A comedy of manners which caused offence for its immorality at the time of it's first performance. Though it conforms to the general rules of Restoration comedy, it also keeps Behn's own highly Royalist political point of view. The play concerns the 'seditious Knight', Sir Timothy Treat-all, and his nephew Tom Wilding, who both vye for the affections of Charlot, the eponymous city (London) heiress.Sir Tim. Trouble me no more: for I am resolv'd, deaf and obdurate, d'ye see, and so forth.Wild. I beseech ye, Uncle, hear me.Sir Tim. No.Wild. Dear Uncle-Sir Tim. No.Wild. You will be mortify'd-Sir Tim. No.Wild. At least hear me out, Sir.Sir Tim. No, I have heard you out too often, Sir, till you have talkt me out of many a fair Thousand; have had ye out of all the Bayliffs, Serjeants, and Constables Clutches about Town, Sir; have brought you out of all the Surgeons, Apothecaries, and pocky Doctors Hands, that ever pretended to cure incurable Diseases; and have crost ye out of the Books of all the Mercers, Silk-men, Exchange-men, Taylors, Shoemakers, and Sempstresses; with all the rest of the unconscionable City-tribe of the long Bill, that had but Faith enough to trust, and thought me Fool enough to pay.Sir Char. But, Sir, consider, he's your own Flesh and Blood.Sir Tim. That's more than I'll swear.Sir Char. Your only Heir.Sir Tim. That's more than you or any of his wise Associates can tell, Sir.Sir Char. Why his wise Associates? Have you any Exception to the Company he keeps? This reflects on me and young Dresswell, Sir, Men both of Birth and Fortune. Sir Tim. Why, good Sir Charles Meriwill, let me tell you, since you'll have it out, That you and young Dresswell are able to debauch, destroy, and confound all the young imitating Fops in Town.Sir Char. How, Sir!Sir Tim. Nay, never huff, Sir; for I have six thousand Pound a Year, and value no Man: Neither do I speak so much for your particular, as for the Company you keep, such Tarmagant Tories as these, [To Fop.] who are the very Vermin of a young Heir, and for one tickling give him a thousand bites.Fop. Death! meaning me, Sir?Sir Tim. Yes, you, Sir. Nay, never stare, Sir; I fear you not; No Man's hectoring signifies this-in the City, but the Constables: no body dares be saucy here, except it be in the King's name.Sir Char. Sir, I confess he was to blame.Sir Tim. Sir Charles, thanks to Heaven, you may be leud, you have a plentiful Estate, may whore, drink, game, and play the Devil: your Uncle, Sir Anthony Meriwill, intends to give you all his Estate too. But for such Sparks as this, and my Fop in Fashion here, why, with what Face, Conscience, or Religion, can they be leud and vitious, keep their Wenches, Coaches, rich Liveries, and so forth, who live upon Charity, and the Sins of the Nation?