WHat an Impertinent thing is a Young Girl bred in a Nunnery? How full of Questions? Prithee no more Hellena, I have told thee more than thou understand'st already.

The more's my grief, I wou'd fain know as much as you, which makes me so Inquisitive; nor is't enough I know you'r a Lover, unless you tell me too, who 'tis you sigh for.

When you'r a Lover, I'le think you fit for a Secret of that Nature.

'Tis true, I never was a Lover yet—but I begin to have a shrew'd guess, what 'tis to be so, and fancy it very pretty to sigh, and sing, and blush, and wish, and dream and wish, and long and wish to see the Man; and when I do look pale and tremble; just as you did when my Brother brought home the fine English Colonel to see you—what do you call him Don Belvill.

Fye Hellena.

That blush betrays you.—I am sure 'tis so—or is it Don Antonio the Vice-Roy's Son?—or perhaps the Rich Old Don Vincentio whom my Father designs you for a Husband? why do you blush again?

Now hang me, if I don't love thee for that dear disobedience. I love mischief strangely, as most of our Sex do, who are come to Love nothing else—but tell me dear Florinda, don't you love that fine Anglese?—for I vow next to loving him my self, 'twill please me most that you do so, for he is so gay and so handsome.

Hellena, a Maid design'd for a Nun, ought not to be so Curious in a discourse of Love.

And dost thou think that ever I'le be a Nun? or at least till I'm so Old, I'm fit for nothing else—Faith no Sister; and that which makes me long to know whether you love Belvile, is because I hope he has some mad Companion or other, that will spoil my devotion, nay I'm resolv'd to provide my self this Carnival, if there be ere a handsome proper fellow of my humour above ground, tho I ask first.

Prithee be not so wild.

Now you have provided your self of a Man, you take no care for poor me—prithee tell me, what dost thou see about me that is unfit for Love—have I not a World of Youth? a humour gay? a Beauty passable? a Vigour desirable? well Shap't? clean limb'd? sweet breath'd? and sense enough to know how all these ought to be employ'd to the best advantage; yes I do and will, therefore lay aside your hopes of my Fortune▪ by my being a Devote, and tell me how you came acquainted with this Belvile? for I perceive you knew him before he came to Naples.

Yes, I knew him at the Siege of Pampulona, he was then a Colonel of French Horse, who when the Town was Ransack't, Nobly treated my Brother and my self, preserving us from all Insolences; and I must own, (besides great Obligations) I have I know not what, that pleads kindly for him about my Heart, and will suffer no other to enter.—But see my Brother.

Good morrow Sister.—Pray when saw you your Lover Don Vincentio?

I know not Sir—Callis when was he here? for I consider it so little, I know not when it was.

A Passion for me, 'tis more than e're I saw, or he had a desire should be known—I hate Vincentio, Sir, and I wou'd not have a Man so dear to me as my Brother, follow the ill Customes of our Countrey, and make a slave of his Sister—and Sir, my Fathers will, I'm sure you may divert.

I know not how dear I am to you, but I wish only to be ranckt in your esteem, equal with the English Coll. Belvile— why do you frown and blush? is there any guilt belongs to the Name of that Cavalier.

I'le not deny I value Belvile, when I was expos'd to such dangers as the Licenc'd Lust of common Souldiers threatned, when Rage and Conquest flew through the City—then Belvile this Criminal for my sake, through himself into all dangers to save my Honour and will you not allow him my esteem?

Yes, pay him what you will in Honour—but you must consider Don Vincentio's Fortune, and the Joynture he'l make you.

Let him consider my Youth, Beauty and Fortune; which ought not to be thrown away on his Age and Joynture.

'Tis true, he's not so young and fine a Gentleman, as that Belvile,—but what Jewels will that Cavalier present you with? those of his Eyes and Heart?

And are not those better than any Don Vincentio has brought from the Indies.

Why how now! has your Nunnery breeding taught you to understand the value of Hearts and Eyes?

Better than to believe Vincentio's deserve value from any Woman—he may perhaps encrease her Baggs, but not her Family.

This is fine—go—up to your Devotion, you are not design'd for the conversation of Lovers.

Nor Saints, yet a while I hope [Aside. I'st not enough you make a Nun of me, but you must cast my Sister away too? exposing her to a worse confinement than a Religious life.

The Girl's mad—it is a confinement to be carry'd into the Countrey, to an Antient Villa belonging to the Family of the Vincentio's these five hundred Years, and have no other Prospect than that pleasing one of seeing all her own that meets her Eyes—a fine Ayr, large Fields and Gardens, where she may walk and gather Flowers.

When by Moon Light? For I am sure she dares not encounter with the heat of the Sun, that were a task only for Don Vincentio and his Indian breeding, who loves it in the Dog dayes.—and if these be her daily divertisements, what are those of the Night, to lye in a wide Moth—eaten Bed Chamber, with furniture in Fashion in the Reign of King Sancho the First; The Bed, that which his Fore—fathers liv'd and dy'd in.

Very well.

This Appartment (new furbrusht and fitted out for the young Wife) he (out of freedom) makes his dressing Room, and being a Frugal and a Jealus Coxcomb, instead of a Valet to uncase his feeble Carcass, he desires you to do that Office—signs of favour I'll assure you, and such as you must not hope for, unless your Woman be out of the way.

Have you done yet?

That Honour being past, the Gyant stretches it self; yawns and sighs a Belch or two, loud as a Musket, throws himself into Bed, and expects you in his foul sheets, and e're you can get your self undrest, call's you with a snore or Two—and are not these fine Blessings to a young Lady?

Have you done yet?

And this Man you must kiss, nay you must kiss none but him too—and nuzel through his Beard to find his Lips.—And this you must submit to for Threescore years, and all for a Joynture.

For all your Character of Don Vincentio, she is as like to Marry him, as she was before.

Marry Don Vincentio! hang me such a Wedlock would be worse than Adultery with another Man. I had rather see her in the Hostel de Dieu, to wast her Youth there in Vowes, and be a hand-Maid to Lazers and Cripples, than to lose it in such a Marriage.

You have consider'd Sister, that Belvile has no Fortune to bring you to, banisht his Countrey, despis'd at home, and pitty'd abroad.

What then? the Vice-Roy's Son is better than that Old Sir Fisty. Don Vincentio! Don Indian! he thinks he's trading to Gambo still, and wou'd Barter himself (that Bell and Bawble) for your Youth and Fortune.

Callis take her hence, and lock her up all this Carnival, and at Lent she shall begin her everlasting Pennance in a Monastery.

I care not, I had rather be a Nun, than be oblig'd to Marry as you wou'd have me, if I were design'd for't.

Do not fear the blessing of that choice—you shall be a Nun.

Shall I so? you may chance to be mistaken in my way of devotion:—a Nun! yes I am like to make a fine Nun! I have an excellent humour for a Grate: no, I'le have a Saint of my own to pray to shortly, if I like any that dares venture on me.

Callis, make it your business to watch this Wild Cat. As for you Florinda, I've only try'd you all this while and urg'd my Fathers will; but mine is, that you wou'd love Antonio, he is Brave and young, and all that can compleat the happiness of a Gallant Maid—this absence of my Father will give us opportunity, to free you from Vincentio, by Marrying here, which you must do to Morrow.

