The Works of Aphra Behn, Vol. II by Aphra Behn

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To the Right Honourable _Henry_ Earl of _Arundel_, and Lord _Mowbray_.

MY LORD,

'Tis long that I have with great impatience waited some opportunity to
declare my infinite Respect to your Lordship, coming, I may say, into the
World with a Veneration for your Illustrious Family, and being brought up
with continual Praises of the Renowned Actions of your glorious
Ancestors, both in War and Peace, so famous over the Christian World for
their Vertue, Piety, and Learning, their elevated Birth, and greatness of
Courage, and of whom all our English History are full of the Wonders of
their Lives: A Family of so Ancient Nobility, and from whom so many
Heroes have proceeded to bless and serve their King and Country, that all
Ages and all Nations mention 'em even with Adoration: My self have been
in this our Age an Eye and Ear-witness, with what Transports of Joy, with
what unusual Respect and Ceremony, above what we pay to Mankind, the very
Name of the Great Howards of Norfolk and Arundel, have been celebrated on
Foreign Shores! And when any one of your Illustrious Family have pass'd
the Streets, the People throng'd to praise and bless him as soon as his
Name has been made known to the glad Croud. This I have seen with a Joy
that became a true English heart, (who truly venerate its brave
Country-men) and joyn'd my dutiful Respects and Praises with the most
devout; but never had the happiness yet of any opportunity to express
particularly that Admiration I have and ever had for your Lordship and
your Great Family. Still, I say, I did admire you, still I wish'd and
pray'd for you; 'twas all I cou'd or durst: But, as my Esteem for your
Lordship daily increased with my Judgment, so nothing cou'd bring it to
a more absolute height and perfection, than to observe in these
troublesome times, this Age of Lying, Peaching, and Swearing with what
noble Prudence, what steadiness of Mind, what Loyalty and Conduct you
have evaded the Snare, that 'twas to be fear'd was laid for all the Good,
the Brave, and Loyal, for all that truly lov'd our best of Kings and this
distracted Country. A thousand times I have wept for fear that Impudence
and Malice wou'd extend so far as to stain your Noble and ever-Loyal
Family with its unavoidable Imputatious; and as often for joy, to see how
undauntedly both the Illustrions Duke your Father, and your Self, stem'd
the raging Torrent that threatned, with yours, the ruin of the King and
Kingdom; all which had not power to shake your Constancy or Loyalty: for
which, may Heaven and Earth reward and bless you; the noble Examples to
thousands of failing hearts, who from so great a President of Loyalty,
became confirm'd. May Heaven and Earth bless you for your pious and
resolute bravery of Mind, and Heroick honesty, when you cry'd, _Not
Guilty_; that you durst, like your great self, speak Conscientious Truths
in a Juncto so vitious, when Truth and Innocence was criminal: and I
doubt not but the Soul of that great Sufferer bows down from Heaven in
gratitude for that noble service done it. All these and a thousand marks
you give of daily growing Greatness; every day produces to those like me,
curious to learn the story of your Life and Actions, something that even
adds a Lustre to your great Name, which one wou'd think you'd be made no
more splendid: some new Goodness, some new act of Loyalty or Courage,
comes out to cheer the World and those that admire you. Nor wou'd I be
the last of those that dayly congratulate and celebrate your rising
Glory; nor durst I any other way approach you with it, but this humble
one, which carries some Excuse along with it.

Proud of the opportunity then, I most humbly beg your Lordships'
patronage of a Comedy, which has nothing to defend it, but the Honour it
begs, and nothing to deserve that Honour, but its being in every part
true Tory! Loyal all-over! except one Knave, which I hope no body will
take to himself; or if he do, I must e'en say with _Hamlet_,

--Then let the strucken Deer go weep--

It has the luck to be well received in the Town; which (not for my
Vanity) pleases me, but that thereby I find Honesty begins to come in
fashion again, when Loyalty is approv'd, and Whigism becomes a Jest
where'er 'tis met with. And, no doubt on't, so long as the Royal Cause
has such Patrons as your Lordship, such vigorous and noble Supporters,
his Majesty will be great, secure and quiet, the Nation flourishing and
happy, and seditious Fools and Knaves that have so long disturb'd the
Peace and Tranquility of the World, will become the business and sport of
Comedy, and at last the scorn of that Rabble that fondly and blindly
worshipt 'em; and whom nothing can so well convince as plain
Demonstration, which is ever more powerful and prevailent than Precept,
or even Preaching it self. If this have edifi'd effectual, 'tis all I
wish; and that your Lordship will be pleas'd to accept the humble
Offering, is all I beg, and the greatest Glory I care shou'd be done,

MY LORD,
Your Lordship's most Humble
and most Obedient Servant,
A. BEHN.

