Sir Char. Out, Sir! Prithee where’s my Rival? where’s the Spark, the— Gad, I took thee for an errant Rival: Where is he? [Searching about.
L. Gal. Whom seek ye, Sir, a Man, and in my Lodgings?
[Angrily.
Clos. A Man! Merciful, what will this scandalous lying World come to? Here’s no Man.
Sir Char. Away, I say, thou damn’d Domestick Intelligence, that comest out every half hour with some fresh Sham—No Man!—What, ‘twas an Appointment only, hum,—which I shall now make bold to unappoint, render null, void, and of none effect. And if I find him here, [Searches about.] I shall very civilly and accidentally, as it were, being in perfect friendship with him—pray, mark that—run him through the Lungs.
L. Gal. Oh, whata Coward’s Guilt! what mean you, Sir?
Sir Char. Mean? why I am obstinately bent to ravish thee, thou hypocritical Widow, make thee mine by force, that so I have no obligation to thee, and consequently use thee scurvily with a good Conscience.
Sir Anth. A most delicate Boy! I’ll warrant him as lend as the best of’em, God grant him Life and Health. [Aside.
L. Gal. ‘Tis late, and I entreat your absence, Sir: These are my Hours of Prayer, which this unseasonable Visit has disturb’d.
Sir Char. Prayer! No more of that, Sweetheart; for let me tell you, your Prayers are heard. A Widow of your Youth and Complexion can be praying for nothing so late, but a good Husband; and see, Heaven has sent him just in the crit—critical minute, to supply your Occasions.
Sir Anth. A Wag, an arch Wag; he’ll learn to make Lampoons presently.
I’ll not give Sixpence from him, though to the poor of the Parish.