_Lady_ Rodomont, _and Mrs_. Lovejoy.
Mrs. _Lov_. Why, Madam, shou'd your Ladyship keep so many Fellows in
suspence, is it only to mortifie other Women, and maintain the Vanity of
being universally admir'd; you won't marry, and yet love to be courted:
In other matters your Ladiship's gen'rous enough, but as for parting with
your Lovers, you are as stingy as the Widow _Scrape-all_, that lets out
her Mourning-Coach to Funerals.
La. _Rod_. Cozen, we're alone, and I'll discover t' you the Soul of ev'ry
Woman: Vanity is the predominant Passion in our Sex, what Lady that has
Beauty, Wit and Fortune, does not excel in Dress, brighten in Talk, and
dazle in her Equipage; and Lovers are but Servants out o' Liveries: Who
then that has Attractions to command, to sooth, to frown, to manage as we
please, wou'd raise those crawling Wretches that adore us, that fawn and
sigh, and catch at ev'ry Glance, but once embolden'd, as our Courage fails
us, the flatt'ring Knaves exert their Sovereign Sway, and crush the
darling Pow'r we possess.
Mrs. _Lov_. 'Tis their Prerogative to rule at last, our Reign is short,
because 'tis too Tyrannical; we're pleas'd to have Admirers gaze upon us,
they're pleas'd with gazing, 'cause they cannot help it; but yet they
think us strange fantastick Creatures, and curse themselves for loving
such vain Toys; for my part, I'm for ballancing the pow'r of both Sexes,
if a fine Gentleman addresses a fine Lady, his Reception ought to be
suitable to his Merit, and when two fine People get together--
La. _Rod_. What then?
Mrs. _Lov_. They ought to lay aside Affectation and Impertinence, and come
to a right understanding i' th' matter.
La. _Rod._ But prithee, my Dear, what fine Things d'you conceive there are
in Love?
Mrs. _Lov_. I wou'd conceive what fine Things there are in Love; in short,
Madam, you may dissemble like the _French Hugonots,_ that were starving in
their own Country, and pretended to fly hither for Religion: But I that
have the same Circulations with your Ladiship, know that ev'ry Woman feels
a _Je ne sçay quoy_ for an agreeable Fellow; nay more, that Love is
irresistable; how many Fortunes have marry'd Troopers, and Yeomen o'the
Guard? We are all made of the same Mould; nay I heard of a Lady that was
so violently scorcht at the sight of a handsome Waterman, she flung her
self sprawling into the _Thames_, only that he might stretch out his Oar,
and take her up again.
La. _Rod_. There are Women Fools to a strange degree; but have you,
Cousin, seen any Object so amiable to merit that ridiculous Condescension.
Mrs. _Lov_. I have seen a great many young Fellows, Madam, and do ev'ry
Day see more young Fellows that I cou'd like very well to play at _Piquet_
with; and if your Ladiship has sworn to die a Maid, recommend one of your
Admirers to me, and it shan't be my Fault, if in a few Months I don't
produce you a very pretty Bantling to inherit your Estate.
_Enter Major_ Bramble.
_Bram_. (_Aside_.) Now must I screw my self into more submissive Forms
than a hungry Poet at the lower end of a Lord's Table, when he has more
Wit than all the Company; muster up more Lies than are told behind a
_Cheapside_-Counter, and talk to her of Agues, Agonies and Agitations,
when I have no more Notion of Love, than a Lawyer has of the next World:
Her Estate indeed wou'd put a Man into a Conflagration, but a fine Woman
is to me like a fine Race-Horse, admir'd only by Fools, very costly, very
wanton, and very apt to run away--Madam, your Ladiship's incomparable
Perfections, which are as much talk'd of, as if they had been publish'd in
the _Flying-Post, Post-Boy_, and _Post-Man,_ have stirr'd up all my
Faculties to admire, ev'ry Part about you, and to tell you the Ambition I
have of being your Ladiship's most devoted, humble Servant at Bed and
Board.
