L. _Gal_. Oh, whata Coward’s Guilt! what mean you, Sir? Sir _Char_. Mean? why I am obstinately bent to ravish thee, thou hypocritical Widow, make thee mine by force, that so I have no obligation to thee, and consequently use thee scurvily with a good Conscience. Sir _Anth_. A most delicate Boy! I’ll warrant him as lend as the best of’em, God grant him Life and Health. [Aside. L. _Gal_. ‘Tis late, and I entreat your absence, Sir: These are my Hours of Prayer, which this unseasonable Visit has disturb’d. Sir _Char_. Prayer! No more of that, Sweetheart; for let me tell you, your Prayers are heard. A Widow of your Youth and Complexion can be praying for nothing so late, but a good Husband; and see, Heaven has sent him just in the crit--critical minute, to supply your Occasions. Sir _Anth_. A Wag, an arch Wag; he’ll learn to make Lampoons presently. I’ll not give Sixpence from him, though to the poor of the Parish. Sir _Char_. Come, Widow, let’s to Bed. [Pulls her, she is angry. L. _Gal_. Hold, Sir, you drive the Jest too far; And I am in no humour now for Mirth. Sir _Char_. Jest: Gad, ye lye, I was never in more earnest in all my Life. Sir _Anth_. He’s in a heavenly humour, thanks to good Wine, good Counsel, and good Company. [_Getting nearer the Door still_. L. _Gal_. What mean you, Sir? what can my Woman think to see me treated thus? Sir _Char_. Well thought on! Nay, we’ll do things decently, d’ye see-- Therefore, thou sometimes necessary Utensil, withdraw. [_Gives her to Sir_ Anth. Sir _Anth_. Ay, ay, let me alone to teach her her Duty. [_Pushes her out, and goes out_. L. _Gal_. Stay, Closet, I command ye. --What have you seen in me shou’d move you to this rudeness? [_To Sir_ Char. Sir _Char_. No frowning; for by this dear Night, ‘tis Charity, care of your Reputation, Widow; and therefore I am resolv’d no body shall lie with you but my self. You have dangerous Wasps buzzing about your Hive, Widow--mark that--[_She flings from him_.] Nay, no parting but upon terms, which, in short, d’ye see, are these: Down on your Knees, and swear me heartily, as Gad shall judge your Soul, d’ye see, to marry me to morrow. L. _Gal_. To morrow! Oh, I have urgent business then. Sir _Char_. So have I. Nay, Gad, an you be for the nearest way to the Wood, the sober discreet way of loving, I am sorry for ye, look ye. [_He begins to undress_. L. _Gal_. Hold, Sir, what mean you? Sir _Char_. Only to go to Bed, that’s all. [_Still undressing_. L. _Gal_. Hold, hold, or I’ll call out. Sir _Char_. Ay, do, call up a Jury of your Female Neighbours, they’ll be for me, d’ye see, bring in the Bill Ignoramus, though I am no very true blue Protestant neither; therefore dispatch, or-- L. _Gal_. Hold, are you mad? I cannot promise you to night.