THE CITY HEIRESS; or, Sir _Timothy Treat-all_.

PROLOGUE,

Written by Mr. _Otway_, Spoken by Mrs. _Barry_.

_How vain have proved the Labours of the Stage,
In striving to reclaim a vitious Age!
Poets may write the Mischief to impeach,
You care as little what the Poets teach,
As you regard at Church what Parsons preach.
But where such Follies, and such Vices reign,
What honest Pen has Patience to refrain?
At Church, in Pews, ye most devoutly snore
And here, got dully drunk, ye come to roar:
Ye go to Church to glout, and ogle there,
And come to meet more loud convenient here.
With equal Zeal ye honour either Place,
And run so very evenly your Race,
Y' improve in Wit just as you do in Grace.
It must be so, some Daemon has possest
Our Land, and we have never since been blest.
Y' have seen it all, or heard of its Renown,
In Reverend Shape it staled about the Town,
Six Yeomen tall attending on its Frown.
Sometimes with humble Note and zealous Lore,
'Twou'd play the Apostolick Function o'er:
But, Heaven have mercy on us when it swore.
Whene'er it swore, to prove the Oaths were true,
Out of its much at random Halters flew
Round some unwary Neck, by Magick thrown,
Though still the cunning Devil sav'd its own:
For when the Inchantment could no longer last,
The subtle Pug most dextrously uncas'd,
Left awful Form for one more seeming pious,
And in a moment vary'd to defy us;
From silken Doctor home-spun Ananias:
Left the leud Court, and did in City fix,
Where still, by its old Arts, it plays new Tricks,
And fills the Heads of Fools with Politicks.
This Daemon lately drew in many a Guest,
To part with zealous Guinea for--no Feast.
Who, but the most incorrigible Fops,
For ever doomed in dismal Cells, call'd Shops,
To cheat and damn themselves to get their Livings,
Wou'd lay sweet Money out in Sham-Thanksgivings?
Sham-Plots you may have paid for o'er and o'er;
But who e'er paid for a Sham-Treat before?
Had you not better sent your Offerings all
Hither to us, than Sequestrators Hall?
I being your Steward, Justice had been done ye;
I cou'd have entertain'd you worth your Money_.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

MEN.

Sir _Timothy Treat-all_, an old seditious Knight, |
that keeps open House for Commonwealthsmen | Mr. _Nokes_.
and true blue Protestants, Uncle to _T. |
Wilding_, |
_Tom Wilding_, a Tory, his discarded Nephew, Mr. _Bctterton_.
Sir _Anthony Meriwill_, an old Tory Knight of Mr. _Lee_.
_Devonshire_,
Sir _Charles Meriwill_, his Nephew, a Tory also, |
in love with L. _Galliard_, and Friend to | Mr. _Williams_.
_Wilding_, |
_Dresswell_, a young Gentleman, Friend to Mr. _Bowman_.
_Wilding_,
_Foppington_, a Hanger-on on _Wilding_, Mr. _Jevon_.
_Jervice_, Man to Sir _Timothy_.
_Laboir_, Man to _Tom Wilding_.
Boy, Page to Lady _Galliard_.
Boy, Page to _Diana_.
Guests, Footmen, Musick, &c.

WOMEN.

Lady _Galliard_, a rich City-Widow, in love with | Mrs. _Barry_.
_Wilding_, |
_Charlot_, The City-Heiress, in love with _Wilding_, Mrs. _Butler_.
_Diana_, Mistress to _Wilding_, and kept by him, Mrs. _Corror_.
Mrs. _Clacket_, a City Baud and Puritan, Mrs. _Novice_.
Mrs. _Closet_, Woman to Lady _Galliard_, Mrs. _Lee_.
Mrs. _Sensure_, Sir _Timothy's_ Housekeeper.
_Betty_, Maid to _Diana_.
Maid at _Charlot's_ lodging.

SCENE, _Within the Walls of_ London.

ACT I.

SCENE I. _The Street_.

