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

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Sir _Tim_. Nay, if these will please her, I have her for certain.
[_Aside_.
Go, go, fear not my good word.

_Wild_. But the Writings, Sir--

Sir _Tim_. Am I a Jew, a Turk? Thou shalt have any thing, now I find thee
a Lad of Parts, and one that can provide so well for thy Uncle.
[_Aside_.
[_Puts him out, and addresses himself to the Lady_.

_Wild_. Wou'd they were hang'd that trust you, that have but the art of
Legerdemain, and can open the Japan-Cabinet in your Bed-chamber, where I
know those Writings are kept. Death, what a disappointment's here! I
wou'd ha' sworn this Sham had past upon him. [_Aside_.] But, Sir, shall
I not have the Writings now?

Sir _Tim_. What, not gone yet! for shame, away; canst thou distrust thy
own natural Uncle? Fie, away, _Tom_, away.

_Wild_. A Plague upon your damn'd Dissimulation, that never failing Badge
of all your Party, there's always mischief at the bottom on't; I know ye
all; and Fortune be the Word. When next I see you, Uncle, it shall cost
you dearer.
[_Exit_.

_Enter_ Jervice.

_Jer_. An't please your Worship, Supper's almost over, and you are askt
for.

Sir _Tim_. They know I never sup; I shall come time enough to bid 'em
welcome.
[_Exit_ Jer.

_Dia_. I keep you, Sir, from Supper, and better Company.

Sir _Tim_. Lady, Were I a Glutton, I cou'd be satisfy'd
With feeding on those two bright starry Eyes.

_Dia_. You are a Courtier, Sir; we City-Maids do seldom hear such
Language; in which you shew your kindness to your Nephew, more than your
thoughts of what my
Beauty merits.

Sir _Tim_. Lord, Lord, how innocent she is! [_Aside_.] My Nephew,
Madam? yes, yes, I cannot chuse but be wondrous kind upon his score.

_Dia_. Nay, he has often told me, you were the best of Uncles, and he
deserves your goodness, so hopeful a young Gentleman.

Sir _Tim_. Wou'd I cou'd see't. [_Aside_.

_Dia_. So modest.

Sir _Tim_. Yes, ask my Maids. [_Aside_.

_Dia_. So civil.

Sir _Tim_. Yes, to my Neighbours Wives. [_Aside_.] But so, Madam, I
find by this high Commendation of my Nephew, your Ladyship has a very
slender opinion of your devoted Servant the while: or else, Madam, with
this not disagreeable Face and Shape of mine, six thousand Pound a year,
and other Virtues and Commodities that shall be nameless, I see no reason
why I shou'd not beget an Heir of my own Body, had I the helping hand of
a certain victorious Person in the World, that shall be nameless.
[_Bowing and smirking_.

_Dia_. Meaning me, I am sure; if I shou'd marry him now, and disappoint
my dear Inconstant with an Heir of his own begetting, 'twou'd be a most
wicked Revenge for past Kindnesses. [_Aside_.

Sir _Tim_. I know your Ladyship is studying now who this victorious
Person shou'd be, whom I dare not name: but let it suffice, she is,
Madam, within a Mile of an Oak.

_Dia_. No, Sir, I was considering, if what you say be true, How
unadvisedly I have lov'd your Nephew, Who swore to me he was to be your
Heir.

Sir _Tim_. My Heir, Madam! am I so visibly old to be so desperate?
No, I'm in my years of desires and discretion,
And I have thoughts, durst I but utter 'em;
But modestly say, Mum--

_Dia_. I took him for the hopefullest Gentleman--

Sir _Tim_. Let him hope on, so will I; and yet, Madam, in consideration
of your Love to him, and because he is my Nephew, young, handsome, witty,
and so forth, I am content to be so much a Parent to him, as if Heaven
please,--to see him fairly hang'd.

_Dia_. How, Sir! [_In amaze_.

Sir _Tim_. He has deserv'd it, Madam: First, for lampooning the Reverend
City with its noble Government, with the Right Honourable Gown-men;
libelling some for Feasting, and some for Fasting, some for Cuckolds, and
some for Cuckold-makers; charging us with all the seven deadly Sins, the
Sins of our Fore-fathers, adding seven score more to the number; the Sins
of Forty-One reviv'd again in Eighty-One, with Additions and Amendments;
for which, though the Writings were drawn, by which I made him my whole
Executor, I will disinherit him. Secondly, Madam, he deserves hanging for
seducing, and most feloniously bearing away a young City-Heiress.

