_. By all the Powers above-- _Wild_. By all the Powers of Love you’ll break your Oath, Unless you swear this Night to let me see you. L. _Gal_. This Night. _Wild_. This very Night. L. _Gal_. I’d die first--At what Hour? [_First turns away, then sighs and looks on him_. _Wild_. Oh, name it; and if I fail-- [_With Joy_. L. _Gal_. I wou’d not for the World-- _Wild_. That I shou’d fail! L. _Gal_. Not name the guilty Hour. _Wild_. Then I through eager haste shall come too soon, And do your Honour wrong. L. _Gal_. My Honour! Oh, that Word! _Wild_. Which the Devil was in me for naming. [_Aside_. --At Twelve. L. _Gal_. My Women and my Servants then are up. _Wild_. At One, or Two. L. _Gal_. So late! ‘twill be so quickly Day! _Wild_. Ay, so it will; That half our Business will be left unfinisht. L. _Gal_. Hah, what do you mean? what Business? _Wild_. A thousand tender things I have to say; A thousand Vows of my eternal Love; And now and then we’ll kiss and-- L. _Gal_. Be extremely honest. _Wild_. As you can wish. L. _Gal_. Rather as I command: for should he know my wish, I were undone. [_Aside_. _Wild_. The Sign-- L. _Gal_. Oh, press me not--yet you may come at Midnight under my Chamber-Window. [_Sir_ Char. _sees ‘em so close, comes to ‘em_. Sir _Char_. Hold, Sir, hold! Whilst I am listning to the Relation of your French Fortifications, Outworks, and Counterscarps, I perceive the Enemy in my Quarters--My Lord, by your leave. [_Puts him by, growing drunk_. _Char_. Persuade me not; I burst with Jealousy. [Wild. _turns, sees_ Clacket. _Wild_. Death and the Devil, Clacket! then ‘tis _Charlot_, and I’m discover’d to her. _Char_. Say, are you not a false dissembling thing? [_To_ Wild. _in anger_. _Wild_. What, my little Northern Lass translated into English! This ‘tis to practise Art in spite of Nature. Alas, thy Vertue, Youth, and Innocence, Were never made for Cunning, I found ye out through all your forc’d disguise. _Char_. Hah, did you know me then?