[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.