To Morrow!

To Morrow, or 'twill be too late—tis not my Friendship to Antonio, which makes me urge this, but Love to thee, and hatred to Vincentio—therefore resolve upon to Morrow.

Sir, I shall strive to do, as shall become your Sister.

I'le both believe and trust you—Adieu

As becomes his Sister!—that is to be as resolv'd your way, as he is his—

But heark you Callis, you will not be so cruel to lock me up indeed, will you.

I must obey the Commands I have—besides, do you consider what a life you are going to lead?

Yes, Callis, that of a Nun: and till then I'll be indebted a world of Prayers to you, if you'll let me now see, what I never did, the Divertisements of a Carnival.

What, go in Masquerade? 'twill be a fine farewel to the World I take it—pray what wou'd you do there?

That which all the World does, as I am told, be as mad as the rest, and take all Innocent freedomes—Sister you'll go too, will you not? come prithee be not sad.—We'll out—wit Twenty Brothers, if you'll be rul'd by me—come put off this dull humour with your Cloths, and Assume one as gay, and as fantastick, as the Dress my Couzen Valeria, and I have provided, and let's Ramble.

Callis, will you give us leave to go?

I have a Youthful itch of going my self. [Aside. —Madam, if I thought your Brother might not know it, and I might wait on you; for by my troth I'll not trust Young Girles alone.

Thou see'st my Brother's gone already, and thou shalt attend, and watch us.

Mad? the Habits are come, and your Couzen Valeria is drest, and stayes for you.

'Tis well.—I'll write a Note, and if I chance to see Belvile, and want an opportunity to speak to him, that shall let him know, what I've resolv'd in favour of him.

Come, let's in and dress us.

Whe what the Devil ails the Coll. In a time when all the World is gay, to look like meer Lent thus? Had'st thou been long enough in Naples to have been in Love, I shou'd have sworn some such Judgment had befall'n thee.

No, I have made no new Amours since I came to Naples?

You have left none behind you in Paris?

Neither.

And another Old Cause, the want of a Wench— Wou'd not that revive you?

You are mistaken, Ned.

Nay, 'Sheartlikins, then thou'rt past Cure.

I have found it out; thou hast renew'd thy acquaintance with the Lady that cost thee so many sighs at the Siege of Pampulona— Pox on't, what d'e you call her—her Brother's a Noble Spaniard—Nephew to the Dead General—Florinda— Ay Florinda—and will nothing serve thy turn but that damn'd virtuous Woman? whom on my Conscience thou lovest in spight too, because thou seest little or no possibility of gaining her.

Thou art mistaken, I have Int'rest enough in that lovely Virgins heart, to make me proud and vain, were it not abated by the severity of a Brother, who perceiving my happiness—

Has civily forbid thee the House?

'Tis so, to make way for a Pow'rful Rival, the ViceRoy's Son, who has the advantage of me, in being a Man of Fortune, a Spaniard, and her Brother's Friend, which gives him Liberty to make his Court, whilst I have recourse only to Letters, and distant looks from her Window, which are as soft and kind

As those which Heav'n sends down on Penitents.

Heyday! 'Sheartlikins, simile! by this Light the Man is quite spoild.—

What the Devil are we made of, that we cannot be thus concern'd for a Wench—'Sheartlikins our Cupids are like the Cooks of the Camp, they can Roast or Boil a Woman, but they have none of the fine tricks to set 'em off, no Hogoes to make the Sawce pleasant and the Stomach sharp.

I dare swear I have had a hundred as young kind and handsom as this Florinda; and Dogs eat me, if they were not as troublesom to me i'th Morning, as they were welcome o're Night.

And yet I warrant, he wou'd not touch another Woman, if he might have her for nothing.

That's thy joy, a cheap Whore.

Whe I 'Sheartlikins I love a Franck Soul—when did you ever hear of an honest Woman that took a Man's Money? I warrant 'em good ones—but Gentlemen, You may be free, you have been kept so poor with Parliaments and Protectors, that the little Stock you have is not worth preserving—but I thank my Stars, I had more Grace than to forfeit my Estate by Cavaliering.

Methinks only following the Court, shou'd be sufficient to entitle 'em to that.

'Sheartlikins, they know I follow it to do it no good, unless they pick a hole in my Coat for lending you Money now and then, which is a greater Crime to my Conscience, Gentlemen, than to the Common-Wealth.

Ha! dear Belvile! noble Colonel!

Willmore! welcom ashore, my dear Rover!—what happy wind blew us this good Fortune?

Let me salute my dear Fred. and then Command me.— How is't honest Lad?

Faith, Sir, the Old Complement, infinitely the better to see my dear mad Willmore again.—Prithee why camest thou ashore? and where's the Prince?

He's well, and Reigns still Lord of the watry Element. —I must abord again within a day or two, and my business ashore was only to enjoy my self a little this Carnival.

Pray know our new Friend, Sir, he's but bashful, a raw Traveller, but honest, stout, and one of us.

That you esteem him, gives him an Intr'est here.

Your Servant, Sir.

But well,—Faith I'm glad to meet you again in a warm Climate, where the kind Sun has its God-like Pow'r still over the Wine and Women—Love and Mirth! are my bus'ness in Naples, and if I mistake not the place, here's an Excellent Market for Chapmen of my humour.

See, here be those kind Merchants of Love you look for.

'Sheartlikins, what have we here?

Fine pretty Creatures! may a stranger have leave to look and love?—What's here—Roses for every Month?

Roses for every Month? what means that?

They are, or wou'd have you think they're Courtizans, who here in Naples, are to be hir'd by the Moneth.

Kind, and obliging to inform us—Pray where do these Roses grow? I wou'd fain plant some of 'em in a Bed of mine.

Beware such Roses, Sir.

A Pox of Fear: I'll be bak't with thee between a pair of Sheets, and that's thy proper Still; so I might but strew such Roses over me, and under me—Fair one, Wou'd you wou'd give me leave to gather at your Bush this idle Moneth; I wou'd go near to make some Body smell of it all the year after.

And thou hast need of such a Remedy, for thou stink'st of Tar and Ropes Ends, like a Dock or Pest-house.

Nay, nay, you shall not leave me so.

By all means use no violence here.

Death! Just as I was going to be damnably in Love, to have her led off! I could pluck that Rose out of his Hand, and even kiss the Bed, the Bush grew in.

No Friend to Love, like a long Voyage at Sea.

Except a Nunnery, Fred.

Death! But will they not be kind? quickly be kind? Thou know'st I'm no tame sigher, but a Rampant Lion of the Forrest.

Oh the fantastical Rogues, how they'r drest! 'Tis a Satyre against the whole Sex.

'Is this a Fruit that grows in this warm Countrey?

Yes: 'Tis pretty to see these Italians start, swell and stab, at the word Cuckold; and yet stumble at Horns on every Threshold.

See what's on their Back—Flowers of every Night. [Reads. —Ah Rogue! and more sweet than Roses of ev'ry Moneth! This is a Gardiner of Adam's own breeding.

I like their sober grave way, 'tis a kind of Legal Authoriz'd Fornication, where the Men are not chid for't, nor the Women despis'd, as amongst our dull English, even the Monsieurs want that part of good Manners.