_Enter Sir_ Timothy Treat-all, _follow'd by_ Tom Wilding
bare, Sir_ Charles Meriwill, Foppington, _and
Footman with a Cloke_.

Sir _Tim_. Trouble me no more: for I am resolv'd, deaf and obdurate, d'ye
see, and so forth.

_Wild_. I beseech ye, Uncle, hear me.

Sir _Tim_. No.

_Wild_. Dear Uncle--

Sir _Tim_. No.

_Wild_. You will be mortify'd--

Sir _Tim_. No.

_Wild_. At least hear me out, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. No, I have heard you out too often, Sir, till
you have talkt me out of many a fair Thousand; have had
ye out of all the Bayliffs, Serjeants, and Constables Clutches
about Town, Sir; have brought you out of all the Surgeons,
Apothecaries, and pocky Doctors Hands, that ever pretended
to cure incurable Diseases; and have crost ye out of the Books
of all the Mercers, Silk-men, Exchange-men, Taylors,
Shoemakers, and Sempstresses; with all the rest of the
unconscionable City-tribe of the long Bill, that had but
Faith enough to trust, and thought me Fool enough to pay.

Sir _Char_. But, Sir, consider, he's your own Flesh and Blood.

Sir _Tim_. That's more than I'll swear.

Sir _Char_. Your only Heir.

Sir _Tim_. That's more than you or any of his wise Associates can tell,
Sir.

Sir _Char_. Why his wise Associates? Have you any Exception to the
Company he keeps? This reflects on me and young _Dresswell_, Sir, Men
both of Birth and Fortune.

Sir _Tim_. Why, good Sir _Charles Meriwill_, let me tell you, since
you'll have it out, That you and young _Dresswell_ are able to debauch,
destroy, and confound all the young imitating Fops in Town.

Sir _Char_. How, Sir!

Sir _Tim_. Nay, never huff, Sir; for I have six thousand Pound a Year,
and value no Man: Neither do I speak so much for your particular, as for
the Company you keep, such Tarmagant Tories as these, [To Fop.] who
are the very Vermin of a young Heir, and for one tickling give him a
thousand bites.

_Fop_. Death! meaning me, Sir?

Sir _Tim_. Yes, you, Sir. Nay, never stare, Sir; I fear you not; No Man's
hectoring signifies this--in the City, but the Constables: no body dares
be saucy here, except it be in the King's name.

Sir _Char_. Sir, I confess he was to blame.

Sir _Tim_. Sir _Charles_, thanks to Heaven, you may be leud, you have a
plentiful Estate, may whore, drink, game, and play the Devil: your Uncle,
Sir Anthony Meriwill, intends to give you all his Estate too. But for
such Sparks as this, and my Fop in Fashion here, why, with what Face,
Conscience, or Religion, can they be leud and vitious, keep their
Wenches, Coaches, rich Liveries, and so forth, who live upon Charity, and
the Sins of the Nation?

Sir _Char_. If he hath youthful Vices, he has Virtues too.

Sir _Tim_. Yes, he had, but I know not, you have bewitch'd him
Amongst ye.
[weeping.
Before he fell to Toryism, he was a sober, civil Youth,
and had some Religion in him, wou'd read ye Prayers Night and Morning
with a laudable Voice, and cry Amen to 'em; 'twou'd have done one's Heart
good to have heard him--wore decent Clothes, was drunk but on Sundays and
Holidays; and then I had Hopes of him.
[_Still weeping_.

_Wild_. Ay, Heaven forgive me.

Sir _Char_. But, Sir, he's now become a new Man, is casting off all his
Women, is drunk not above five or six times a week, swears not above once
in a quarter of an Hour, nor has not gam'd this two Days--

Sir _Tim_. 'Twas because the Devil was in's Pocket then.

Sir _Char_.--Begins to take up at Coffee-houses, talks gravely in the
City, speaks scandalously of the Government, and rails most abominably
against the Pope and the French King.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, ay, this shall not wheedle me out of one English Guinea;
and so I told him yesterday.

_Wild_. You did so, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. Yes; by a good Token you were witty upon me, and swore I lov'd
and honoured the King no where but on his Coin.

Sir _Char_. Is it possible, Sir.

_Wild_. God forgive me, Sir; I confess I was a little overtaken.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, so it shou'd seem: for he mistook his own Chamber, and
went to bed to my Maid's.