La. _Rod_. A Man of your Character, _Major_, is seldom touch'd with a
Lady's Perfections; our trifling Beauties soften weaker Mortals, you Men
that bustle about publick Matters, whose fiery Souls are charm'd with
Broils of State, retain no mighty Transports for our Sex.
_Bram_. True, Madam, Love's but an insipid Business; but I wou'd marry to
keep up that fiery Breed; and your Ladyship having a more sublime Genius
than the rest of your Sex, I thought you the properest Person to apply to,
that with equal Pains-taking we may produce a Race of _Alexanders_, that
shall rattle thro' the World like a Peal of Thunder, wage Wars, destroy
Cities, and send old Women headlong to the Devil.
La. _Rod_. I mould rather chuse a peaceful Race, whose Virtue shou'd
prefer 'em to the State, where Wisdom, like a Goddess, sits triumphant, to
awe, to charm, to punish and reward, and check the Fury of such headstrong
Coursers.
_Bram_. A Race of Side-Box-Beaus, that love soft easie Chairs, Down-Beds,
and taudry Night-Gowns; I admire those renown'd Emperors, that chop
Peoples Heads off for their Diversion, and the glorious King of _France_,
that makes his Family Kings whenever he pleases; that gives People yearly
Pensions to bellow out his praise; whose Edicts fly about like Squibs and
Crackers, and as much laughs at Parliaments and Councils, as a Whore of
Distinction does at the _Reforming-Society._
La. _Rod_. Such Princes are meant Scourges to the Earth; no Mortal's fit
for absolute Command; Men have their Passions; Monarchs are but Men, and
when Love, Jealousie, or Fear possess 'em, the Tyrants spurn, and rack
their guiltless People, who tamely bend, and court their fatal Madness;
our happy Realm knows no Despotick Sway; not only Kingdoms here, but
Hearts unite, the Sov'reign and the Subjects bless each other; a
Constitution so divinely fram'd; such gen'rous Concord, such resistless
Harmony, that Nature wonders at her own Perfections; a Climate and a
People so serene!
_Bram_. Look you, Madam, I'm no more an Enemy to the Government than to
your Ladiship: Your Ladiship has a good Estate, Estate, and your Person is
mightily dish'd out, fine and lovely and plump, therefore if your Ladyship
thinks fit to marry me, and the Government to give me a Place of a
Thousand a Year, I'm an humble Servant to both, otherwise I wou'dn't care
three Whiffs o' Tobacco, if the Government sunk, and your Ladiship were
blown up in the Clouds.
La. _Rod._ Plain-dealing, _Major_, ought to be inestimable, especially in
a Statesman, but you needn't give your self any trouble about me, you're
not a Creature tame enough for a Husband: The Lion that's us'd to range
the Woods, if once ensnar'd, grows ten times more outragious. What think
you, Cousin, shou'd we entangle the _Major_.
Mrs. _Lov._ We must never come near him, Madam, for I'm afraid he'll
devour us all.
_Bram._ Devour you all, Mrs. _Oatcake_, a Man must be damnable hungry to
feed upon your Chitterlings. [_Aside._] Now have I a good mind to hire two
or three honest Fellows to swear her into a Plot, have her Estate
confiscated to the Government, and get a Reward of half of it for so
serviceable a piece of Loyalty and Revenge; but to mortifie her more
compleatly, I'll go make my Addresses to the Divine Lady _Toss-up_.
[_Exit._
_Enter_ Nicknack.
_Nick._ [_Aside._] Were it not to improve my Int'rest with the Ladies,
I wou'd forswear all manner of Bus'ness, and grow perfectly idle, like a
Dancing-Master's Brains. I have been squeez'd up at the _Custom-House_,
'mongst _Jews_, _Swedes_, _Danes_, and dirty _Dutchmen_, that were
entering Hung-Beef, 'till I'm only fit to tread _Billingsgate-Key_,
and address those shrill Ladies, whose _Italian_ Voices ev'ry Day charm
the Streets with the deaf'ning Harmony of _Place_, _Flounders_, and
_New-Castle-Salmon_--I was afraid, Madam, having not seen your Ladiship
these four Hours, you had quite forgot me.
