The Works of Aphra Behn Volume Ii Part 57

_Charl_. See how thou hast inur'd thy Tongue to falshood!

Did you not send it to a certain Creature They call _Diana_, From off that Hand that plighted Faith to me?

_Wild_. By Heaven, 'tis Witchcraft all; Unless this Villain _Foppington_ betray me.

Those sort of Rascals would do any thing For ready Meat and Wine--I'll kill the Fool--hah, here!

[_Turns quick, and sees him behind him_.

_Fop_. Here, Lord! Lord!

Where were thy Eyes, dear _Wilding_?

_Wild_. Where they have spy'd a Rascal.

Where was this Property conceal'd?

_Fop_. Conceal'd! What dost thou mean, dear _Tom_?

Why, I stood as plain as the Nose on thy Face, mun.

_Wild_. But 'tis the ungrateful Quality of all your sort to make such base returns.

How got this Rogue Admittance, and when in, The Impudence to tell his treacherous Lyes?

_Fop_. Admittance! why thou art stark mad: Did not I come in with you, that is, follow'd you?

_Wild_. Whither?

_Fop_. Why, into the House, up stairs, stood behind you when you swore you wou'd come in, and follow'd you in!

_Wild_. All this, and I not see!

_Fop_. Oh, Love's blind; but this Lady saw me, Mrs. _Clacket_ saw me-- Admittance quotha!

_Wild_. Why did you not speak?

_Fop_. Speak! I was so amaz'd at what I heard, the villanous Scandals laid on you by some pick-thank Rogue or other, I had no Power.

_Wild_. Ay, thou know'st how I am wrong'd.

_Fop_. Oh, most d.a.m.nably, Sir!

_Wild_. Abuse me to my Mistress too!

_Fop_. Oh, Villains! Dogs!

_Charl_. Do you think they have wrong'd him, Sir? For I'll believe you.

_Fop_. Do I think, Madam? Ay, I think him a Son of a Wh.o.r.e that said it; and I'll cut his Throat.

Mrs. _Clack_. Well, this Impudence is a heavenly Virtue.

_Wild_. You see now, Madam, how Innocence may suffer.

_Charl_. In spite of all thy villanous dissembling, I must believe, and love thee for my quiet.

_Wild_. That's kind; and if before to morrow I do not shew you I deserve your Heart, kill me at once by quitting me--Farewel--I know where both my Uncle's Will and other Writings lie, by which he made me Heir to his whole Estate. My Craft will be in catching; which if past, Her Love secures me the kind Wench at last. [_Aside_.

[_Goes out with_ Fop.

Mrs. _Clack_. What if he should not chance to keep his Word now?

_Charl_. How, if he shou'd not! by all that's good, if he shou'd not, I am resolv'd to marry him however. We two may make a pretty s.h.i.+ft with three thousand Pound a year; yet I wou'd fain be resolv'd how Affairs stand between the old Gentleman and him. I wou'd give the World to see that Widow too, that Lady _Galliard_.

Mrs. _Clack_. If you're bent upon't, I'll tell you what we'll do, Madam; There's every Day mighty Feasting here at his Uncle's hard by, and you shall disguise your self as well as you can, and so go for a Niece of mine I have coming out of Scotland; there you will not fail of seeing my Lady _Galliard_, though, I doubt, not Mr. _Wilding_, who is of late discarded.

_Charl_. Enough; I am resolv'd upon this Design; let's in and practise the northern Dialect.

[_Ex. both_.

SCENE II. _The Street_.

_Enter_ Wilding _and_ Foppington.

_Wild_. But then _Diana_ took the Ring at last?

_Fop_. Greedily, but rail'd, and swore, and ranted at your late Unkindness, and wou'd not be appeas'd.

_Enter_ Dresswell.

_Wild. Dresswell_, I was just going to see for thee.

_Dres_. I'm glad, dear _Tom_, I'm here to serve thee.

_Wild_. And now I've found thee, thou must along with me.

_Dres_. Whither? but I'll not ask, but obey.

_Wild_. To a kind Sinner, _Frank_.

_Dres_. Pox on 'em all; prithee turn out those petty Tyrants of thy Heart, and fit it for a Monarch, Love, dear _Wilding_, of which them never knew'st the Pleasure yet or not above a day.

_Wild_. Not knew the Pleasure! Death, the very Essence the first Draughts of Love. Ah, how pleasant 'tis to drink when a Man's a dry! The rest is all but dully sipping on.

_Dres_. And yet this _Diana_, for thither thou art going, thou hast been constant to this three or four Years.

_Wild_. A constant Keeper thou mean'st; which is indeed enough to get the Scandal of a c.o.xcomb: But I know not, those sort of Baggages have a kind of Fascination so inticing--and faith, after the Fatigues of formal Visits to a Man's dull Relations, or what's as bad, to Women of Quality; after the busy Afflictions of the Day, and the Debauches of the tedious Night, I tell thee, _Frank_, a Man's best Retirement is with a soft kind Wench. But to say Truth, I have a farther Design in my Visit now. Thou know'st how I stand past hope of Grace, excommunicated the Kindness of my Uncle.

_Dres_. True.

_Wild_. My leud Debauches, and being o'th' wrong Party, as he calls it, is now become an _irreconcilable_ Quarrel, so that I having many and hopeful Intrigues now depending, especially those of my charming Widow, and my City-Heiress, which can by no means be carried on without that d.a.m.n'd necessary call'd ready Mony; I have stretcht my Credit, as all young Heirs do, till 'tis quite broke. New Liveries, Coaches, and Clothes must be had, they must, my Friend.

_Dres_. Why do'st thou not in this Extremity clap up a Match with my Lady _Galliard_? or this young Heiress you speak of?

_Wild_. But Marriage, _Frank_, is such a Bugbear! And this old Uncle of mine may one day be gathered together, and sleep with his Fathers, and then I shall have six thousand Pound a Year, and the wide World before me; and who the Devil cou'd relish these Blessings with the clog of a Wife behind him?--But till then, Money must be had, I say.