But here in Italy, a Monsieur is the humblest best bred Gentleman—Duels are so bafled by Bravo's, that an Age shews not one but between a French-man, and a hang-man, who is as much too hard for him on the Piaza, as they are for a Dutchman on the New Bridge—but see another Crew.

Sister, there's your English Man, and with him a handsome proper Fellow—I'le to him, and instead of telling him his Fortune, try my own.

Gipsies on my life—sure these will prattle if a Man crosse their hands. [Goes to Hellena. —dear, pretty, (and I hope) young Devil, will you tell an Amorous stranger, what luck he's like to have?

Have a care how you venture with me Sir, least I pick your Pocket, which will more vex your English humour, than an Italian Fortune will please you.

How the Devil cam'st thou to know my Countrey and Humour?

The First I guess by a certain forward Impudence, which does not displease me at this time, and the loss of your Money will vex you, because I hope you have but very little to lose.

Egad Child thou'rt ith' right, it is so little, I dare not offer it thee for a kindness—but cannot you divine what other things of more value I have about me, that I wou'd more willingly part with.

Indeed no, that's the bus'ness of a Witch, and I am but a Gipsie yet.—Yet without looking in your hand, I have a parlous guess, 'tis some Foolish heart you mean, an Inconstant English heart, as little worth stealing as your Purse.

Nay, then thou dost deal with the Devil, that's certain.— thou hast guest as right, as if thou had'st been one of that number it has languisht for.—I find you'l be better acquainted with it, nor can you take it in a better time; for I am come from Sea, Child, and Venus not being propitious to me in her own Element: I have a world of Love in store—wou'd you wou'd be good natur'd and take some on't off my hands.

Whe—I cou'd be inclin'd that way—but for a Foolish Vow I am going to make—to dye a Maid.

Then thou art damn'd without redemption, and as I am a good Christian, I ought in Charity to divert so wicked a design —therefore prithee dear Creature let me know quickly when, and where I shall begin to set a helping hand to so good a Work.

If you shou'd prevail with my tender heart (as I begin to fear you will, for you have horrible loving Eyes) there will be difficulty in't, that you'l hardly undergo for my sake.

Faith Child I have been bred in dangers, and wear a Sword, that has been employ'd in a worse Cause, than for a handsome kind Woman—name the danger—let it be any thing but a long Siege—and I'le undertake it.

Can you storm?

Oh most furiously.

What think you of a Nunnery Wall? for he that wins me, must gain that first.

A Nun! Oh how I love thee for't! there's no sinner like a young Saint—nay now there's no denying me, the Old Law had no Curse (to a Woman) like dying a Maid; witness Ieptha's Daughter.

A very good Text this, if well handled, and I perceive Father Captain, you wou'd impose no severe penance on her who were inclin'd to Console her self, before she took Orders.

If she be Young and Handsome.

Ay there's it—but if she be not—

By this hand, Child, I have an Implicit Faith, and dare venture on thee with all Faults—besides, 'tis more meritorious to leave the World, when thou hast tasted and prov'd the pleasure on't. Then 'twill be a virtue in thee, which now will be pure Ignorance.

I perceive good Father Captain, you design only to make me fit for Heaven—but if on the contrary, you shou'd quite divert me from it, and bring me back to the World again, I shou'd have a new Man to seek I find; and what a grief that will be—for when I begin, I fancy I shall love like any thing, I never try'd yet.

Egad and that's kind—prithee dear Creature, give me credit for a Heart, for faith I'm a very honest Fellow—Oh, I long to come first to the Banquet of Love! and such a swinging Appetite I bring—Oh I'm impatient.—thy Lodging sweetheart, thy Lodging! or I'm a dead Man!

Why must we be either guilty of Fornication or Murder if we converse with you Men—and is there no difference between leave to love me, and leave to lye with me?

Faith Child they were made to go together.

Are you sure this is the Man?

When did I mistake your Game?

This is a Stranger, I know by his gazing; if he be brisk, he'l venture to follow me; and then if I understand my Trade, he's mine, he's English too; and they say that's a sort of good natur'd loving People, and have generally so kind an opinion of themselves, that a Woman with any Wit may Flatter e'm into any sort of Fool she pleases.

'Tis so—she is taken— I have Beauties which my false Glass at home did not discover.

This Woman watches me so, I shall get no opportunity to discover my self to him, and so miss the intent of my coming —but as I was saying, Sir,—by this Line you shou'd be a Lover.

I thought how right you guest, all Men are in Love, or pretend to be so—come let me go, I'm weary of this fooling.

I will not, till you have confest whether the Passion that you have vow'd Florinda, be true or false?

Florinda!

Softly.

Thou hast nam'd one will fix me here for ever.

She'll be disappointed then, who expects you this Night at the Garden-gate, and if you fail not—as let me see the other hand—you will go near to do—she vows to dye or make you happy.

That which I say—Farewel.

Oh charming Sybil stay, complete that joy which as it is will turn into destraction!—where must I be? at the Garden-gate? I know it—at Night you say?—I'll sooner forfeit Heav'n than disobey.

Madam, your Brother's here.

Take this to instruct you farther.

Have a care, Sir, what you promise; this may be a Trap laid by her Brother to ruine you.

Do not disturb my happiness with doubts.

My dear pretty Creature, a Thousand Blessings on thee! still in this habit you say?—and after Dinner at this place.

Yes, if you will swear to keep your heart, and not bestow it between this and that.

By all the little Gods of Love I swear, I'l leave it with you, and if you run away with it, those Deities of Justice will revenge me.

Do you know the hand?

Nay, no Idolatry, a sober Sacrifice I'l allow you.

Oh Friends, the welcom'st News! the softest Letter!— nay—you shall all see it! and cou'd you now be serious, I might be made the happiest Man the Sun shines on!

The reason of this mighty joy?

See how kindly she invites me to deliver her from the threatned violence of her Brother—will you not assist me?

I know not what thou mean'st, but I'll make one at any mischief where a Woman's concerned—but she'l be grateful to us for the favour, will she not?

How mean you?

How shou'd I mean? thou know'st there's but one way for a Woman to oblige me.

Do not prophane—the Maid is nicely virtuous.

Peace, she's the Colonel's Mistris, Sir.

Let her be the Devil, if she be thy Mistris, I'l serve her— name the way.

Read here this Postscript.

[Reads.] —Kind Heart, if we Three cannot weave a string to let her down a Garden-Wall, 'twere pity but the Hang-man wove one for us all.

Let her alone for that, your Womans wit! your fair kind Woman! will out-trick a Broker or a Jew: and contrive like a Jesuit in Chains—but see, Ned Blunt is stolne out after the Lure of a Damsel.

So, he'll scarce find his way home again, unless we get him cry'd by the Bell-man in the Market-place, and 'twou'd sound prettily—a lost English Boy of Thirty.

I hope 'tis some Common crafty Sinner, one that will fit him; it may be she'll fell him for Perue, the Rogue's sturdy, and wou'd work well in a Mine; at least I hope she'll dress him for our Mirth, cheat him of all, then have him well-favourd'ly bang'd, and turn'd out Naked at Midnight.

Prithee what humour is he of, that you wish him so well?