La. _Rod._ That's impossible, Mr. _Nicknack_, I never see the pretty
_Monkey_ you brought me, but I have the strongest Idea of you imaginable;
but have you imported no greater Curiosities, a _Monkey_ of one sort or
other is what most People have in their Houses. I'd have a Ship range the
World on purpose to find me out some agreeable strange Creature, that was
never heard of before, nor is ever to be met with again.
_Nick._ A Creature, Madam, which some People think unparallell'd, it may
be in my, Pow'r to help your Ladiship to, but 'tis a sort of Creature
that's always sighing for a Mate, if your Ladiship likes it as well as
some other Ladies have done; if I know the Creature, 'twou'd laugh and
toy, and kiss and fawn upon your Ladiship beyond all Womankind.
La. _Rod._ Pray, Mr. _Nicknack_, what Species is it of?
_Nick._ Of Humane Species, Madam, your Ladiship shall examine it, but the
Ladies turn it into what shape they please, an _Ape_, an _Ass_, a
_Lizard_, a _Squirrel_, a _Spaniel_; most People say 'tis a _Man_, but the
Merchant that brought it from the _Cyprian Groves_, calls it a _Desponding
Lover_.
La. _Rod._ A _Desponding Lover_, Mr. _Nicknack_, is indeed a very strange
Creature, but 'tis no Rarity, I'm pester'd with 'em at all Seasons, they
are continually intruding like one's poor Relations, more pragmatically
impertinent than one's Chaplain, and, were it possible, as impudent as
one's Footmen.
_Nick._ But a sincere and constant Lover your Ladiship must allow a
Rarity.
La. _Rod._ [_Aside._] I must humour this Fellow's Vanity; he'll make an
admirable Tool to plague the _Collonel_--I understand you, Mr. _Nicknack_,
you have so pretty a way of discovering your self, 'twou'd charm any
Lady, and truly I see no difference between a Gentleman educated at
_Merchant-Taylor's-School_, and one at _Fobert_'s; only at our end o'the
Town, there's a certain Forwardness in young Fellows, that a Boy of
Fourteen shall pretend to practise before he understands the _Rule of
Three_. But what you tell me is a thing of that weight, it requires mature
Deliberation, a Conflict with one's self of a whole Age's debating:
Marriage, 'mongst the vulgar sort, is a Joke, a meer May-Game; with People
of Rank, a serious and well study'd Solemnity.
_Nick._ Nay, Madam, I'm in no very great haste, I am perfectly of your
Ladyship's Opinion, and can't think there's so mighty a Jest in Matrimony
as some People imagine; like a Country Fellow and a Wench, that will jig
it into Church after a blind Fidler, and are never in a dancing Humour
afterwards. People o' Quality are more apprehensive o' the matter, and
have a world o' business to do, we must first be seen particular together,
to give suspicion, and create Jealousies 'mongst the rest of your
Admirers; then it must be whisper'd to the Countess of _Intelligence_, to
carry about Town, or the Tea-Tables will drop for want of Tittle-tattle;
and afterwards your Ladyship's absolutely denying it, confirms ev'ry body
in the truth of it: As for Cloaths, Equipage and Furniture, they are soon
got ready, and if your Ladiship dislikes living i'the City, we'll take a
House at _Mile-End._
La. _Rod_. The City, Mr. _Nicknack,_ A very considerable Place! I have had
noble Suppers there. Suppers dress'd at _Russel_'s in _Ironmonger-lane_,
and have brought away Fifty Guineas at _Basset,_ when at this end o'the
Town I have lost three times Fifty for a sneaking Dish of _Chocolate_.
