Wild. So Tempests are allay’d by Showers of Rain.
Mrs. Clack. That I shou’d be charg’d with speaking ill of you, so honest, so civil a Gentleman—
Charl. No, I have better Witness of your Falshood.
Fop. Hah, ‘Sdeath, she’ll name me!
Wild. What mean you, my Charlot? Do you not think I love you?
Charl. Go ask my Lady Galliard, she keeps the best Account of all your Sighs and Vows, And robs me of my dearest softer Hours. [Kindly to him.
Mrs. Clack. You cannot hold from being kind to him. [Aside.
_Wild. Galliard! How came she by that Secret of my Life? [Aside.] Why, ay, ‘tis true, I am there sometimes about an Arbitration, about a Suit in Law, about my Uncle.
Charl. Ay, that Uncle too—
You swore to me you were your Uncle’s Heir;
But you perhaps may chance to get him one,
If the Lady prove not cruel.
Wild. Death and the Devil, what Rascal has been prating to her! [Aside.