Sir Pat. Ah, what a Blessing I possess in so excellent a Wife! and in regard I am every day descending to my Grave.—ah—I will no longer hide from thee the Provision I have made for thee, in case I die.—
L. Fan. This is the Musick that I long’d to hear.—Die!—Oh, that fatal Word will kill me— Weeps.
Name it no more, if you’d preserve my Life.
Sir Pat. Hah—now cannot I refrain joining with her in affectionate Tears.—No, but do not weep for me, my excellent Lady, for I have made a pretty competent Estate for thee. Eight thousand Pounds, which I have conceal’d in my Study behind the Wainscot on the left hand as you come in.
L. Fan. Oh, tell me not of transitory Wealth, for I’m resolv’d not to survive thee. Eight thousand Pound say you?—Oh, I cannot endure the thoughts on’t. Weeps.
Sir Pat. Eight thousand Pounds just, my dearest Lady.
L. Fan. Oh, you’ll make me desperate in naming it,—is it in Gold or Silver?
Sir Pat. In Gold, my dearest, the most part, the rest in Silver.
L. Fan. Good Heavens! why should you take such pleasure in afflicting me? Weeps. —Behind the Wainscot say you?
Sir Pat. Behind the Wainscot, prithee be pacified,—thou makest me lose my greatest Virtue, Moderation, to see thee thus: alas, we’re all born to die.—