People too may talk of their want of Sense, but the suppressing
_Bartl'mew-Fair_ was a thing of that wondrous Consultation, it shews the
Citizens have prodigious Head-pieces.
_Nick_. Your Ladiship has a just Notion of the City. I have read sev'ral
Acts of Common Council, that have really a world of Wit in 'em; but I'm
afraid, Madam, _Collonel Blenheim_ has so far ingratiated himself with
your Ladiship, I shall have a troublesome Rival to deal with.
La. _Rod_. Not in the least, I admitted him only as a Visitant, but at
present I must be more particular with him; he's of late grown a little
irreverent towards our Sex, and I must check an insolent Humour he has got
of despising Matrimony; he'll be with me instantly, I'll dispose you, that
you may over-hear all, how I'll turn and wind him, cross him, humour him,
and confound him; when you think it proper make your Appearance, and we'll
both laugh at him.
_Nick._ If your Ladiship pleases, I had rather laugh in my Sleeve, for
those blustering Officers, that are us'd to destroy whole Batallions, make
no more of murdering one Man, than an Alderman does of eating up a single
_Turkey_.
La. _Rod_. Never fear him, Mr. _Nicknack_.
_Nick._ Nay, Madam, I have been Collonel i'th'_Train-Bands_ these seven
Years, and therefore ought not to want Courage; and tho' I never learnt to
fence, there's an admirable Master teaches three times a Week, at the
_Swan Tavern_ in _Cornhil_. [_Exeunt_.
Mrs. _Lov_. Now will I be Spitchcockt, if she han't an Inclination for the
_Collonel_, to coquet, and flirt and fleer, and plague half Mankind, only
because they like her, may be what you call a fine Lady, but in my mind
she has more fantastical Airs than a Kettle-Drummer. [_Exit._
SCENE, _a Room in the_ Rose-Tavern.
_The Bell rings_.
[_Bar-keeper without_.] Where a Pox are you all; must Company wait an Hour
for a Room?
[_A noise of Drawers_.] Coming, coming, coming, Sir.
_Enter a Drawer with Lights_, Shrimp, Knapsack, and Master _Totty_.
_Draw_. Please to be here, Gentlemen?
_Shr_. What's become of your Beau-Drawer, that wore a long _Spanish_ Wig,
lac'd Linnen, silk Stockings, and a Patch?
_Draw_. He happen'd, Sir, to make bold with a silver _Monteth,_ and is
gone for a Soldier--What Wine are you for Gentlemen?
_Shr._ [_Aside to the Drawer_.] D'you know Sir _Harry Sprightly,_ Friend?
_Draw_. Yes, Sir.
_Shr_. What Wine does he drink?
_Draw_. Three and Six-penny, Sir.
_Shr_. I am his Servant, draw us the same.
_Tot._ Bring me some Sack. [_Exit Drawer._
_Shr._ Well, Master, what think you of _London_ now, is not the rattling
of Coaches, the ringing of Bells, and the joyful Cry of _Great and good
News from Holland_, preferrable to the Country, where you see nothing but
Barns and Cow-houses, hear nothing but the grunting of Swine, and converse
with nothing but the Justice, the Jack-daw, and your old Grand-mother.
_Tot._ Ay, marry is it, and if they ever get me there again, I'll give 'em
leave to pickle and preserve me; here are Drums and Trumpets, Soldiers and
Sempstresses, and fine Sights in ev'ry Street: In the Country we are glad
to go four Miles to see a House o'fire. Nay, wou'd you believe it, we
ha'n't so much as a Tavern in our Town; Gentlemen are forc'd to use Gammer
_Grimes's_ Thatch'd Ale-house, except the Curate be with 'em, and then
they smoke, and drink in the Vestry.
[_Drawer enters with Wine._
_Knap._ Come, Master, here's my hearty Service t'you.
_Tott._ Your hearty Servant thanks you, Sir--Mr. _Shrimp_, here's the
Respects of a Gudgeon t'you.
_Shr._ Ah! you're an arch Wag.