_Dia_. Undone, undone! Oh, with what Face can I return again!
What Man of Wealth or Reputation, now
Will think me worth the owning!
[_Feigns to weep_.

Sir _Tim_. Yes, yes, Madam, there are honest, discreet, religious, and
true Protestant Knights in the City, that wou'd be proud to dignify and
distinguish so worthy a Gentlewoman.
[Bowing and smiling.

_Bet_. Look to your hits, and take fortune by the forelock, Madam.
[_Aside_.
--Alas, Madam, no Knight, and poor too!

Sir _Tim_. As a Tory Poet.

_Bet_. Well, Madam, take Comfort; if the worst come to the worst, you
have Estate enough for both.

_Dia_. Ay, Betty, were he but honest, Betty.
[_Weeping_.

Sir _Tim_. Honest! I think he will not steal; but for his Body, the Lord
have mercy upon't, for he has none.

_Dia_. 'Tis evident, I am betray'd, abus'd;
H'as lookt and sigh'd, and talkt away my Heart;
H'as sworn, and vow'd, and flatter'd me to ruin.
[_Weeping_.

Sir _Tim_. A small fault with him; he has flatter'd and
sworn me out of many a fair Thousand: why, he has no
more Conscience than a Politician, nor no more Truth
than a Narrative (under the Rose).

_Dia_. Is there no Truth nor Honesty i'th' World?

Sir _Tim_. Troth, very little, and that lies all i'th' City amongst us
sober Magistrates.

_Dia_. Were I a Man, how wou'd I be reveng'd!

Sir _Tim_. Your Ladyship might do it better as you are
were I worthy to advise you.

_Dia_. Name it.

Sir _Tim_. Why, by marrying your Ladyship's most assur'd Friend, and most
humble Servant, _Timothy Treat-all_ of London, Alderman.
[_Bowing_.

_Bet_. Ay, this is something, Mistress; here's Reason.

_Dia_. But I have given my Faith and Troth to _Wilding, Betty_.

Sir _Tim_. Faith and Troth! We stand upon neither Faith nor Troth in the
City, Lady. I have known an Heiress married and bedded, and yet with the
Advice of the wiser Magistrates, has been unmarried and consummated anew
with another, so it stands with our Interest: 'tis Law by Magna Charta.
Nay, had you married my ungracious Nephew, we might by this our Magna
Charta have hang'd him for a Rape.

_Dia_. What, though he had my Consent?

Sir _Tim_. That's nothing, he had not ours.

_Dia_. Then shou'd I marry you by stealth, the Danger wou'd be the same.

Sir _Tim_. No, no, Madam, we never accuse one another; 'tis the poor
Rogues, the Tory Rascals we always hang. Let 'em accuse me if they
please; alas, I come off hand-smooth with Ignoramus.

_Enter_ Jervice.

_Jer_. Sir, there's such a calling for your Worship! They are all very
merry, the Glasses go briskly about.

Sir _Tim_. Go, go, I'll come when all the Healths are past; I love no
Healths.

_Jer_. They are all over, Sir, and the Ladies are for dancing; so they
are all adjourning from the Dining-room hither, as more commodious for
that Exercise. I
think they're coming, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. Hah, coming! Call _Sensure_ to wait on the Lady to her
Apartment.--

[_Enter_ Sensure.]

And, Madam, I do most heartily recommend my most humble Address to your
most judicious Consideration, hoping you will most vigorously, and with
all your might, maintain the Rights and Privileges of the Honourable
City; and not suffer the Force or Persuasion of any Arbitrary Lover
whatsoever, to subvert their antient and Fundamental Laws, by seducing
and forcibly bearing away so rich and so illustrious a Lady: and, Madam,
we will unanimously stand by you with our Lives and Fortunes.--This I
learnt from a Speech at the Election of a Burgess. [_Aside_.

[_Leads her to the Door; She goes out with_ Betty _and_ Sensure.
_Enter Musick playing, Sir_ Anthony Meriwill _dancing
with a Lady in his Hand, Sir_ Charles with Lady_
Galliard, _several other Women and Men_.

Sir _Anth_. [_singing_.]

Philander _was a jolly Swain,
And lov'd by ev'ry Lass;
Whom when he met along the Plain,
He laid upon the Grass.

And here he kist, and there he play'd
With this and then the t'other,
Till every wanton smiling Maid
At last became a Mother.

