Sir _Tim_. Heaven! did she name Heaven, Betty? _Bet_. I think she did, Sir. Sir _Tim_. I do not like that: What need has she to think of Heaven upon her Wedding-day? _Dia_. Marriage is a sort of Hanging, Sir; and I was only making a short Prayer before Execution. Sir _Tim_. Oh, is that all? Come, come, we’ll let that alone till we’re abed, that we have nothing else to do. [_Takes her Hand_. _Dia_. Not much, I dare swear. Sir _Tim_. And let us, Fair one, haste; the Parson stays; besides, that heap of Scandal may prevent us--I mean, my Nephew. _Dia_. A Pox upon him now for naming _Wilding_. [_Weeps_. Sir _Tim_. How, weep at naming my ungracious Nephew? Nay, then I am provok’d--Look on this Head, this wise and Reverend Head; I’d have ye know, it has been taken measure on to fit it to a Crown, d’ye see. _Dia_. A Halter rather. [_Aside_. Sir _Tim_. Ay, and it fits it too: and am I slighted, I that shall receive Billet-Doux from Infanta’s? ‘tis most uncivil and impolitick. _Dia_. I hope he’s mad, and then I reign alone. [_Aside_. Pardon me, Sir, that parting Tear I shed indeed at naming _Wilding_, Of whom my foolish Heart has now ta’en leave, And from this Moment is intirely yours. [_Gives him her Hand, they go out followed by_ Betty. SCENE IV. _Changes to a Street_. _Enter_ Charlot, _led by_ Foppington, _follow’d by Mrs_. Clacket. _Char_. Stay, my Heart misgives me, I shall be undone. --Ah, whither was I going? [_Pulls her Hand from_ Fop. _Fop_. Do, stay till the News arrives that he is married to her that had his Company to night, my Lady _Galliard_. _Char_. Oh! Take heed lest you sin doubly, Sir. _Fop_. By Heaven, ‘tis true, he past the Night with her. _Char_. All night! what cou’d they find to do? Mrs. _Clack_. A very proper Question; I’ll warrant you they were not idle, Madam. _Char_. Oh, no; they lookt and lov’d and vow’d and lov’d, and swore eternal Friendship--Haste, haste, and lead me to the Church, the Altar; I’ll put it past my Power to love him more. _Fop_. Oh, how you charm me! [_Takes her by the Hand_. _Char_. Yet what art thou? a Stranger to my Heart. Wherefore, ah why, on what occasion shou’d I? Mrs. _Clack_. Acquaintance, ‘tis enough, I know him, Madam, and I hope my Word will be taken for a greater matter in the City: In troth you’re beholden to the Gentleman for marrying you, your Reputation’s gone. _Char_. How, am I not honest then? Mrs. _Clack_. Marry, Heaven forbid! But who that knows you have been a single Hour in _Wilding’s_ Hands, wou’d not swear you have lost your Maidenhead? And back again I’m sure you dare not go unmarried; that wou’d be a fine History to be sung to your eternal Fame in a Ballad. _Fop_. Right; and you see _Wilding_ has left you for the Widow, to whom perhaps you’ll shortly hear he’s married. _Char_. Oh, you trifle, Sir; lead on.