_Tott._ But, pray, Mr. _Shrimp_, where may a body buy a little Wit, my
Grand-mother charg'd me to get some; and, she says, bought Wit's best;
'tis a mighty scarce Commodity i'the Country; we have above two hundred
Gentlemen near us that never heard on't. Our Chaplain has a little, but
they say 'tis n't the right sort.
_Shr._ Mr. _Knapsack_ can furnish you with five or ten Pounds worth when
you please.
_Knap._ Mr. _Shrimp_, Master, has a much better Stock, but that you may
n't think I engross it to my self, as they say _Bull_ does Coffee, what I
have is at your Service.
_Tott._ Sir, my Service t'you again, [_drinks_] This is much better than
_Lincoln_ Ale, fegs.
_Knap._ What think you now, Master, of a pretty Wench to towze a little?
_Tott_. He, he, he, [_grins_] I don't know what you mean, Sir.
_Knap_. Had you never any pleasant Thoughts o'the Fair Sex.
_Tott_. I never lay with any Body but my Grand-mother; when she was in a
good humour, she'd tickle a Body sometimes, but if she never meddl'd mith
me, I never meddl'd with her.
_Knap_. A sapless old Hen, you might as well have lain with a
Paring-Shovel; but what think you of a young Woman, that's warm, tender
and inviting.
_Shr_. By this Light, here's _Betty_ the Orange Woman from the Play-house.
_Enter_ Betty. [_They_ rise
_Bett_. Ah! you Devils are you here, why did n't you come into the Pit to
night, and eat an Orange,--who have you got with you, by my lost
Maidenhead, a meer Country Widgeon, you sly Toads will bubble him finely;
let me go snacks, or I'll discover it. Come, Fellows, drink about;
positively it's very cold, fitting so behind at the Box Doors.
_Shr_. Honest _Betty_, here's Success to thee in ev'ry thing.
_Bett_. Ay, Faith, but there's little to do this Winter yet, now the
Officers are come over, I hope, to have full Trade; I have had but one
poor Shilling giv'n me to Night, and that was for carrying a Note from a
Baronet in the Side Box to a Citizens Wife in the Gall'ry; but there was
no harm in't, 'twas only to treat with her here by and by, about borrowing
a hundred Pound of her Husband upon the Reversion of a Parsonage.
[_To_ Knap.] Red Coat your Inclinations. [_To_ Tott.] Sir, prosperity
t'you, you are got into hopeful Company.
_Tott_. Thank you, Mrs. _Betty._
_Shr_. Prithee _Betty_ give us a Song.
_Bett_. A Song, Pigsneyes, why, I have been roaring all Night with Six
_Temple_ Rakes at the _Dog_ and _Partridge_ Tavern in _Wild-street_, and
am so hoarse I cou'd not sing a Line, were the whole Town to subscribe for
me.
_Knap_. Take t'other Glass, _Betty_.
_Bett_. T'other Glass, Fellow, by the Bishop of _Munster_, these Puppies
have a Design upon me! but give it me, however, for all that know me, know
I never baulk my Glass.
_Shr_. But the Song, the Song, _Betty_. [_She Sings_
SONG.
I.
_How happy are we,
Who from Virtue are free,
That curbing Disease of the Mind,
Can indulge ev'ry Taste,
Love where we like best,
Not by dull Reputation confin'd_.
II.
_When were Young, fit to toy,
Gay Delights we enjoy,
And have Crouds of new Lovers wooing;
When were old and decay'd,
We procure for the Trade,
Still in ev'ry Age we are doing_.
III.
_If a Cully we meet,
We spend what we get
Ev'ry Day, for the next never think,
When we die, where we go,
We have no Sense to know,
For a Bawd always dies in drink_.
_Bett_. [_Aside to_ Shrimp.] Hark'e, Satan, where did you pick up this
modest Youth; does he bleed?
_Shr_. Oh! abundantly.
