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 Whore 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 Shift 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.