Why of an English Elder Brother's humour, Educated in a Nursery, with a Maid to tend him till Fifteen, and lyes with his Grand-Mother till he's of Age: one that knowes no pleasure beyond riding to the next Fair, or going up to London with his right Worshipful Father in Parliament-time; wearing gay Cloths, or making honourable Love to his Lady Mothers Landry-Maid: gets drunk at a Hunting-Match, and ten to one then gives some proofs of his Prowess.—A Pox upon him, he's our Banker, and has all our Cash about him, and if he fail, we are all Broke.

Oh let him alone for that matter, he's of a damn'd stingey quality, that will secure our stock; I know not in what danger it were indeed if the Jilt shou'd pretend she's in Love with him, for 'tis a kind believing Coxcomb; otherwise if he part with more than a piece of Eight—gueld him: for which offer he may chance to be beaten, if she be a Whore of the First Rank.

'Tis a luckey Devil to light upon so kind a Wench!

Thou had'st a great deal of talk with thy little Gipsie, coud'st thou do no good upon her? for mine was hard-hearted:

Hang her, she was some damn'd honest Person of Quality I'm sure, she was so very free and witty. If her face be but answerable to her Witt, and humour, I wou'd be bound to Constancy this Moneth to gain her—in the mean time, have you made no kind acquaintance since you came to Town?—you do not use to be honest so long, Gentlemen.

Faith Love has kept us honest, we have been all fir'd with a Beauty newly come to Town, the Famous Paduana Angellica Bianca.

What the Mistris of the dead Spanish General?

Yes, she's now the only ador'd Beauty of all the Youth in Naples, who put on all their Charms to appear lovely in her sight, their Coaches, Liveries, and themselves, all gay, as on a Monarch's Birth-Day, to attract the Eyes of this fair Charmer, while she has the pleasure to behold all languish for her that see her.

'Tis pretty to see with how much Love the Men regard her, and how much Envy the Women.

What Gallant has she?

None, she's expos'd to Sail, and Four days in the Week she's yours—for so much a Month.

The very thought of it quenches all manner of Fire in me—yet prithee let's see her.

Let's first to Dinner, and after that wee'l pass the day as you please—but at Night yee must all be at my Devotion.

I will not fail you.

BUt why thus disguis'd and muzzel'd?

Because whatever Extravagances we commit in these Faces, our own may not be oblig'd to answer 'em.

I shou'd have chang'd my Eternal Buffe too; but no matter, my little Gipsie wou'd not have found me out then; for if she shou'd change hers, it is impossible I should know her, unless I should hear her prattle.—A Pox on't, I cannot get her out of my Head: Pray Heaven, if ever I do see her again, she prove damnably ugly, that I may fortifie my self against her Tongue.

Have a care of Love, for o' my conscience she was not of a quality to give thee any hopes.

Pox on 'em, why do they draw a Man in then? She has play'd with my Heart so, that 'twill never lye still, till I have met with some kind Wench, that will play the Game out with me— Oh for my Arms full of soft, white, kind—Woman! such as I fancy Angelica.

This is her House, if you were but in stock to get admittance; they have not din'd yet; I perceive the Picture is not out.

I long to see the Shadow of the fair Substance; a Man may gaze on that for nothing.

Coll. Thy Hand—and thine

I have been an Ass, a deluded Fool, a very Coxcomb from my Birth till this hour, and heartily repent my little Faith.

Ha! where.

Ay where!

—Try if she have not left the taste of her Balmey Kisses upon my Lips—

Ha! Ha! Ha!

Death Man where is she?

—What a Dog was I to stay in dull England so long,—How have I laught at the Coll. When he sigh'd for Love! but now the little Archer has reveng'd him! and by this one Dart, I can guess at all his joys, which then I took for Fancies, meer Dreams and Fables.—Well, I'm resolv'd to sell all in Essex, and plant here for ever.

What a Blessing 'tis, thou hast a Mistris thou dar'st boast of; for I know thy Humour is, rather to have a proclaim'd Clap, than a secret Amour.

Dost know her Name?

Her Name? No, 'sheartlikins what care I for Names. —She's fair! young! brisk and kind! even to ravishment! and what a Pox care I for knowing her by any other Title.

Didst give her any thing?

Give her!—Ha, ha, ha! whe she's a Person of Quality; —that's a good one, give her! 'sheartlikins dost think such Creatures are to be bought? Or are we provided for such a Purchase? give her quoth ye? Why she presented me with this Bracelet, for the Toy of a Diamond I us'd to wear: No, Gentlemen, Ned Blunt is not every Body—She expects me again to Night.

Egad that's well; we'll all go.

Not a Soul: No, Gentlemen, you are Wits; I am a dull Countrey Rogue, I.

Well, Sir, for all your Person of Quality, I shall be very glad to understand your Purse be secure; 'tis our whole Estate at present, which we are loth to hazard in one Bottom; come, Sir, unlade.

Take the necessary Trifle useless now to me, that am belov'd by such a Gentlewoman—'sheartlikins Money! Here take mine too.

No, keep that to be couzen'd, that we may laugh.

Couzen'd!—Death! wou'd I cou'd meet with one, that wou'd couzen me of all the Love I cou'd spare to Night.

Pox, 'tis some common Whore upon my life.

Why yes Sir, they are Whores, tho' they'll neither entertain you with Drinking, Swearing, or Bawdry; are Whores in all those gay Cloths, and right Jewels, are Whores with those great Houses richly furnisht with Velvet Beds, Store of Plate, handsome Attendance, and fine Coaches, are Whores and Errant ones.

Pox on't, where do these fine Whores live?

Where no Rogues in Office Ecliped Constables, dare give 'em Laws, nor the Wine Inspir'd Bullies of the Town, break their Windows; yet they are Whores tho this Essex Calf believe 'em Persons of Quality.

'Sheartlikins, y'are all Fools, there are things about this Essex Calf, that shall take with the Ladies, beyond all your Witt and Parts—this Shape and Size Gentlemen are not to be despis'd— my Waste too tolerably long, with other inviting signs, that shall be nameless.

Egad I believe he may have met with some Person of Quality that may be kind to him.

Dost thou perceive any such tempting things about him, that shou'd make a fine Woman, and of Quality, pick him out from all Mankind, to throw away her Youth and Beauty upon, nay and her dear heart too!—no, no, Angellica has rais'd the Price too high.

May she languish for Mankind till she dye, and be damn'd for that one sin alone.

See there the fair Sign to the Inn where a Man may Lodg that's Fool enough to give her price.

'Sheartlikins, Gentlemen, what's this!

A Famous Courtizan, that's to be sold.

How? to be sold! nay then I have nothing to say to her—sold! what Impudence is practic'd in this Countrey? —with what Order and decency Whoring's Establisht here by Virtue of the Inquisition—come let's begone, I'm sure wee're no Chapmen for this Commodity.

Thou art none I'm sure, unless thou coud'st have her in thy Bed at a price of a Coach in the Street.

What's this?— [Reads.] A Thousand Crowns a Month!

—'Sheartlikins here's a Sum! sure 'tis a mistake.

—Heark you Friend, does she take or give so much by the Month?

A Thousand Crowns! why 'tis a Portion for the Infanta.