And to her Swain, and to her Swain,
The Nymph begins to yield;
Ruffle, and breathe, then to't again,
Thou'rt Master of the Field_.

[Clapping Sir _Char_, on the back.

Sir _Char_. And if I keep it not, say I'm a Coward, Uncle.

Sir _Anth_. More Wine there, Boys, I'll keep the Humour up.
[_Enter Bottles and Glasses_.

Sir _Tim_. How! young Meriwill so close to the Widow--Madam--
[_Addressing himself to her. Sir_ Char. _puts him by_.

Sir _Char_. Sir Timothy, why, what a Pox dost thou bring that damn'd
Puritanical, Schismatical, Fanatical, Small-beer-Face of thine into good
Company? Give him a full Glass to the Widow's Health.

Sir _Tim_. O lack, Sir _Charles_, no Healths for me, I pray.

Sir _Char_. Hark ye, leave that cozening, canting, sanctify'd Sneer of
yours, and drink ye me like a sober loyal Magistrate, all those Healths
you are behind, from his sacred Majesty, whom God long preserve, with the
rest of the Royal Family, even down to this wicked Widow, whom Heaven
soon convert from her leud designs upon my Body.
[_Pulling Sir_ Tim. _to kneel_.

Sir _Anth_. A rare Boy! he shall have all my Estate.

Sir _Tim_. How, the Widow a leud design upon his Body! Nay, then I am
jealous. [_Aside_.

L. _Gal_. I a leud design upon your Body; for what, I wonder?

Sir _Char_. Why, for villanous Matrimony.

L. _Gal_. Who, I?

Sir _Char_. Who, you! yes, you.
Why are those Eyes drest in inviting Love?
Those soft bewitching Smiles, those rising Breasts,
And all those Charms that make you so adorable,
Is't not to draw Fools into Matrimony?

Sir _Anth_. How's that, how's that! _Charles_ at his Adorables and
Charms! He must have t'other Health, he'll fall to his old Dog-trot again
else. Come, come, every man his Glass; Sir Timothy, you are six behind:
Come, come, _Charles_, name 'em all.

[_Each take a Glass, and force Sir_ Tim. _on his knees_.

Sir _Char_.--Not bate ye an Ace, Sir. Come, his Majesty's Health, and
Confusion to his Enemies.
[_They go to force his Mouth open to drink_.

Sir _Tim_. Hold, Sir, hold, if I must drink, I must; but this is very
arbitrary, methinks.
[_Drinks_.

Sir _Anth_. And now, Sir, to the Royal Duke of Albany. Musick, play a
Scotch Jig.
[_Music plays, they drink_.

Sir _Tim_. This is mere Tyranny.

_Enter_ Jervice.

_Jer_. Sir, there is alighted at the Gate a Person of Quality, as appears
by his Train, who give him the Title of a Lord.

Sir _Tim_. How, a strange Lord! Conduct him up with Ceremony, _Jervice_--
'Ods so, he's here!

_Enter_ Wilding _in disguise_, Dresswell, _and Footmen and Pages_.

_Wild_. Sir, by your Reverend Aspect, you shou'd be the renown'd Mester
de Hotel.

Sir _Tim_. Mater de Otell! I have not the Honour to know any of that
Name, I am call'd Sir _Timothy Treat-all_.
[_Bowing_.

_Wild_. The same, Sir; I have been bred abroad, and thought all Persons
of Quality had spoke French.

Sir _Tim_. Not City Persons of Quality, my Lord.

_Wild_. I'm glad on't, Sir; for 'tis a Nation I hate, as indeed I do all
Monarchies.

Sir _Tim_. Hum! hate Monarchy! Your Lordship is most welcome.
[_Bows_.

_Wild_. Unless Elective Monarchies, which so resemble a Commonwealth.

Sir _Tim_. Right, my Lord; where every Man may hope to take his turn--
Your Lordship is most singularly welcome.
[_Bows low_.

_Wild_. And though I am a Stranger to your Person, I am not to your Fame,
amongst the sober Party of the Amsterdamians, all the French Hugonots
throughout Geneva; even to Hungary and Poland, Fame's Trumpet sounds your
Praise, making the Pope to fear, the rest admire you.

Sir _Anth_. I'm much oblig'd to the renowned Mobile.

_Wild_. So you will say, when you shall hear my Embassy. The Polanders by
me salute you, Sir, and have in this next new Election prick'd ye down
for their succeeding King.

