Wild. This very Swain am I, so true and so forlorn, unless ye pity me.—This is an excellency Charlot wants, at least I never heard her sing. [Aside.
Sir Anth. Why, Charles, where stands the Woman, Charles?
[Fop. comes up to Charlot.
Wild. I must speak to Galliard, though all my Fortunes depend on the Discovery of my self. [Aside.
Sir Anth. Come, come, a cooling Glass about.
Wild. Dear Dresswell, entertain Charles Meriwill a little, whilst I
speak to Galliard.
[The Men go all to the drinking Table.
By Heaven, I die, I languish for a Word!
—Madam, I hope you have not made a Vow
To speak with none but that young Cavalier.
They say, the Freedom English Ladies use,
Is, as their Beauty, great.
L. Gal. Sir, we are none of those of so nice and delicate a Virtue, as
Conversation can corrupt; we live in a cold Climate.
Wild. And think you’re not so apt to be in Love,
As where the Sun shines oftner.
But you too much partake of the Inconstancy of this your fickle Climate.
[Maliciously to her.
One day all Sun-shine, and th’ encourag’d Lover
Decks himself up in glittering Robes of Hope;
And in the midst of all their boasted Finery
Comes a dark Cloud across his Mistress’ Brow,
Dashes the Fool, and spoils the gaudy Show.
[L. Gal. observing him nearly.
L. Gal. Hah, do I not know that railing Tongue of yours?
Wild. ‘Tis from your Guilt, not Judgment then.
I was resolv’d to be to night a Witness
Of that sworn Love you flatter’d me so often with.
By Heaven, I saw you playing with my Rival,
Sigh’d, and lookt Babies in his gloating Eyes.
When is the Assignation? When the Hours?
For he’s impatient as the raging Sea,
Loose as the Winds, and amorous as the Sun,
That kisses all the Beauties of the Spring.
L. Gal. I take him for a sober Person, Sir.