Heark ye Friends, won't she trust?

This is a Trade, Sir, that cannot live by Credit.

See, here's more Company, let's walk off a while.

Fetch me a thousand Crowns, I never wisht to buy this Beauty at an easier rate.

Prithee what said those Fellows to thee?

Madam, the first were admirers of Beauty only, but no purchasers, they were merry with your Price and Picture, laught at the Sum, and so past off.

No Matter, I'm not displeas'd with their rallying; their wonder feeds my vanity, and he that wishes but to buy, gives me more Pride, than he that gives my Price, can make my pleasure.

Madam, the last I knew through all his disguises to be Don Pedro, Nephew to the General, and who was with him in Pampalona.

Don Pedro! my old Gallant's Nephew, when his Uncle dy'd he left him a vast Sum of Money; it is he who was so in love with me at Padua, and who us'd to make the General so Jealous.

Is this he that us'd to prance before our Window, and take such care to shew himself an Amorous Ass? If I am not mistaken he is the likeliest Man to give your price.

I'm glad on't; 'tis only Interest that Women of our profession ought to consider: tho' I wonder what has kept you from that general Disease of our Sex so long, I mean that of being in Love.

A kind, but sullen Star under which I had the happiness to be born; yet I have had no time for Love; the bravest and noblest of Mankind have purchast my favours at so dear a rate, as if no Coin but Gold were currant with our Trade— but here's Don Pedro again, fetch me my Lute—for 'tis for him or Don Antonio the Vice-Roys Son, that I have spread my Nets.

A Thousand Crowns! had not the Painter flatter'd her, I shou'd not think it dear.

Flatter'd her! by Heav'n he cannot, I have seen the Original, nor is there one Charm here more than Adorns her Face and Eyes; all this soft and sweet, with a certain languishing Air, that no Artist can represent.

What I heard of her Beauty before had fir'd my Soul, but this confirmation of it has blown it to a flame.

Ha!

Sir, I have known you throw away a Thousand Crowns on a worse face, and tho y'are near your Marriage, you may venture a little Love here▪ Florinda will not miss it.

Ha! Florinda!—sure 'tis Antonio.

Florinda! name not those distant joyes, there's not one thought of her will check my Passion here.

Florinda scorn'd! and all my [A noise of a Lute above. hopes defeated, of the Possession of Angelica. [Ant. gazes up. Her Injuries! by Heaven he shall not boast of.

By Heav'n she's charming fair!

'Tis he; the false Antonio!

I know not who thou art, but I am sure thou'rt worth my killing, for aiming at Angelica.

'Sheartlikins, here's fine doings.

Tilting for the Wench I'm sure—nay gad, if that wou'd win her, I have as good a Sword as the best of ye.—Put up,— put up, and take another time and place, for this is design'd for Lovers only.

We will come thus disguised, that whosoever chance to get the better, he may escape unkown.

It shall be so. [Ex. Pedro and Stephano. Who shou'd this Rival be? unless the English Colonel, of whom I've often heard Don Pedro speak; it must be he, and time he were remov'd, who lays a claim to all my happiness.

What means this rudeness, Sir?—restore the Picture.

Indeed I will not, Sir.

By Heav'n but you shall.

Nay, do not shew your Sword, if you do, by this dear Beauty—I will shew mine too.

What right can you pretend to't?

That of Possession which I will maintain—you perhaps have a 1000 Crowns to give for the Original.

No matter, Sir, you shall restore the Picture.

Oh Moretta! what's the matter?

Death! you lye—I will do neither.

Hold, I command you, if for me you Fight.

How Heavenly fair she is!—ah Plague of her price.

You Sir in Buffe, you that appear a Souldier, that first began this Insolence—

'Tis true, I did so, if you call it Insolence for a Man to preserve himself; I saw your Charming Picture and was wounded; quite through my Soul each pointed Beauty ran; and wanting a Thousand Crowns to procure my remedy—I laid this little Picture to my Bosom—which if you cannot allow me, I'll resign.

No you may keep the Trifle.

You shall first ask me leave, and this.

Hold! will you ruine me!—Beskey—Sebestian— part'em.—

Oh Madam, we're undone, a pox upon that rude Fellow, low, he's set on to ruine us: we shall never see good days, till all these fighting poor Rogues are sent to the Gallies.

'Sheartlikins, beat me at this sport, and I'le ne're wear Sword more.

The Devil's in thee for a mad Fellow, thou art always one, at an unluckey Adventure—come let's begon whil'st wee're safe, and remember these are Spaniards, a sort of People that know how to revenge an Affront.

You bleed! I hope you are not wounded.

Not much:—a plague on your Dons, if they fight no better they'l ne're recover Flanders.—what the Devil was't to them that I took down the Picture?

Took it! 'Sheartlikins we'll have the great one too; 'tis ours by Conquest.—prithee help me up and I'll pull it down—

To me, Madam—Gentlemen your Servant.

Is the Devil in thee? do'st know the danger of entring the house of an incens'd Courtizan?

I thank you for your care—but there are other matters in hand, there are, tho we have no great Temptation—Death! let me go.

Yes to your Lodging if you will, but not in here.

—Damn these Gay Harlots—by this hand I'll have as sound and handsome a Whore, for a Patacoone,—death Man, she'll Murder thee.

Oh! fear me not, shall I not venture where a Beauty calls? a lovely Charming Beauty! for fear of danger! when by Heav'n there's none so great, as to long for her, whil'st I want Moto purchase her.

Therefore 'tis loss of time unless you had the Thousand Crowns to pay.

It may be she may give a Favour, at least I shall have the pleasure of Saluting her when I enter, and when I depart.

Pox, she'll as soon lye with thee, as kiss thee, and sooner stab than do either—you shall not go.

Fear not Sir, all I have to wound with is my Eyes.

Let him go, 'Sheartlikins, I believe the Gentlewoman means well.

Well take thy Fortune, we'll expect you in the next Street—farewell Fool—Farewell—

'Buy Colonel—

The Rogue's stark mad for a Wench.

Insolent Sir, how durst you pull down my Picture?

Rather, how durst you set it up, to tempt poor Am'rous▪ Mortals with so much excellence? which I find you have but too well consulted by the unmerciful price you set upon't.— Is all this Heaven of Beauty shewn to move despair in those that cannot buy? and can you think th' effects of that despair, shou'd be less extravagant than I have shewn?

I sent for you to ask my Pardon Sir, not to Aggravate your Crime—I thought I shou'd have seen you at my Feet imploring it.

You are deceiv'd, I came to rail at you, and rail such truths too, as shall let you see, the vanity of that Pride, which taught you how, to set such Price on Sin. For such it is, whil'st that which is Loves due. is meanly barter'd for.

Ha! ha! ha! alas good Captain, what pitty 'tis your edifying Doctrine will do no good upon me—Moretta! fetch the Gentleman a Glass, and let him surveigh himself. To see what Charms he has—and guess my business.

He knows himself of Old, I believe those Breeches and he have been acquainted ever since he was beaten at Worcester.

Nay do not abuse the poor Creature—

Good Weather beaten Corporal, will you march off? we have no need of your Doctrine, tho' you have of our Charity, but at present we have no scraps, we can afford no kindness for God's sake; in fine Sirrah, the price is too high 'ith Mouth for you, therefore Troop I say.

