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.