Sir _Tim_. How, my Lord, prick'd me down for a King! Why, this is
wonderful! Prick'd me, unworthy me down for a King! How cou'd I merit
this amazing Glory!

_Wild_. They know, he that can be so great a Patriot to his Native
Country, where but a private Person, what must he be when Power is on his
side?

Sir _Tim_. Ay, my Lord, my Country, my bleeding Country! there's the stop
to all my rising Greatness. Shall I be so ungrateful to disappoint this
big expecting Nation? defeat the sober Party, and my Neighbours, for any
Polish Crown? But yet, my Lord, I will consider on't: Mean time my House
is yours.

_Wild_. I've brought you, Sir, the Measure of the Crown:
Ha, it fits you to a Hair.
[_Pulls out a Ribband, measures his Head_.
You were by Heav'n and Nature fram'd that Monarch.

Sir _Anth_. Hah, at it again!
[_Sir_ Charles _making sober Love_.
Come, we grow dull, _Charles_; where stands the Glass?
What, balk my Lady _Galliard's_ Health!
[_They go to drink_.

_Wild_. Hah, _Galliard_--and so sweet on Meriwill! [_Aside_.

L. _Gal_. If it be your business, Sir, to drink, I'll withdraw.

Sir _Char_. Gad, and I'll withdraw with you, Widow. Hark ye, Lady
_Galliard_, I am damnably afraid you cannot bear Liquor well, you are so
forward to leave good Company and a Bottle.

Sir _Tim_. Well, Gentlemen, since I have done what I never do, to oblige
you, I hope you will not refuse a Health of my Denomination.

Sir _Anth_. We scorn to be so uncivil.
[_All take the Glasses_.

Sir _Tim_. Why then here's a conceal'd Health that shall be nameless, to
his Grace the King of Poland.

Sir _Char_. King of Poland! Lord, Lord, how your Thoughts ramble!

Sir _Tim_. Not so far as you imagine; I know what I say, Sir.

Sir _Char_. Away with it. [_Drink all_.

_Wild_. I see, Sir, you still keep up that English Hospitality that so
renowned our Ancestors in History.
[_Looking on L_. Gal.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, my Lord, my noble Guests are my Wife and Children.

_Wild_. Are you not married, then? Death, she smiles on him.
[_Aside_.

Sir _Tim_. I had a Wife, but rest her Soul, she's dead; and I have no
Plague left now but an ungracious Nephew, perverted with ill Customs,
Tantivy Opinions, and Court-Notions.

_Wild_. Cannot your pious Examples convert him? By Heaven, she's fond of
him! [_Aside_.

Sir _Tim_. Alas, I have try'd all ways, fair and foul; nay, had settled
t'other Day my whole Estate upon him, and just as I had sign'd the
Writings, out comes me a damn'd Libel, call'd, A Warning to all good
Christians against the City-Magistrates; and I doubt he had a Hand in
Absalom and Achitophel, a Rogue. But some of our sober Party have claw'd
him home, i' faith, and given him Rhyme for his Reason.

_Wild_. Most visibly in Love! Oh, Sir, Nature, Laws, and Religion plead
for so near a Kinsman.

Sir _Tim_. Laws and Religion! Alas, my Lord, he deserves not the Name of
a Patriot, who does not for the publick Good, defy all Laws and Religion.

_Wild_. Death, I must interrupt 'em--Sir, pray what Lady's that.
[Wild, salutes her.

Sir _Tim_. I beseech your Lordship know her, 'tis my Lady _Galliard_; the
rest are all my Friends and Neighbours, true Protestants all--Well, my
Lord, how do you like my Method of doing the business of the Nation, and
carrying on the Cause with Wine, Women, and so forth?

_Wild_. High Feeding and smart Drinking, gains more to the Party, than
your smart Preaching.

Sir _Tim_. Your Lordship has hit it right: a rare Man this!

_Wild_. But come, Sir, leave serious Affairs, and oblige these fair ones.

[_Addresses himself to_ Galliard, _Sir_ Charles _puts him by.
Enter_ Charlot _disguised_, Clacket _and_ Foppington.

Sir _Char_. Heavens, Clacket, yonder's my False one, and that my
lovely Rival.
[_Pointing to_ Wild, _and L_. Gal.

_Enter_ Diana _and_ Sensure _masked, and_ Betty.

_Dia_. Dear Mrs. _Sensure_, this Favour has oblig'd me.

