_Wild_. My Life and future Hope--I am resolv’d. Let Politicians plot, let Rogues go on In the old beaten Path of Forty one; Let City Knaves delight in Mutiny, The Rabble bow to old Presbytery; Let petty States be to confusion hurl’d, Give me but Woman, I’ll despise the World. [_Exeunt_. ACT IV. SCENE I. _A Dressing-Room_. _Lady_ Galliard _is discover’d in an undress at her Table, Glass and Toilette_, Closet _attending: As soon as the Scene draws off she rises from the Table as disturbed and out of Humour_. L. _Gal_. Come, leave your everlasting Chamber-maid’s Chat, your dull Road of Slandering by rote, and lay that Paint aside. Thou art fuller of false News, than an unlicens’d Mercury. _Clos_. I have good Proof, Madam, of what I say. L. _Gal_. Proof of a thing impossible!--Away. _Clos_. Is it a thing so impossible, Madam, that a Man of Mr. _Wilding’s_ Parts and Person should get a City-Heiress? Such a bonne Mien, and such a pleasant Wit! L. _Gal_. Hold thy fluent Tattle, thou hast Tongue Enough to talk an Oyster-Woman deaf: I say it cannot be. --What means the panting of my troubled Heart! Oh, my presaging Fears! shou’d what she says prove true, How wretched and how lost a thing am I! [_Aside_. _Clos_. Your Honour may say your Pleasure; but I hope I have not liv’d to these Years to be impertinent--No, Madam, I am none of those that run up and down the Town a Story-hunting, and a Lye-catching, and-- L. _Gal_. Eternal Rattle, peace-- Mrs. _Charlot Gett-all_ go away with _Wilding_! A Man of _Wilding’s_ extravagant Life Get a Fortune in the City! Thou mightst as well have told me, a Holder-forth were married to a Nun: There are not two such Contraries in Nature, ’.is flam, ‘tis foolery, ‘tis most impossible. _Clos_. I beg your Ladyship’s Pardon, if my Discourse offend you; but all the World knows Mrs. Clacket to be a person-- L. _Gal_. Who is a most devout Baud, a precise Procurer; A Saint in the Spirit, and Whore in the Flesh; A Doer of the Devil’s Work in God’s Name. Is she your Informer? nay, then the Lye’s undoubted-- I say once more, adone with your idle Tittle-Tattle, --And to divert me, bid Betty sing the Song which _Wilding_ made To his last Mistress; we may judge by that, What little Haunts, and what low Game he follows. This is not like the Description of a rich Citizen’s Daughter and Heir, but some common Hackney of the Suburbs. _Clos_. I have heard him often swear she was a Gentlewoman, and liv’d with her Friends. L. _Gal_. Like enough, there are many of these Gentlewomen who live with their Friends, as rank Prostitutes, as errant Jilts, as those who make open profession of the Trade--almost as mercenary--But come, the Song. [_Enter_ Betty. SONG.