Sir _Char_. Now for a Struggle ‘twixt your Love and Honour! --Yes, here’s the Bar to all my Happiness, You wou’d be left to the wide World and Love, To Infamy, to Scandal, and to _Wilding_; But I have too much Honour in my Passion, To let you loose to ruin: Consider and be wise. L. _Gal_. Oh, he has toucht my Heart too sensibly. [_Aside_. Sir _Anth_. [_within_.] As far as good Manners goes I’m yours; But when you press indecently to Ladies Chambers, civil Questions ought to askt, I take it, Sir. L. _Gal_. To find him here, will make him mad with Jealousy, and in the Fit he’ll utter all he knows: Oh, Guilt, what art thou! [_Aside_. _Enter Sir_ Anth. Wild, _and_ Dres. _Dres_. Prithee, dear _Wilding_, moderate thy Passion. _Wild_. By Heaven, I will; she shall not have the Pleasure to see I am concern’d--Morrow, Widow; you are early up, you mean to thrive, I see, you’re like a Mill that grinds with every Wind. Sir _Char_. Hah, _Wilding_, this that past last Night at Sir Timothy’s for a Man of Quality? Oh, give him way, _Wilding’s_ my Friend, my Dear, and now I’m sure I have the Advantage of him in my Love. I can forgive a hasty Word or two. _Wild_. I thank thee, _Charles_--what, you are married then? L. _Gal_. I hope you’ve no Exception to my Choice. [_Scornfully_. _Wild_. False Woman, dost thou glory in thy Perfidy? [_To her aside angrily_. --Yes, Faith, I’ve many Exceptions to him-- [_Aloud_. Had you lov’d me, you’d pitcht upon a Blockhead, Some spruce gay Fool of Fortune, and no more, Who would have taken so much Care of his own ill-favour’d Person, He shou’d have had no time to have minded yours, But left it to the Care of some fond longing Lover. L. _Gal_. Death, he will tell him all! [_Aside_.] Oh, you are merry, Sir. _Wild_. No, but thou art wondrous false, False as the Love and Joys you feign’d last Night. [_In a soft Tone aside to her_. L. _Gal_. Oh, Sir, be tender of those treacherous Minutes. [_Softly to him_. --If this be all you have to say to me-- [_Walking away, and speaking loud_. _Wild_. Faith, Madam, you have us’d me scurvily, To marry, and not give me notice. [_Aloud_. --Curse on thee, did I only blow the Fire To warm another Lover? [To her softly aside. L. _Gal_. Perjur’d--was’t not by your Advice I married? --Oh, where was then your Love? [_Softly to him aside_. _Wild_. So soon did I advise? Didst thou invite me to the Feast of Love, To snatch away my Joys as soon as tasted? Ah, where was then you Modesty and Sense of Honour? [_Aside to her in a low Tone_. L. _Gal_. Ay, where indeed, when you so quickly vanquisht? [_Soft_. --But you, I find, are come prepared to rail. [_Aloud_.