_Bett_. That's well, dress him up, and send him _to Will_'s Coffee-House
and he'll soon grow impudent. [_To_ Tott.] My dear, eat this Orange, and
gi'me Half a Crown.
_Tott_. Half a Crown for an Orange! I can buy one in the Country for two
Pence.
_Bett_. So you may in Town, lovely Swain, but ev'ry Smock I put upon my
Back costs me nine Shillings an Ell.
_Knap_. But tell us, _Betty_, what Intrigues are going forward, your
publick Post brings you into a world of private Business, d'you know ever
an amorous Lady that would present me with a hundred Guineas to oblige
her?
_Bett_. Thee, Child, Lord starve thee, a Foot Soldier! one o'the Infantry,
a Lady that's Fool enough to pay for her Pleasures, may provide her self
better out o' the Guards.--Come, gi'me t'other Bumper, nothing's to be got
here, I find, and I must run.
_Shr_. Why in such hast, _Betty_?
_Bett_. Haste, Creature, why the Fourth Act is just done, and t'other bold
Beast will run away with all the Money.
_Knap_. Hark'e, _Bess_, don't stroddle over Peoples Backs so as you us'd
to do.
_Bett_. Why, how now, Mr. Impudence, I think we do 'em too great an
Honour, and whoever affronts me for it I'll have him kick'd as soon as the
Play's over. [_Exit._
_Shr_. Come, my dear Boy, let's tope it about briskly; what think you of
this Lass? is she not frank and free? If you had her in a Corner, she'd
show you the way to _Lyme-house._
_Tott_. Are all your _London_ Women like her? Our Country Wenches are as
Cross with treading upon Nettles; there's _Margery_ our Dairy-Maid, I only
offer'd to feel her Bubbies, and she hit me a dowse o'the Jaws enough to
beat down a Stack o' Chimneys.
_Shr_. We'll carry you to a Lady, Master, that shall stifle you with
Kindness, as pretty a piece of Wild-fowl as paddles about _Covent Garden_;
but you'll tip her a Guinea, her Lodgings are extremely fine; and you must
know a first Floor comes very dear.
_Knap_. She's a Gentlewoman too, I'll assure you, her Father was hang'd in
_Monmonth_'s Time, wears as rich Cloaths as any Body, and never puts on
the same Suit twice.
_Tot_. O Gemini, I long to see her; pray, Mr. _Knapsack,_ lets go; but
what shall I treat her with, boil'd Fowls and Oysters.
_Knap_. Something that's very nice, she's mighty dainty at Supper; but her
constant Breakfast is a Red-Herring, and a quartern o' Geneva. [_Exeunt._
SCENE _Changes to Lady_ Rodomonts.
_Lady_ Rodomont _and the Collonel discover'd_.
L. _Rod_. Well, Collonel, now what think you of our Sex? Is there no Nymph
so sovereignly bright, whole matchless Beauty, Virtue, Wit and Fortune
you'd charm your rambling. Thoughts and chain you to her?
_Coll_. The Goddess you describe, you too well know her wond'rous
Brightness, her commanding Excellence, where ev'ry Star seems glitt'ring
in her Person, and ev'ry Science cultivates her Mind; no Swain but kindles
at her vast Perfections, Sighs at her Feet, and trembles to approach her;
but then a baneful Mischief thwarts our Transports, and while we feast us
with luxuriant Gazing, that bug-bear Marriage rises like a Storm, clouds
ev'ery Beauty, blackens with approaching, and frights away the gen'rous
faithful Lover.