Here good Fore-Woman of the Shop serve me, and I'll be gone.

Keep it to pay your Landress, your Linnen stinks of the Gun Room; for here's no selling by Retail.

Thou hast sold plenty of thy Stale. Ware at a Cheap rate.

Ay the more Silly kind Heart I, but this is an Age wherein Beauty is at higher rates—In fine you know the price of this.

Igrant you 'tis here—set down a Thousand Crowns a Month—pray how much may come to my Share for a Pistol. —Bawd take your black Lead and Sum it up, that I may have a Pistols worth of this vain gay things, and I'll trouble you no more.

Pox on him he'll fret me to death:—abominable Fellow, I tell thee, wee only sell by the whole piece.

'Tis very hard, the whole Cargo or nothing—Faith Madam, my Stock will not reach it, I cannot be your Chapman —Yet I have Country Men in Town, Merchants of Love like me; I'll see if they'll put in for a share, we cannot lose much by it, and what we have no use for, we'll sell upon the Frydays Mart at—Who gives more? I am studying Madam how to purchase you, tho' at present I am unprovided of Money.

Sure this from any other Man would anger me—nor shall he know the Conquest he has made—poor angry Man, how I despise this railing.

Sure she's bewitch, that she can stand thus tamely and hear his sawcy railing—Sirrah, will you be gon?

How dare you take this Liberty?—withdraw. [To Mor. —Pray tell me, Sir, are not you guilty of the same Mercenary Crime,

When a Lady is propos'd to you for a Wife, you never ask, how fair—discreet—or virtuous she is; but what's her Fortune— which if but small, you cry—she will not do my business— and basely leave her, thou she languish for you—say, is not this as poor?

It is Barbarous Custome, which I will scorn to defend in our Sex, and do despise in yours.

I cannot tell, I must bethink me first—ha—death I'm going to believe her.

Prithee confirm that faith—or if thou canst not— flatter me a little, 'twill please me from thy mouth.

What can she mean?

Intirely—come, let's withdraw! where I'll renew my Vows—and breath 'em with such Ardour thou shalt not doubt my zeal.

Now my Curse go with you—is all our Project fallen to this? to love the only Enemy to our Trade? nay, to love such a Shameroone, a very Beggar, nay a Pyrate Beggar, whose business is to rifle, and be gone, a no Purchase, no Pay Taterdemalion, and English Piccaroon.

A Rogue that fights for daily drink, and takes a Pride in being Loyally Lousie—Oh I cou'd curse now, if I durst.—This is the Fate of most Whores.

The Rogues are up in Arms, 'Sheartlikins this Villainous Frederick has betray'd me, they have heard of my blessed Fortune,

Ned Blunt, Ned, Ned—

Whe he's dead Sir, without dispute dead, he has not been seen to day, let's break open the door—here—Boy—

Ha, break open the door. d'sheartlikins that mad Fellow will be as good as his word.

Boy bring something to force the door,

So, now must I speak, in my own defence, I'l try what Rhetorick will do—hold—hold what do you mean Gentlemen, what do you mean?

Oh Rogue art a live, prithee open the door and convince us.

Yes, I am alive Gentlemen,—but at present a little busie.

How, Blunt grown a Man of business, come, come, open and let's see this Miracle.

No, no, no, no, Gentlemen 'tis no great business—but —I am—at—my Devotion—d'sheartlikins will you not alow a Man time to Pray.

Turn'd Religious! a greater wonder then the first, therefore open quickly, or we shall unhinge, we shall.

This won't do—whe hearkey Col. to tell you the plain truth, I am about a necessary affair of life—I have a wench with me—you apprehend me? the Devils in't if they be so uncivil as to disturb me now,

How a Wench! Nay then we must enter and partake no resistance—unless it be your Lady of Quality, and then we'l keep our distance,

Come, come lends more hands to the Door—now heave altogether—so well done my Boyes—

Hearkey Sir, laugh out your laugh quickly, de ye hear, and begone. I shall spoil your sport else, 'adsheartlikins Sir, I shall the jeast has been carryed on too long—a plague upon my Tayler.—

'Sdeath, how the Whore has drest him, Faith Sir I'm sorry.

Are you so Sir, keep't to your self then Sir, I advise you, de'ye hear, for I can as little endure your pitty as his Mirth.

Indeed Willmore, thou wer't a little too rough with Ned Blunts Mistress, call a Person of Quality whore? and one so young, so sandsome, and so Eloquent—ha, ha, he.—

Harkey Sir, you know me, and know I can be angry, have a care—for adsheartlikins I can fight too—I can Sir,—do you mark me—no more—

Why so peevish good Ned, some disappointments I'le warrant—what? did the Jealous Count her Husband return just in the nick?

Or the Devil Sir—de'ye laugh— [they laugh. Look ye settle me a good sober countenance, and that quickly too, or you shall know Ned Blunt is not—

Not every Body, we know that.

Not an Ass to be laught at Sir,

Unconscionable sinner, to bring a Lover so neer his happiness, a vigorous passionate Lover, and then not only cheat him of his moveables, but his very desires to.

Ah! Sir a Mistress, is a trifle with Blunt. he'l have a duzen the next time he looks abroad, his Eyes have Charms, not to be resisted, there needs no more then to expose that taking Person, to the view of the Fair, and he leads 'em all in Triumph.

Sir, tho 'I'me a stranger to you, I am asham'd at the rudeness of my Nation; and cou'd you learn who did it, wou'd assist you to make an Example of 'em.

I know not that, but O my conscience thou had Ravisht her, had shee not redeem'd her self with a Ring—let's see't Blunt.

Hah!—the Ring I gave Florinda, when we Exchange our Vows—harkey Blunt,—

No whispering good Col. there's a Woman in the case, no whispering.

Harkey Fool, be advis'd, and conceal both the Ring and the story for your Reputations sake, do not let people know what despis'd Cullies we English are, to be cheated and abus'd by one Whore, and another rather bribe thee than be kind to thee is an Infamy to our Nation.

Come, come where's the Wench, we'l see her, let her be what she will, wee'l see her.

Ay, ay, let us see her, I can soon discover whether she be of quality, or for your diversion.

She's in Freds Custody.

Come, come the Key,

Death, what shall I do—

Stay Gentlemen—yet if I hinder 'em I shall discover all,—hold —lets go one at once—give me the Key.

Nay hold there Col. I'le go first.

Nay no dispute, Ned and I have the gropriety of her.

Damn propriety—then we'l draw cuts, —nay no corruption good Col. come the longest Sword carries her—

I yield up my int'rest to you Gentlemen, and that will be; revenge sufficient.

The Wench is yours— [to Pedro.] Pox of his Tolledo, I had forgot that.

Aye, Aye, to trust our Fortune to Lotts, a Devil on't, 'twas madness that's the truth on't.

Oh intollerable Sott—

Good Heaven defend me from discovery.

'Tis but in vain to fly me, you're fallen to my Lot.

Sure she's undiscovered yet, but now I fear there is no way to bring her off:

Whe what a Pox is not this my woman, the same I follow'd but now?

As if I did not know yee, and your business here.

