and stay till somebody catch us.

Sir _Pat._ Ah, very fine,--then what said he?

_Fan._ Then he said, Well if I must be gone, let me leave thee with this
hearty Curse, A Pox take thee all over for making me love thee so
confoundedly.

Sir _Pat._ Oh horrible!

_Fan._ --Oh, I cou'd live here for ever,--that was when he kist her--her
Hand only. Are you not a damn'd Woman for making so fond a Puppy of me?

Sir _Pat._ Oh unheard-of Wickedness!

_Fan._ Wou'd the Devil had thee, and all thy Family, e'er I had seen thy
cursed Face.

Sir _Pat._ Oh, I'll hear no more, I'll hear no more!--why, what a
blasphemous Wretch is this?

_Fan._ Pray, Sir Father, do not tell my Sister of this, she'll be
horribly angry with me.

Sir _Pat._ No, no, get you gone.--Oh, I am Heart-sick--I'll up and
consult with my Lady what's fit to be done in this Affair. Oh, never was
the like heard of.--
[Goes out, _Fanny_ and _Nurse_ go the other way.

SCENE IV. _The Lady _Fancy's_ Bed-Chamber; she's discover'd with
_Wittmore_ in disorder. A Table, Sword, and Hat._

_Maun._ [Entering.] O Madam, Sir _Patient's_ coming up.

L. _Fan._ Coming up, say you!

_Maun._ He's almost on the top of the Stairs, Madam.

_Wit._ What shall I do?

L. _Fan._ Oh, damn him, I know not; if he see thee here after my
pretended Illness, he must needs discover why I feign'd.--I have no
excuse ready,--this Chamber's unlucky, there's no avoiding him;
here--step behind the Bed; perhaps he has only forgot his Psalm-Book and
will not stay long.
[_Wittmore_ runs behind the Bed.

Enter Sir _Patient_.

Sir _Pat._ Oh, oh, pardon this Interruption, my Lady _Fancy_--Oh, I am
half killed, my Daughter, my Honour--my Daughter, my Reputation.

L. _Fan._ Good Heavens, Sir, is she dead?

Sir _Pat._ I wou'd she were, her Portion and her Honour would then be
sav'd. But oh, I'm sick at Heart, _Maundy_, fetch me the Bottle of
_Mirabilis_ in the Closet,--she's wanton, unchaste.

Enter _Maundy_ with the Bottle.

Oh, I cannot speak it; oh, the Bottle-- [Drinks.] she has lost her Fame,
her Shame, her Name.--Oh, [Drinks.] that is not the right Bottle, that
with the red Cork [Drinks.]

[Exit _Maundy_.

and is grown a very t'other-end-of-the-Town Creature, a very Apple of
_Sodom_, fair without and filthy within, what shall we do with her?
she's lost, undone; hah!

Enter _Maundy_.

let me see, [Drinks.] this is [Drinks.] not as I take it-- [Drinks.]