irst, to be sent for to such a Man as this _Bellmour_,
and, as the Devil wou'd have it, to find my Knight there; then to be
just upon the Point of making my Fortune, and to be interrupted by that
virtuous Brother of his; then to have a Quarrel happen, that (before I
could whisper him in the Ear, to say so much as, Meet me here again--
anon) forc'd me to quit the House, lest the Constable had done it for
me; then that that silly Baud should discover all to my Cully. If this
be not ill Luck, the Devil's in't--But _Driver_ must bring matters
about, that I may see this liberal Squire again--But here comes my
Noddy, I must pretend to be angry.

_Enter Sir_ Timothy.

Sir _Tim_. Lord, Lord, how ye look now, as if you had committed no
Misdemeanour: Alas, good Innocent, what canst thou say for thy self,
thou Renegado thou, for being false to my Bosom, say?

_Flaunt_. False to your Bosom! You silly impudent Sot you--who dares
accuse me?

Sir _Tim_. E'en your trusty and well-beloved Friend, Mrs. _Driver_
the Baud.

_Flaunt_. She! She's an impudent confounded Lyar--and because she wou'd
have your worshipful Custom--scandaliz'd me, to breed a difference
between us.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, if you could make me believe that indeed, when she knew
Me not, nor ever saw me all the Days of her Life before.

_Flaunt_. I know that, Simpleton; but when I went to enquire for you by
your Name, and told her my Bus'ness, our Amours are not kept so secret,
nor was she so dull, as not to understand how matters went between us.

Sir _Tim_. Now though I know this to be a damn'd Lye, yet the Devil has
assisted her to make it look so like Truth, that I cannot in Honour but
forgive her.

_Flaunt_. Forgive me!--Who shall forgive you your debauch'd Whoring and
Drinking?--marry, ye had need so, you are such a Ruffler, at least if
y'are every where as you are at home with me--No, Sirrah, I'll never bed
with you more; here I live sneaking without a Coach, or any thing to
appear withal; when even those that were scandalous two Ages ago, can be
seen in _Hide-Park_ in their fine Chariots, as if they had purchas'd it
with a Maidenhead; whilst I, who keep myself intirely for you, can get
nothing but the Fragments of your Debauches--I'll be damn'd before I'll
endure it.

Sir _Tim_. Just as the Baud said; yet I am mollify'd--nay, dear _Betty_,
forgive me, and I'll be very good for the future.

_Flaunt_. Will you swear to be so?

Sir _Tim_. Ay, by Fortun