Good Heaven, I fear he does indeed—

Come, pray be kind, I know you meant to be so when you enter'd here, for these are proper Gentlemen.

But Sir—perhaps the Lady will not be impos'd upon, She'l chuse her Man.

I am better bred, then not to leave her choice free.

Don Pedro here! there's no avoiding him.

Valeria! then I'm undone,—

Oh! have I found you Sir— [To Pedro running to him. —the strangest accident—if I had breath—to tell it.

Speak—is Florinda safe? Hellena well?

Ay, Ay Sir—Florinda—is safe—from any fears of you.

Why where's Florinda?—speak—

Aye, where indeed Sir, I wish I cou'd inform you, —but to hold you no longer in doubt—

Oh what will she say—

—She's fled away in the habit—of one of her Pages Sir— but Callis thinks you may retrieve her yet, if you make haste away, she'l tell you, Sir, the rest—if you can find her out.

Dishonourable Girle, she has undone my Aime—Sir—you see my necessity of leaving you, and hope you'l Pardon it; my Sister I know will make her flight to you; and if she do, I shall Expect she shou'd be render'd back.

I shall consult my Love and Honour Sir.

My dear Preserver, let me imbrace thee.

What the Devil's all this?

Mysterie by this light.

Come, come, make haste and get your selves married quickly, for your Brother will return again.

I'm so surpriz'd with fears and joyes, so amaz'd to find you here in safety, I can scarce perswade my heart into a faith of what I see—

Harkey Colonel, is this that Mistress who has cost you so many sighs, and me so many quarrels with you?

It is—pray give him the honour of your hand.

Thus it must be receiv'd then [Kneels and kisses her hand. And with it give your Pardon too.

The Friend to Belvile may command me any thing.

Death, wou'd I might, 'tis a surprizing Beauty.

Boy run and fetch a Father instantly.

So, now do I stand like a Dog, and have not a syllable to plead my own Cause with: by this hand, Madam, I was never throughly confounded before, nor shall I ever more dare look up with confidence, till you are pleas'd to Pardon me.

Sir, I'le be reconcil'd to you on one condition, that you'l follow the Example of your Friend, in Marrying a Maid that does not hate you, and whose fortune (I believe) will not be unwelcome to you.

Madam, had I no Inclinations that way, I shou'd obey your kind Commands.

Who Fred. marry, he has so few inclinations for Woman kind, that had he been possest of Paradice, he might have continu'd there to this day, if no Crime but Love cou'd have dis-inherited him.

Oh I do not use to boast of my intregues.

Boast, when thou dost nothing but boast; and I dare swear, wer't thou as Innocent from the sin of the Grape, as thou art from the Apple, thou might'st yet claim that right in Eden which our first Parents lost by too much Loving.

I wish this Lady would think me so modest a man.

She wou'd be sorry then, and not like you half so well, and I should be loath to break my word with you, which was, That if your Friend and mine agreed, it shou'd be a Match between you and I.

Bear witness, Colonel, 'tis a Bargain.

I have a Pardon to beg too, but adsheartlikins I am so out of Countenance, that I'm a Dog if I can say any thing to Purpose.

Sir, I heartily forgive you all.

That's nobly said, sweet Lady,—Belvile, prithee present her her Ring again; for I find I have not Courage to approach her my self.

Sir, I have brought the Father that you sent for.

'Tis well, and now my dear Florinda, let's fly to compleat that mighty joy we have so long wish't and sigh't for: —Come Fred.—you'l follow?

Your Example Sir, 'twas ever my ambition in War, and must be so in Love.

And must not I see this juggling knot ty'd?

No, thou shalt do us better service, and be our guard, least Don Pedro's suddain return interrupt the Ceremony.

Content—I'l secure this pass.

Sir, there's a Lady without wou'd speak to you.

Conduct her in, I dare not quit my Post.

And Sir, your Taylor waits you in your Chamber.

Some comfort yet, I shall not dance naked at the Wedding.

This can be none but my pretty Gipsie—Oh, I see you can follow as well as fly—Come, confess thy self the most malicious Devil in Nature, you think you have done my bus'ness with Angellica.—

Stand off, base Villain—

One thou hast injur'd, and who comes to kill thee for't.

What the Devil canst thou mean?

By all my hopes to kill thee—

Prithee on, what acquaintance? for I know thee not.

Angellica!

Faith, no Child, my blood keeps its old Ebbs and Flows still, and that usual heat too, that cou'd oblige thee with a kindness, had I but opportunity.

Devil! dost wanton with my pain—have at thy heart.

No, faithless Man: had I repaid their Vows, as I did thine, I wou'd have kill'd the ingrateful that had abandon'd me.

This Old General has quite spoil'd thee, nothing makes a Woman so vain, as being flatter'd; your old Lover ever supplies the defects of Age, with intollerable Dotage, vast Charge, and that which you call Constancy; and attributingall this to your own Merits, you domineer, and throw your Favours in's Teeth, upbraiding him still with the defects of Age, and Cuckold him as often as he deceives your Expectations. But the Gay, Young, Brisk Lover, that brings his equal Fires, and can give you dart for dart, you'l will be as nice as you sometimes.

Sure—

Another word will damn thee! I've heard thee talk too long.

Hah! Angellica!

Love and Curiosity, seeing your Coach at door.

Let me disarm you of this unbecoming instrument of death—amongst the Number of your slaves, was there not one, worthy the Honour to have fought your quarrel?

One Sir, that cou'd have made a better End of an Amorous quarrel without you, than with you.

Sure 'tis some Rival,—hah—the very Man took down her Picture yesterday—the very same that set on me last night —blest opportunity—

Sir, I do not use to be Examin'd, and am Ill at all disputes but this—

Faith, Sir, I know not what you wou'd do, but I believe the Priest within has been so kind.

Faith not at all, if you will 'go in, and thank him for the favour he has done your Sister, so, if not, Sir, my Pow'rs greater in this house than yours, I have a damn'd surly Crew here, that will keep you till the next Tide, and then clap you on bord for Prise; my Ship lies but a League off the Molo, and we shall show your Donship a damn'd Tramontana Rovers Trick.

Ha! my Gipsie:—now a thousand blessings on thee for this kindness, Egad Child I was e'en in dispair of ever seeing thee again; my Friends are all provided for within, each Man his kind Woman.

Hah! I thought they had serv'd me some such trick!

And I was e'en resolv'd to go aboard, and condemn my self to my lone Cabin, and the thoughts of thee.

And cou'd you have left me behind, wou'd you have been so ill natur'd?

Whe twou'd have broke my Heart Child:—but since we are met again, I defie foul weather to part us.

And wou'd you be a Faithful Friend, now if a Maid shou'd trust you▪

For a Friend I cannot promise, thou art of a form so Excellent a Face and Humour, too good for cold dull Friendship; I am parlously afraid of being in Love Child, and you have not forgot how severely you have us'd me?

That's all one, such usage you must still look for, to find out all your Haunts, to raile at you to all that Love you, till I have made you love only me in your own defence, because no body else will love.

But hast thou no better quality, to recommend thy self by.

