_Clos_. Pray, Sir _Charles_, let me go and give my Lady notice. [_She enters and goes to_ Wild. --For Heaven’s sake, Sir, withdraw, or my Lady’s Honour’s lost. _Wild_. What will you have me do? [_To_ Galliard. L. _Gal_. Be gone, or you will ruin me for ever. [_In disorder_. _Wild_. Nay, then I will obey. L. _Gal_. Here, down the back-stairs-- As you have Honour, go and cherish mine. [_Pulling him. He goes out_. --He’s gone, and now nethinks the shivering Fit of Honour is return’d. _Enter Sir_ Charles, _rudely pushing_ Closet _aside with Sir_ Anthony. _Sir. Char_. Deny’d an entrance! nay, then there is a Rival in the Case, or so; and I’m resolv’d to discover the Hellish Plot, d’ye see. [_Just as he enters drunk at one Door_, Wild. _returns at the other_. L. _Gal_. Ha, _Wilding_ return’d! Shield me, ye Shades of Night. [_Puts out the Candles, and goes to_ Wild. _Wild_. The Back-Stairs Door is lockt. L. _Gal_. Oh, I am lost! curse on this fatal Night! Art thou resolv’d on my undoing every way. _Clos_. Nay, now we’re by dark, let me alone to guide you. Sir. [_To_ Wild. Sir _Char_. What, what, all in darkness? Do you make Love like Cats, by Star-light? [_Reeling about_. L. _Gal_. Ah, he knows he’s here!--Oh, what a pain is Guilt! [_Aside_. _Wild_. I wou’d not be surpriz’d. [_As_ Closet _takes him to lead him out, he takes out his Sword, and by dark pushes by Sir_ Charles, _and almost overthrows Sir_ Anth. _at which they both draw, whilst he goes out with_ Closet. Sir _Char_. Hah, Gad, ‘twas a Spark!--What, vanisht! hah-- Sir _Anth_. Nay, nay, Sir, I am for ye. Sir _Char_. Are you so, Sir? and I am for the Widow, Sir, and-- [_Just as they are passing at each other_, Closet _enters with a Candle_. Hah, why, what have we here?--my nown Flesh and Blood? [_Embracing his Uncle_. Sir _Anth_. Cry mercy, Sir! Pray, how fell we out? Sir _Char_. Out, Sir! Prithee where’s my Rival? where’s the Spark, the-- Gad, I took thee for an errant Rival: Where is he? [_Searching about_. L. _Gal_. Whom seek ye, Sir, a Man, and in my Lodgings? [_Angrily_. _Clos_. A Man! Merciful, what will this scandalous lying World come to? Here’s no Man. Sir _Char_. Away, I say, thou damn’d Domestick Intelligence, that comest out every half hour with some fresh Sham--No Man!--What, ‘twas an Appointment only, hum,--which I shall now make bold to unappoint, render null, void, and of none effect. And if I find him here, [_Searches about_.] I shall very civilly and accidentally, as it were, being in perfect friendship with him--pray, mark that--run him through the Lungs.