L. _Rod_. You talk of Love with an unusual Warmth, you seem to feel it
too, and talk with Pleasure; and yet strange wand'ring Notions teaze your
Fancy, whose vain Allurements tantalize your Reason, and force you from
the Happiness you wish for. He that loves truly, loves without reserve;
the Object is the Centre of his Wishes, but your wild Sex that hurry after
Pleasure, whose headstrong Passions kindle ev'ry moment, admire each
Nymph, and eager to possess, you burn, you rage, and talk in tragick
Strains: But when the easy Maid believes, and blesses, when once you ha'
rifl'd, ravish'd and enjoy'd, ungratefully you slight the yielding
Charmer; your Love boil'd o'er descends to cold Indifference, and a
regardless Look rewards her Favours; were I inclin'd to wave my
Resolutions, and yield my self a Victim to Love's Pow'r, were I to chuse a
Man by Fortune slighted, and raise him to a more than common Affluence;
such is the Temper of your graceless Sex, there's not a Cottage Swain that
proves sincere.
_Coll_. Cou'd you then, Madam, condescend to love, and cou'd a Lover
manifest his Passion, by constant waiting, vigilant Observance, by
sacerdotal Plights, and Faith inviolate, wou'd you prove kind, and take
him to your Arms.
L. _Rod_. Of things impossible we lightly talk; if such a Man were found,
perhaps, I might.
_Coll_. Cherish that Thought; believe there is that Man; believe you see
him now; observe him well.
L. _Rod_. Ha!
_Coll_. Read from his Eyes his passionate Concern, his flattering Hopes,
his anxious killing Fears; examine ev'ry Symptom, feel his Tremblings,
search to his Heart, and there find Truth unblemish'd; approve his Flame,
and nourish it with Favours.
L. _Rod_. Have I caught you, Collonel; is this the Sum of all your
Self-sufficiency, your Matrimonial Hate, and boasted Liberty. [_Aside_.]
His Merits probably may vie with any, but sure he last shou'd hope a
Lady's Graces, who saucily arraigns her Sex's Pow'r.
_Enter_ Nicknack.
Mr. _Nicknack_, I have a Miracle to tell you, the Collonel from a
blustering, ranting Heroe is dwindl'd to a panting, pining Lover; talks in
blank Verse, and Sighs in mournful postures: He the fam'd _Pyramus_, and I
bright _Thisbe_.
_Nic_. I thought, Madam, the Collonel had been a profess'd Marriage-hater.
L. _Rod_. Mr. _Nicknack_, we'll divert our selves at Picquet. When you
recover, Collonel, from this Lethargy, you'll play a Pool with us; Ladies
admit all sorts to lose their Mony. [_Exit Lady_ Rod. _and_ Nick.
_Coll_. I have plaid a fine Card truly, now shall I be number'd with
those doating Fools, her Pride encourages, then Jilts, and laughs at.
She's fair, but, oh! the Treachery of her Sex.
_Enter Sir_ Harry.
Sir _Har_. My dear Collonel, prithee why so pensive? I have had the
pleasantest Adventure this Afternoon, going to the Bank to receive Mony;
in _Pater-Noster-Row_ I saw two of the loveliest Sempstresses the Trade
e'er countenanc'd; I went into the Shop, struck up a Bargain, whipt over
to the _Castle_, where we eat four Crabs, top'd six Bottles, skuttl'd up
and down, kiss'd, towz'd and tumbl'd 'till we broke ev'ry Chair in the
Room. But you are so engag'd with Lady _Rodomont_, your Company's a
Blessing unattainable.
_Coll_. Yes, I have been engag'd, and finely treated. The Syren with her
false deluding Arts, her Force of Words and seeming to comply, has drawn
me to declare my Passion for her; now rallies and despises all I said, and
hugs her self in baffling my Design.
Sir _Har_. 'Tis like her Sex, they will ha' their Jades Tricks, but never
mind 'em; we'll to the Tavern and consult new Measures: Our Perseverance
is beyond their Policy.
_The started Hare may frisk it o'er the Plain,
And the staunch Hound long trace her Steps in vain,
Swiftly she flies, then stops, turns back and views, }
Doubles, and quats, and her lost Strength renews, }
But tho' unseen, he still the Scent persues, }
'Till breathless to a fatal Period brought,
The Hound o'ertakes her, and poor Puss is caught._
The End of the Fourth ACT.