_Sen_. I hope you'll not discover it to his Worship, Madam.

_Wild_. By her Mien, this shou'd be handsome--
[_Goes to_ Diana.]
Madam, I hope you have not made a Resolution to deny me the Honour of
your Hand.

_Dia_. Ha, _Wilding_! Love can discover thee through all Disguise.

_Wild_. Hah, _Diana_! wou'd 'twere Felony to wear a Vizard. Gad, I'd
rather meet it on the King's Highway, with Stand and Deliver, than thus
encounter it on the Face of an old Mistress; and the Cheat were more
excusable--But how--
[_Talks aside with her_.

Sir _Char_. Nay, never frown nor chide: For thus do I intend to shew my
Authority, till I have made thee only fit for me.

_Wild_. Is't so, my precious Uncle? Are you so great a Devil in
Hypocrisy? Thus had I been serv'd, had I brought him the right Woman.
[_Aside_.

_Dia_. But do not think, dear _Tommy_, I wou'd have serv'd thee so;
married thy Uncle, and have cozen'd thee of thy Birth-right--But see,
we're observ'd.

[Charlot _listening behind him all this while_.

_Char_. By all that's good 'tis he! that Voice is his!
[_He going from_ Dian. _turns upon_ Charlot, _and looks_.

_Wild_. Hah, what pretty Creature's this, that has so much of _Charlot_
in her Face? But sure she durst not venture; 'tis not her Dress nor Mien.
Dear pretty Stranger, I must dance with you.

_Char_. Gued deed, and see ye shall, Sir, gen you please. Though I's not
dance, Sir, I's tell ya that noo.

_Wild_. Nor I, so we're well matcht. By Heaven, she's wondrous like her.

_Char_. By th' Mass not so kind, Sir: 'Twere gued that ene of us shou'd
dance to guid the other weel.

_Wild_. How young, how innocent and free she is! And wou'd you, fair one,
be guided by me?

_Char_. In any thing that gued is.

_Wild_. I love you extremely, and wou'd teach you to love.

_Char_. Ah, wele aday! [_Sighs and smiles_.

_Wild_. A thing I know you do not understand.

_Char_. Gued faith, and ya're i'th' right, Sir; yet 'tis a thing I's
often hear ya gay men talk of.

_Wild_. Yes, and no doubt have been told those pretty Eyes inspired it.

_Char_. Gued deed, and so I have! Ya men make sa mickle ado about ens
Eyes, ways me, I's ene tir'd with sick-like Complements.

_Wild_. Ah, if you give us wounds, we must complain.

_Char_. Ye may ene keep out a harms way then.

_Wild_. Oh, we cannot; or if we cou'd, we wou'd not.

_Char_. Marry, and I's have ene a Song tol that tune, Sir.

_Wild_. Dear Creature, let me beg it.

_Char_. Gued faith, ya shall not, Sir, I's sing without entreaty.

SONG.

_Ah, Jenny, gen your Eyes do kill,
You'll let me tell my Pain;
Gued Faith, I lov'd against my Will,
But wad not break my Chain.
I ence was call'd a bonny Lad,
Till that fair Face of yours
Betray'd the Freedom ence I had,
And ad my bleether Howers.

But noo ways me like Winter looks,
My gloomy showering Eyne,
And on the Banks of shaded Brooks
I pass my wearied time.
I call the Stream that gleedeth on,
To witness if it see,
On all the flowry Brink along,
A Swain so true as lee_.

_Wild_. This very Swain am I, so true and so forlorn, unless ye pity
me.--This is an excellency _Charlot_ wants, at least I never heard
her sing. [_Aside_.

Sir _Anth_. Why, _Charles_, where stands the Woman, _Charles_?
[Fop. _comes up to_ Charlot.

_Wild_. I must speak to _Galliard_, though all my Fortunes depend on the
Discovery of my self. [_Aside_.

Sir _Anth_. Come, come, a cooling Glass about.

_Wild_. Dear _Dresswell_, entertain _Charles Meriwill_ a little, whilst I
speak to _Galliard_.
[_The Men go all to the drinking Table_.
By Heaven, I die, I languish for a Word!
--Madam, I hope you have not made a Vow
To speak with none but that young Cavalier.
They say, the Freedom English Ladies use,
Is, as their Beauty, great.

L. _Gal_. Sir, we are none of those of so nice and delicate a Virtue, as
Conversation can corrupt; we live in a cold Climate.

