L. Gal. I hope you’ve no Exception to my Choice. [Scornfully.
Wild. False Woman, dost thou glory in thy Perfidy? [To her aside angrily. —Yes, Faith, I’ve many Exceptions to him— [Aloud. Had you lov’d me, you’d pitcht upon a Blockhead, Some spruce gay Fool of Fortune, and no more, Who would have taken so much Care of his own ill-favour’d Person, He shou’d have had no time to have minded yours, But left it to the Care of some fond longing Lover.
L. Gal. Death, he will tell him all! [Aside.] Oh, you are merry, Sir.
Wild. No, but thou art wondrous false, False as the Love and Joys you feign’d last Night. [In a soft Tone aside to her.
L. Gal. Oh, Sir, be tender of those treacherous Minutes.
[Softly to him.
—If this be all you have to say to me—
[Walking away, and speaking loud.
Wild. Faith, Madam, you have us’d me scurvily, To marry, and not give me notice. [Aloud. —Curse on thee, did I only blow the Fire To warm another Lover? [To her softly aside.
L. Gal. Perjur’d—was’t not by your Advice I married? —Oh, where was then your Love? [Softly to him aside.
Wild. So soon did I advise? Didst thou invite me to the Feast of Love, To snatch away my Joys as soon as tasted? Ah, where was then you Modesty and Sense of Honour? [Aside to her in a low Tone.
L. Gal. Ay, where indeed, when you so quickly vanquisht? [Soft.
—But you, I find, are come prepared to rail. [Aloud.
Wild. No, ‘twas with thee to make my last Effort against your scorn. [Shews her the Writings. And this I hop’d, when all my Vows and Love, When all my Languishments cou’d nought avail, Had made ye mine for ever. [Aloud.