Wild. No, Sir, nor you no King Elect, but must e’en remain as you were ever, Sir, a most seditious pestilent old Knave; one that deludes the Rabble with your Politicks, then leaves ‘em to be hang’d, as they deserve, for silly mutinous Rebels.
Sir Tim. I’ll peach the Rogue, and then he’ll be hang’d in course, because he’s a Tory. One comfort is, I have cozen’d him of his rich Heiress; for I’m married, Sir, to Mrs. Charlot.
Wild. Rather Diana, Sir; I wish you Joy: See here’s Charlot. I was not such a Fool to trust such Blessings with the Wicked.
Sir Charl. How, Mrs. Dy Ladyfi’d! This is an excellent way of disposing an old cast-off Mistress.
Sir Tim. How, have I married a Strumpet then?
Dia. You give your Nephew’s Mistress, Sir, too coarse a Name. ‘Tis true, I lov’d him, only him, and was true to him.
Sir Tim. Undone, undone! I shall ne’er make Guildhall-Speech more: but he shall hang for’t, if there be e’er a Witness to be had between this and Salamanca for Money.
Wild. Do your worst, Sir; Witnesses are out of fashion now, Sir, thanks to your Ignoramus Juries.
Sir Tim. Then I’m resolv’d to disinherit him.
Wild. See, Sir, that’s past your Skill too, thanks to my last Night’s Ingenuity; they’re [shews him the Writings.] sign’d, seal’d, and deliver’d in the presence of, &c.