_Wild_. And think you're not so apt to be in Love,
As where the Sun shines oftner.
But you too much partake of the Inconstancy of this your fickle Climate.
[_Maliciously to her_.
One day all Sun-shine, and th' encourag'd Lover
Decks himself up in glittering Robes of Hope;
And in the midst of all their boasted Finery
Comes a dark Cloud across his Mistress' Brow,
Dashes the Fool, and spoils the gaudy Show.
[L. Gal. _observing him nearly_.

L. _Gal_. Hah, do I not know that railing Tongue of yours?

_Wild_. 'Tis from your Guilt, not Judgment then.
I was resolv'd to be to night a Witness
Of that sworn Love you flatter'd me so often with.
By Heaven, I saw you playing with my Rival,
Sigh'd, and lookt Babies in his gloating Eyes.
When is the Assignation? When the Hours?
For he's impatient as the raging Sea,
Loose as the Winds, and amorous as the Sun,
That kisses all the Beauties of the Spring.

L. _Gal_. I take him for a sober Person, Sir.

_Wild_. Have I been the Companion of his Riots
In all the leud course of our early Youth,
Where like unwearied Bees we gather'd Flowers?
But no kind Blossom could oblige our stay,
We rifled and were gone.

L. _Gal_. Your Virtues I perceive are pretty equal;
Only his Love's the honester o'th' two.

_Wild_. Honester! that is, he wou'd owe his good Fortune
to the Parson of the Parish;
And I would be oblig'd to you alone.
He wou'd have a Licence to boast he lies with you,
And I wou'd do't with Modesty and Silence:
For Virtue's but a Name kept free from Scandal,
Which the most base of Women best preserve,
Since Jilting and Hypocrisy cheat the World best.
--But we both love, and who shall blab the Secret?
[_In a soft Tone_.

L. _Gal_. Oh, why were all the Charms of speaking given
To that false Tongue that makes no better use of 'em?
--I'll hear no more of your inchanting Reasons.

_Wild_. You must.

L. _Gal_. I will not.

_Wild_. Indeed you must.

L. _Gal_. By all the Powers above--

_Wild_. By all the Powers of Love you'll break your Oath,
Unless you swear this Night to let me see you.

L. _Gal_. This Night.

_Wild_. This very Night.

L. _Gal_. I'd die first--At what Hour?

[_First turns away, then sighs and looks on him_.

_Wild_. Oh, name it; and if I fail--
[_With Joy_.

L. _Gal_. I wou'd not for the World--

_Wild_. That I shou'd fail!

L. _Gal_. Not name the guilty Hour.

_Wild_. Then I through eager haste shall come too soon,
And do your Honour wrong.

L. _Gal_. My Honour! Oh, that Word!

_Wild_. Which the Devil was in me for naming. [_Aside_.
--At Twelve.

L. _Gal_. My Women and my Servants then are up.

_Wild_. At One, or Two.

L. _Gal_. So late! 'twill be so quickly Day!

_Wild_. Ay, so it will;
That half our Business will be left unfinisht.

L. _Gal_. Hah, what do you mean? what Business?

_Wild_. A thousand tender things I have to say;
A thousand Vows of my eternal Love;
And now and then we'll kiss and--

L. _Gal_. Be extremely honest.

_Wild_. As you can wish.

L. _Gal_. Rather as I command: for should he know my wish, I were undone.
[_Aside_.

_Wild_. The Sign--

L. _Gal_. Oh, press me not--yet you may come at Midnight under my
Chamber-Window.

[_Sir_ Char. _sees 'em so close, comes to 'em_.

Sir _Char_. Hold, Sir, hold! Whilst I am listning to the Relation of your
French Fortifications, Outworks, and Counterscarps, I perceive the Enemy
in my Quarters--My Lord, by your leave.
[_Puts him by, growing drunk_.

_Char_. Persuade me not; I burst with Jealousy.
[Wild. _turns, sees_ Clacket.

_Wild_. Death and the Devil, Clacket! then 'tis _Charlot_, and I'm
discover'd to her.

_Char_. Say, are you not a false dissembling thing?
[_To_ Wild. _in anger_.

_Wild_. What, my little Northern Lass translated into English!
This 'tis to practise Art in spite of Nature.
Alas, thy Vertue, Youth, and Innocence,
Were never made for Cunning,
I found ye out through all your forc'd disguise.

_Char_. Hah, did you know me then?

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