Fop. Ay, but how, Sir?
Wild. Why, from the old Fountain, Jack, my Uncle; he has himself decreed it: He tells me I must live upon my Wits, and will, Frank.
Fop. Gad, I’m impatient to know how.
Wild. I believe thee, for thou art out at Elbows; and when I thrive, you show it i’th’ Pit, behind the Scenes, and at Coffee-houses. Thy Breeches give a better account of my Fortune, than Lilly with all his Schemes and Stars.
Fop. I own I thrive by your influence, Sir.
Dres. Well, but to your Project, Friend, to which I’ll set a helping Hand, a Heart, a Sword, and Fortune.
Wild. You make good what my Soul conceives of you. Let’s to Diana then, and there I’ll tell thee all. [Going out, they meet Diana, who enters with her Maid Betty, and Boy, looks angrily. —Diana, I was just going to thy Lodgings!
Dia. Oh, las, you are too much taken up with your rich City-Heiress.
Wild. That’s no cause of quarrel between you and I, Diana: you were wont to be as impatient for my marrying, as I for the Death of my Uncle; for your rich Wife ever obliges her Husband’s Mistress; and Women of your sort, Diana, ever thrive better by Adultery than Fornication.
Dia. Do, try to appease the easy Fool with these fine Expectations—No, I have been too often flatter’d with the hopes of your marrying a rich Wife, and then I was to have a Settlement; but instead of that, things go backward with me, my Coach is vanish’d, my Servants dwindled into one necessary Woman and a Boy, which to save Charges, is too small for any Service; my twenty Guineas a Week, into forty Shillings; a hopeful Reformation!