Sir Tim. What, my Lord?
Mrs. Clack. I never knew your Nephew was a Lord:
Has his Honour made him forget his Honesty?
[Charlot. runs, and catches him in her Arms.
Charl. I have thee, and I’ll die thus grasping thee; Thou art my own, no Power shall take thee from me.
Wild. Never; thou truest of thy Sex, and dearest, Thou soft, thou kind, thou constant Sufferer, This moment end thy Fears; for I am thine.
Charl. May I believe thou art not married then?
Wild. How can I, when I’m yours?
How cou’d I, when I love thee more than Life?
Now, Madam, I am reveng’d on all your Scorn, [To L. Galliard.
—And, Uncle, all your Cruelty.
Sir Tim. Why, what, are you indeed my Nephew Thomas?
Wild. I am Tom Wilding, Sir, that once bore some such Title, till you discarded me, and left me to live upon my Wits.
Sir Tim. What, and are you no Polish Embassador then incognito?