Faith none Captain:—whe 'twill be the greater Charity to take me for thy Mistress. I am alone Child, a kind of Orphan Lover, and why I shou'd dye a Maid, and in a Captains hands too, I do not understand,

Egad, I was never claw'd away with Broad-sides from any Female before, thou hast one Vertue I Adore, good Nature; I hate a Coy demure Mistress, she's as troublesome as a Colt, I'l break none; no give me a mad Mistress when Mew'd, and in flying on I dare trust upon the wing, that whil'st she's kind will come to the Lure.

Nay as kind as you will good Capt. whil'st it lasts, but let's lose no time,

My time's as precious to me, as thine can be, therefore dear creature, since we are so well agreed, let's retire to my Chamber, and if ever thou wert treated with such Savory Love!— come—my beds prepar'd for such a guest all clean and Sweet as thy fair self, I love to steal a Dish and a Bottle with a Friend, and hate long Graces—come let's retire and fall too.

'Tis but getting my consent, and the bus'ness is soon done, let but old Gaffer Himen and his Priest, say amen to't, and I dare lay my Mothers daughter by as proper a Fellow as your Father's Son, without fear or blushing,

Hold, hold, no Bugg words Child, Priest and Hymen, prithee add a Hang-man to 'em to make up the consort,—no, no, we'l have no Vows but Love, Child, nor witness but the Lover, the kind Deity injoyn naught but Love! and injoy! Himen and Priest wait still upon Portion, and Joynture; Love and Beauty have their own Ceremonies; Marriage is as certain a bane to Love, as lending Money is to Friendship: I'l neither ask nor give a Vow,—tho' I cou'd be content to turn Gipsie, and become a left-handed bride-groom, to have the pleasure of working that great Miracle of making a Maid a Mother, if you durst venture; 'tis upse Gipsie that, and if I miss, I'l lose my Labour.

And if you do not lose, what shall I get? a cradle full of noise and mischief, with a pack of repentance at my back? can you teach me to weave Incle to pass my time with? 'tis upse Gipsie that too.

I can teach thee to Weave a true loves knot better.

So can my dog.

Well, I see we are both upon our Guards, and I see there's no way to conquer good Nature, but by yielding,—here— give me thy hand—one kiss and I am thine—

One kiss! how like my Page he speaks; I am resolv'd you shall have none, for asking such a sneaking sum,—he that will be satisfied with one kiss, will never dye of that longing; good Friend, single kiss, is all your talking come to this?—a kiss, a caudle! farewel Captain, single kiss.

Nay if we part so, let me dye like a bird upon a bough, at the Sheriffs charge, by Heaven both the Indies, shall not buy thee from me. I adore thy Humour and will marry thee, and we are so of one Humour, it must be a bargain—give me thy hand.— [Kisses her Hand. And now let the blind ones (Love and Fortune) do their worst.

Whe God-a-mercy Captain!

But harkey—the bargain is now made; but is it not fit we shou'd know each others Names? that when we have reason to curse one another hereafter (and People ask me who 'tis I give to the Devil) I may at least be able to tell, what Family you came of.

Good reason, Captain; and where I have cause, (as I doubt not but I shall have plentiful) that I may know at whom to throw my—blessings—I beseech ye your Name.

I am call'd Robert the Constant.

A very fine name; pray was it your Faulkner or Butler that Chisten'd you? do they not use to Whistle when they call you?

I hope you have a better, that a man may name without crossing himself, you are so merry with mine.

I am call'd Hellena the Inconstant.

Hah! Hellena!

Hellenah!

The very same—hah my Brother! now Captain shew your Love and Courage; stand to your Arms, and defend me bravely, or I am lost for Ever.

What's this I hear! false Girle, how came you hither, and what's your bus'ness? Speak.

Hold off Sir, you have leave to parly only.

I had e'en as good tell it, as you guess it; Faith Brother my bus'ness, is the same with all living Creatures of my Age, to love, and be beloved, and here's the Man.

Perfidious Maid, hast thou deceiv'd me too, deceiv'd thy self and Heaven;

Belvile, I did not expect this false play from you; was't not enough you'd gain Florinda (which I pardon'd) but your lewd Friends too must be inricht with the spoyls of a Noble Family?

Faith Sir, I am as much surpriz'd at this as you can be: Yet Sir, my Friends are Gentlemen, and ought to be Esteem'd for their Misfortunes, since they have the Glory to suffer with the best of Men and Kings; 'tis true, he's a Rover of Fortune, Yet a Prince, aboard his little wooden World.

What's this to the maintenance of a Woman of her Birth and Quality.

Faith Sir, I can boast of nothing but a Sword which does me right where e're I come, and has defended a worse Cause then a Womans; and since I lov'd her before I either knew her Birth or Name, I must pursue my resolution, and marry her.

And is all your holy intent of becoming a Nun, debauch't into a desire of Man?

Whe—I have consider'd the matter Brother, and find, the Three hundred thousand Crowns my Uncle left me (and you cannot keep from me) will be better laid out in Love than in Religion, and turn to as good an account,—let most voyces carry it, for Heaven or the Captain?

All cry, a Captain? a Captain?

Look yee Sir, 'tis a clear case.

Oh I am mad—if I refuse, my lifes in danger— [aside. —Come—there's one motive induces me—take her— I shall now be free from fears of her Honour, guard it you now, if you can, I have been a slave to't long enough,

Faith Sir, I am of a Nation, that are of opinion a womans Honour is not worth guarding when she has a mind to part with it.

Well said Captain.

This was your Plot Mistress, but I hope you have married one that will revenge my quarrel to you—

There's no altering Destinie, Sir.

Sooner than a Womans Will, therefore I forgive you all—and wish you may get my Father's Pardon as Easily; which I fear.

'Tis very well Sir—

Well Sir, 'dshearlikins I tell you 'tis damnable Ill Sir, —a Spanish habit good Lord! Cou'd the Devil and my Taylor devise no other punishment for me, but the Mode of a Nation I abominate?

What's the matter Ned?

Pray view me round, and judge,—

I must confess thou art a kind of an odd Figure.

In a Spanish habit with a Vengeance! I had rather be in the Inquisition for Judaisme, than in this Doublet and Breeches, a Pillory were an easie Coller, to this three handfuls high; and these Shoes too, are worse, then the stocks with the sole an Inch shorter than my Foot: In fine, Gentlemen, methinks I look altogether like a Bag of Bayes stufft full of Fooles flesh.

Methinks 'tis well, and makes thee look e'n Cavalier: Come Sir, settle your face, and salute our Friends, Lady—

Hah!—say'st thou so my Little Rover— [To Hell. Lady—(if you be one) give me leave to kiss your hand, and tell you adshearlikins for all I look so, I am your humble Servant,— a Pox of my Spanish habit.

Hark—what's this?

Sir, as the Custome is, the gay people in Masquerade who male every mans House their own, are coming up:

Adsheartlikins, wou'd twere lawful to pull off their false faces, That I might see if my Doxie were not amongst e'm.

Ladies and Gentlemen, since you are come so ap ropo, you must take a small Collation with us.

Whilst we'le to the Good Man within, who stayes to give us a Cast of his Office. [To Hell. —Have you no trembling at the near approach?

No more than you have in an Engagement or a Tempest.

Egad thou'rt a brave Girle, and I admire thy Love and Courage.