Sir _Char_. How! to bed to your Maid's! Sure, Sir, 'tis scandal on him.

Sir _Tim_. No, no, he makes his brags on't, Sir. Oh, that crying Sin of
Boasting! Well fare, I say, the Days of old Oliver, he by a wholesom Act
made it death to boast; so that then a Man might whore his Heart out, and
no body the wiser.

Sir _Char_. Right, Sir, and then the Men pass'd for sober religious
Persons, and the Women for as demure Saints--

Sir _Tim_. Ay, then there was no scandal; but now they do not only boast
what they do, but what they do not.

_Wild_. I'll take care that fault shall be mended, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, so will I, if Poverty has any Feats of Mortification; and
so farewel to you, Sir.
[Going.

_Wild_. Stay, Sir, are you resolv'd to be so cruel then, and ruin all my
Fortunes now depending?

Sir _Tim_. Most religiously--

_Wild_. You are?

Sir _Tim_. I am.

_Wild_. Death, I'll rob.

Sir _Tim_. Do and be hang'd.

_Wild_. Nay, I'll turn Papist.

Sir _Tim_. Do and be damn'd.

Sir _Char_. Bless me, Sir, what a Scandal would that be to the Family of
the _Treat-alls_!

Sir _Tim_. Hum! I had rather indeed he turn'd Turk or Jew, for his own
sake; but as for scandalizing me, I defy it: My Integrity has been known
ever since Forty one; I bought three Thousand a year in Bishops Lands, as
'tis well known, and lost it at the King's return; for which I'm honour'd
by the City. But for his farther Satisfaction, Consolation, and
Destruction, know, That I Sir _Timothy Treat-all_, Knight and Alderman,
do think my self young enough to marry, d'ye see, and will wipe your Nose
with a Son and Heir of my own begetting, and so forth.
[_Going away_.

_Wild_. Death! marry!

Sir _Char_. Patience, dear Tom, or thou't spoil all.

_Wild_. Damn him, I've lost all Patience, and can dissemble no longer,
though I lose all--Very good, Sir; harkye, I hope she's young and
handsome; or if she be not, amongst the numerous lusty-stomacht Whigs
that daily nose your publick Dinners, some maybe found, that either for
Money, Charity, or Gratitude, may requite your Treats. You keep open
House to all the Party, not for Mirth, Generosity or good Nature, but for
Roguery. You cram the Brethren, the pious City-Gluttons, with good Cheer,
good Wine, and Rebellion in abundance, gormandizing all Comers and Goers,
of all Sexes, Sorts, Opinions and Religions, young half-witted Fops,
hot-headed Fools, and Malecontents: You guttle and fawn on all, and all
in hopes of debauching the King's Liege-people into Commonwealthsmen;
and rather than lose a Convert, you'll pimp for him. These are your
nightly Debauches--Nay, rather than you shall want it, I'll cuckold you
my self in pure Revenge.

Sir _Tim_. How! Cuckold his own natural Uncle!

Sir _Char_. Oh, he cannot be so profane.

_Wild_. Profane! why he deny'd but now the having any share in me; and
therefore 'tis lawful. I am to live by my Wits, you say, and your old
rich good-natur'd Cuckold is as sure a Revenue to a handsome young Cadet,
as a thousand Pound a Year. Your tolerable Face and Shape is an Estate in
the City, and a better Bank than your Six per Cent, at any time.

Sir _Tim_. Well, Sir, since Nature has furnisht you so well, you need but
up and ride, show and be rich; and so your Servant, witty Mr. _Wilding_.
[_Goes out. He looks after him_.

Sir _Char_. Whilst I am labouring another's good, I quite neglect my own.
This cursed, proud, disdainful Lady _Galliard_, is ever in my Head; she's
now at Church, I'm sure, not for Devotion, but to shew her Charms, and
throw her Darts amongst the gazing Croud; and grows more vain by
Conquest. I'm near the Church, and must step in, though it cost me a new
Wound.
[Wild, _stands pausing_.

_Wild_. I am resolv'd--Well, dear _Charles_, let's sup together to night,
and contrive some way to e reveng'd of this wicked Uncle of mine. I must
leave thee now, for I have an Assignation here at Church.

Sir _Char_. Hah! at Church!

_Wild_. Ay, _Charles_ with the dearest She-Saint, and I hope Sinner.

