TATT. Gadso, the heat of my story carried me beyond my discretion, as the heat of the lady’s passion hurried her beyond her reputation. But I hope you don’t know whom I mean; for there was a great many ladies raffled. Pox on’t, now could I bite off my tongue.
SCAN. No, don’t; for then you’ll tell us no more. Come, I’ll recommend a song to you upon the hint of my two proverbs, and I see one in the next room that will sing it. [_Goes to the door_.]
TATT. For heaven’s sake, if you do guess, say nothing; Gad, I’m very unfortunate.
SCAN. Pray sing the first song in the last new play.
A nymph and a swain to Apollo once prayed, The swain had been jilted, the nymph been betrayed: Their intent was to try if his oracle knew E’er a nymph that was chaste, or a swain that was true.
Apollo was mute, and had like t’have been posed, But sagely at length he this secret disclosed: He alone won’t betray in whom none will confide, And the nymph may be chaste that has never been tried.
[_To them_] SIR SAMPSON, MRS. FRAIL, MISS PRUE, _and_ SERVANT.
SIR SAMP. Is Ben come? Odso, my son Ben come? Odd, I’m glad on’t. Where is he? I long to see him. Now, Mrs. Frail, you shall see my son Ben. Body o’ me, he’s the hopes of my family. I han’t seen him these three years—I warrant he’s grown. Call him in, bid him make haste. I’m ready to cry for joy.
MRS. FRAIL. Now Miss, you shall see your husband.
MISS. Pish, he shall be none of my husband. [_Aside to Frail_.]
MRS. FRAIL. Hush. Well he shan’t; leave that to me. I’ll beckon Mr. Tattle to us.
ANG. Won’t you stay and see your brother?
VAL. We are the twin stars, and cannot shine in one sphere; when he rises I must set. Besides, if I should stay, I don’t know but my father in good nature may press me to the immediate signing the deed of conveyance of my estate; and I’ll defer it as long as I can. Well, you’ll come to a resolution.
ANG. I can’t. Resolution must come to me, or I shall never have one.
SCAN. Come, Valentine, I’ll go with you; I’ve something in my head to communicate to you.
ANGELICA, SIR SAMPSON, TATTLE, MRS. FRAIL, MISS PRUE.
SIR SAMP. What, is my son Valentine gone? What, is he sneaked off, and would not see his brother? There’s an unnatural whelp! There’s an ill-natured dog! What, were you here too, madam, and could not keep him? Could neither love, nor duty, nor natural affection oblige him? Odsbud, madam, have no more to say to him, he is not worth your consideration. The rogue has not a drachm of generous love about him—all interest, all interest; he’s an undone scoundrel, and courts your estate: body o’ me, he does not care a doit for your person.