"Well. Then I find you are satisfied. "Wid. Satisfied! no, indeed, I'm not to be satis"fied with you or without you. To be satisfied is to "have enough of you: now 'tis a folly to lie; I shall 66 never think I can have enough of you. I shall be very fond of you. Would you have me fond of "( you? What do you do to me, to make me love you " so well? "Well. Can't you tell what? "Wid. Go, there's no speaking to you. You bring "all the blood of one's body into one's face, so you "do. Why do you talk so? "Well. Why, how do I talk? "Wid. You know how: but a little colour becomes "me, I believe. How do I look to-day? “ Well. Oh, most lovingly, most amiably! "Wid. Nay, this can't be long a secret, I find; I "shall discover if by my countenance. "Well. The women will find you out, you look so "cheerfully. "Wid. But do I, do I really look so cheerfully, so "amiably? There is no such paint in the world as the "natural glowing of a complexion. Let them find me out if they please; poor creatures! I pity them. "They envy me, I'm sure, and would be glad to "mend their looks upon the same occasion. The young jill-flirting girls, forsooth, believe nobody "must have a husband but themselves: but I would "have them to know there are other things to be "taken care of, besides their green-sickness. "Well. Ay, sure, or the physicians would have "but little practice.” Wid. Mr. Welldon, what must I call you? I must have some pretty fond name or other for you. What shall I call you? Well. I thought you lik'd my own name. Wid. Yes, yes, I like it; but I must have a nickname for you. Most women have nick-names for their husbands. Well. Cuckold. Wid. No, no; but 'tis very pretty before company: it looks negligent, and is the fashion, you know. Well. To be negligent of their husbands, it is, indeed. Wid. Nay, then, I won't be in the fashion; for I can never be negligent of dear Mr. Welldon; and, to convince you, here's something to encourage you not to be negligent of me. [Gives him a purse and a little casket. Five hundred pounds in gold in this, and jewels to the value of five hundred pounds more in this. [Welldon opens the casket. Well. Ay, marry, this will encourage me indeed. Wid. There are comforts in marrying an elderly woman, Mr. Welldon. Now a young woman would have fancied she had paid you with her person, or had done you the favour. Well. What do you talk of young women? You are as young as any of them, in every thing but their folly and ignorance. Wid. And do you think me so? But I have no reason to suspect you. Was I not seen at your house this morning, do you think?" Well. You'll venture again; you'll come at night, I suppose? Wid. Oh, dear, at night! so soon? Wid. Oh, no! 'tis not for that, Mr. Welldon; but. Well. You won't come then? Wid. Won't! I don't say I won't: that is not a word for a wife. If you command me——— Well. To please yourself. Wid. I will come to please you. Well. To please yourself; own it. Wid. Well, well, to please myself, then. You are the strangest man in the world; nothing can 'scape you; you'll to the bottom of every thing. Enter DANIEL, LUCY following, Dan. What would you have? What do me for? you follow Lue. Why mayn't I follow you? I must follow you now, all the world over. Not so far by a Dan. Hold you, hold you there. mile or two. I have enough of your company already, by'r lady, and something to spare. You may go home to your brother, an you will; I have no farther to do with you. Wid. Why, Daniel, child, thou art not out of thy wits, sure, art thou? Dan. Nay, marry, I don't know; but I am very near, I believe; I am alter'd for the worse mightily, since you saw me; and she has been the cause of it there. Wid. How so, child? Dan. I told you before what would come on't of putting me to bed to a strange woman; but you would not be said nay. Wid. She is your wife now, child, you must love her. Dan. Why, so I did, at first. Wid. But you must love her always. Dan. Always! I loved her as long as I could, mother, and as long as loving was good, I believe; for I find now I don't care a fig for her. Luc. Why, you lubberly, slovenly, mishegotten blockhead Wid. Nay, Mrs. Lucy, say any thing else, and spare not. But, as to his begetting, that touches me. He is as honestly begotten, though I say it, that he is the worse again. Luc. I see all good-nature is thrown away upon you. Wid. It was so with his father before him. He takes after him. Luc. And therefore I will use you as you deserve, you tony. Wid. Indeed he deserves bad enough; but don't call him out of his name: his name is Daniel, you know. Dan. She may call me hermaphrodite, if she will; for I hardly know whether I'm a boy or girl. “Well. A boy, I warrant thee, as long as thou "livest. “Dan. Let her call me what she pleases, mother ; " 'tis not her tongue that I'm afraid of. "Luc. I will make such a beast of thee, such a "" cuckold! "Wid. Oh, pray, no, I hope! Do nothing rashly, "Mrs. Lucy. "Luc. Such a cuckold I will make of thee "Dan. I had rather be a cuckold, than what you "would make of me in a week, I'm sure. I have ❝ no more manhood left in me already, than there is, "saving the mark, in one of my mother's old under"petticoats here. "Wid. Sirrah, sirrah, meddle with your wife's "petticoats, and let your mother's alone, you ungra"cious bird you. [Beats him. "Dan. Why, is the devil in the woman? What "have I said now? Do you know, if you were ask❜d, "I trow? But you are all of a bundle; e'en hang to"gether; he that unties you, makes a rod for his "C own tail; and so he will find it that has any thing "to do with you. "Wid. Ay, rogue enough, you shall find it: I "have a rod for your tail still. "Dan. No wife, and I care not." |