Sir _Char_. What, at Church? Pox, I shall be discover'd now in my Amours.
That's an odd place for Love-Intrigues.

_Wild_. Oh, I am to pass for a sober, discreet Person to the Relations;
but for my Mistress, she's made of no such sanctify'd Materials; she is a
Widow, _Charles_, young, rich, and beautiful.

Sir _Char_. Hah! if this shou'd prove my Widow, now. [_Aside_.

_Wild_. And though at her own dispose, yet is much govern'd by Honour,
and a rigid Mother, who is ever preaching to her against the Vices of
Youth, and t'other end of the Town Sparks; dreads nothing so much as her
Daughter's marrying a villanous Tory. So the young one is forc'd to
dissemble Religion, the best Mask to hide a kind Mistress in.

Sir _Char_. This must be my Lady _Galliard_. [_Aside_.

_Wild_. There is at present some ill understanding between us; some
damn'd Honourable Fop lays siege to her, which has made me ill received;
and I having a new Intrigue elsewhere, return her cold Disdain, but now
and then she crosses my Heart too violently to resist her. In one of
these hot Fits I now am, and must find some occasion to speak to her.

Sir _Char_. By Heaven, it must be she--I am studying now, amongst all our
She-Acquaintance, who this shou'd be.

_Wild_. Oh, this is of Quality to be conceal'd; but the dearest loveliest
Hypocrite, white as Lillies, smooth as Rushes, and plump as Grapes after
a Shower, haughty her Mein, her Eyes full of Disdain, and yet bewitching
sweet; but when she loves soft, witty, wanton, all that charms a Soul,
and but for now and then a fit of Honour, Oh, damn the Nonsense! wou'd be
all my own.

Sir _Char_. 'Tis she, by Heaven! [_Aside_.]
Methinks this Widow shou'd prove a good Income to you, as things now
stand between you and your Uncle.

_Wild_. Ah, _Charles_, but I am otherways dispos'd of. There is the most
charming pretty thing in nature fallen in love with this Person of mine,
a rich City-Heiress, _Charles_, and I have her in possession.

Sir _Char_. How can you love two at once? I've been as wild and as
extravagant, as Youth and Wealth cou'd render me; but ne'er arrived to
that degree of Leudness, to deal my Heart about: my Hours I might, but
Love shou'd be intire.

_Wild_. Ah, _Charles_, two such bewitching Faces wou'd give thy Heart the
lye:--But Love divides us, and I must into Church. Adieu till Night.
[_Exit_.

Sir _Char_. And I must follow, to resolve my Heart in what it dreads to
learn. Here, my Cloke. [_Takes his Cloke from his Man, and puts it on_.]
Hah, Church is done! See, they are coming forth!

_Enter People cross the Stage, as from Church; amongst 'em Sir_
Anthony Meriwill, _follow'd by Sir_ Timothy Treat-all.

Hah, my Uncle! He must not see me here.
[_Throws his Cloke over his Face_.

Sir _Tim_. What my old Friend and Acquaintance, Sir Anthony Meriwill!

Sir _Anth_. Sir _Timothy Treat-all_!

Sir _Tim_. Why, how long have you been in Town, Sir?

Sir _Anth_. About three days, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. Three days, and never came to dine with me! 'tis unpardonable!
What, you keep close to the Church, I see: You are for the Surplice
still, old Orthodox you; the Times cannot mend you, I see.

Sir _Anth_. No, nor shall they mar me, Sir.

Sir _Char_. They are discoursing; I'll pass by. [_Aside_.
[_Ex. Sir_ Charles.

Sir _Anth_. As I take it, you came from Church too.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, needs must when the Devil drives. I go to save my Bacon,
as they say, once a Month, and that too after the Porridge is serv'd up.

Sir _Anth_. Those that made it, Sir, are wiser than we. For my part, I
love good wholesom Doctrine, that teaches Obedience to the King and
Superiors, without railing at the Government, and quoting Scripture for
Sedition, Mutiny and Rebellion. Why here was a jolly Fellow this Morning
made a notable Sermon. By George, our Country-Vicars are mere Scholars to
your Gentlemen Town-Parsons! Hah, how he handled the Text, and run
Divisions upon't! 'twould make a Man sin with moderation, to hear how he
claw'd away the Vices of the Town, Whoring, Drinking, and Conventicling,
with the rest of the deadly number.

