Charl. Stand off, and let me loose as are my Griefs, Which can no more be bounded: Oh, let me face The perjur’d, false, forsworn!
L. Gal. Fair Creature, who is’t that you seek with so much Sorrow?
Charl. Thou, thou fatally fair Inchantress. [Weeps.
Wild. Charlot! Nay, then I am discover’d.
L. Gal. Alas, what wou’dst thou?
Charl. That which I cannot have, thy faithless Husband. Be Judge, ye everlasting Powers of Love, Whether he more belongs to her or me.
Sir Anth. How, my Nephew claim’d! Why, how now, Sirrah, have you been dabling here?
Sir Char. By Heaven, I know her not.—Hark ye, Widow, this is some Trick of yours, and ‘twas well laid: and Gad, she’s so pretty, I cou’d find in my Heart to take her at her word.
L. Gal. Vile Man, this will not pass your Falshood off.
Sure, ‘tis some Art to make me jealous of him,
To find how much I value him.
Sir Char. Death, I’ll have the Forgery out;—Tell me, thou pretty weeping Hypocrite, who was it set thee on to lay a Claim to me?