Sir _Tim_. Good lack! an he were so good at Whoring and Drinking, you'd
best carry your Nephew, Sir _Charles Meriwill_, to Church; he wants a
little documentizing that way.

Sir _Anth_. Hum! you keep your old wont still; a Man can begin no
Discourse to you, be it of Prester John, but you still conclude with my
Nephew.

Sir _Tim_. Good Lord! Sir Anthony, you need not be so purty; what I say,
is the Discourse of the whole City, how lavishly you let him live, and
give ill Examples to all young Heirs.

Sir _Anth_. The City! The City's a grumbling, lying, dissatisfy'd City,
and no wise or honest Man regards what it says. Do you, or any of the
City, stand bound to his Scrivener or Taylor? He spends what I allow him,
Sir, his own; and you're a Fool, or Knave, chuse ye whether, to concern
your self.

Sir _Tim_. Good lack! I speak but what wiser Men discourse.

Sir _Anth_. Wiser Men! wiser Coxcombs. What, they wou'd have me train my
Nephew up, a hopeful Youth, to keep a Merchant's Book, or send him to
chop Logick in an University, and have him returned an arrant learned
Ass, to simper, and look demure, and start at Oaths and Wenches, whilst I
fell his Woods, and grant Leases: And lastly, to make good what I have
cozen'd him of, force him to marry Mrs. Crump, the ill-favour'd Daughter
of some Right Worshipful.--A Pox of all of such Guardians!

Sir _Tim_. Do, countenance Sin and Expenccs, do.

Sir _Anth_. What Sin, what Expences? He wears good Clothes, why,
Trades-men get the more by him; he keeps his Coach, 'tis for his Ease;
A Mistress, 'tis for his Pleasure; he games, 'tis for his Diversion: And
where's the harm of this? is there ought else you can accuse him with?

Sir _Tim_. Yes,--a Pox upon him, he's my Rival too. [_Aside_.
Why then I'll tell you, Sir, he loves a Lady.

Sir _Anth_. If that be a Sin, Heaven help the Wicked!

Sir _Tim_. But I mean honourably--

Sir _Anth_. Honourably! why do you know any Infirmity in him, why he
shou'd not marry? [_Angrily_.

Sir _Tim_. Not I, Sir.

Sir _Anth_. Not you, Sir? why then you're an Ass, Sir--But is this Lady
young and handsom?

Sir _Tim_. Ay, and rich too, Sir.

Sir _Anth_. No matter for Money, so she love the Boy.

Sir _Tim_. Love him! No, Sir, she neither does, nor shall love him.

Sir _Anth_. How, Sir, nor shall love him! By _George_, but she shall, and
lie with him too, if I please, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. How, Sir! lie with a rich City-Widow, and a Lady, and to be
married to a fine Reverend old Gentleman within a day or two?

Sir _Anth_. His Name, Sir, his Name; I'll dispatch him presently.
[_Offers to draw_.

Sir _Tim_. How, Sir, dispatch him!--Your Servant, Sir.
[_Offers to go_.

Sir _Anth_. Hold, Sir! by this abrupt departure, I fancy you the Boy's
Rival: Come, draw.
[_Draws_.

Sir _Tim_. How, draw, Sir!

Sir _Anth_. Ay, draw, Sir; not my Nephew have the Widow!

Sir _Tim_. With all my Soul, Sir; I love and honour your Nephew. I his
Rival! alas, Sir, I'm not so fond of Cuckoldom. Pray, Sir, let me see you
and Sir _Charles_ at my House, I may serve him in this business; and so I
take my leave, Sir--Draw quoth-a! Pox upon him for an old Tory-rory.
[_Aside_.

[_Exit_.

_Enter as from Church, L_. Galliard, Closet, _and Footman_:
Wilding _passes carelessly by her, Sir_ Charles Meriwill
_following, wrapt up in his Cloke_.

Sir _Anth_. Who's here? _Charles_ muffled in a Cloke peering after a
Woman?
My own Boy to a Hair! She's handsom too. I'll step aside; for I must see
the meaning on't.
[_Goes aside_.

L. _Gal_. Bless me! how unconcern'd he pass'd!

_Clos_. He bow'd low, Madam.

L. _Gal_. But 'twas in such a fashion, as exprest Indifferency, much
worse than Hate from _Wilding_.

_Clos_. Your Ladyship has us'd him ill of late; yet if your Ladyship
please, I'll call him back.

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