Heart. Why then really I never liked a woman bet. ter in my life.

Flora. I think you are something more than tolerable; I was going to say an agreeable fellow, · Heart. Do you like me ? .

Flora. As I might a picture. · Heart. Do you take me only for the shadow of a man?

Flora. To me no more, for I look on this accident only as the idle delusion of a morning's dream.

Heart. Then let me wake thee into real happiness ; the little god of love shall wanton in thy heart, as he

now plays and revels in thy eyes. |_ Flora. Hold I hold! you are running back into metaphor ; why this is downright poetry. Pray come to common sense again. · Heart. That is very true;. to be short, then, whereabouts is your bed-chamber?

Flora. Pho, now you talk idly.
Heart. Do you lie alone, child ? [Kissing ker.
Flora. Why are you so impertinent ?
Heart. Why are you so coy?

Flosa. What, then, it seems, you do certainly as. sure yourself, that, having kissed me, squeezed my hand, and sighed out a few unnecessary fine things, I shall fall plum into your arms, as cats get birds by gazing at 'em

Heart. Come, my love, this dialect is as affected as l'other ; take this jewel, accept it, wear it as a token of the most pure affe&tion; you shall live with me, command me and my fortune. I'll take you from this cottage, and this odd old man, and you shall live as your beauty and your wit demand you should, in all the various pleasures this gay world can give you,

[Embracing her. Flora. Here, Sir, take your toy again; I thank you humbly for the mighty favour; I sell no beauty. What, would you barter with me for myself? Bribe me out of my person ? 'Tis poorly done ; but know, Sir, I have a heart within, that proudly tells me no price shall ever buy it: but is it honest in you to tempt that innocence you should protect ? Reason distinguishes men from beasts, and virtue, men from men : now, as you boast of birth and virtuous ancestors, and would wear those honours as your lawful merit; think, reflect ; are your intentions agreeable to justice, honour, gratitude? You wrong yourself as well as me; farewell.

[Exit. Heart. She has stung me to the soul with her too just reproaches; I am conscious and ashamed of my crime : “ her virtues, like her beauties, stood at first “ so silently within her, so unstirred by the least air “ of vanity, she looked as if she knew 'em not; and yet, when the last injury provoked 'em, they “ Aushed and swelled her heightened features with 6 such pointed indignation-It is not to be borne“ My heart burns within me--She sinks into my « mind.” I must have her, though at the price of liberty. I'll marry her; but what will the world say --I'll renounce it; l’ll abjure it :

I'll give her all my future life, and prove,
Like Antony, the world well lost for love.



Enter LURCHER, VULTUR, CARBUNCLE a Vintner, LONGBOTTOM a Peruke-maker, and SNEAK a Taylor.

Lurcher.. Ah, Vultur! love and the dice have undone me. I have pursu'd Angelica, and my bad fortune, to the last farthing. What must I do? dishonour waits upon necessity; and he that keeps his virtue when he is poor, is a hero.indeed. Yet I'll endeavour, struggle hard, and not part with the gentleman while 'tis possible to preserve him.

Vult. What do you mean to do with these hungry rascals, who follow you thus for their debts ?

Lurch. To pay 'em.
Vult. When?
Lurch. To-morrow.
Vult. Which way?
Lurch. My uncle shall lend me the money.

Vult. Good ! · Lurch. Ay, my uncle, Sir John English, who inhabits the great house with the turret o'top there. He shall lend me the money, then will I discharge these clamorous thieves, and be saucy to them in my turn. . . .

. .

. . . Vult. You rave; why your uncle has not seen you these ten years, nor can be prevailed upon to trust you even with subsistence. What do you mean?

Lurch. Why, he shall lend me the money, and not know he lends it me: I'll extort it from him by the violence of stratagem; l'll stare him full in the face, and make him believe I oblige him when I receive the money.

Vult. Riddles ! riddles !

Sneak. I pray you, Master Lurcher, indeed now, you know I have waited a long time, a most scanda. lous long time, for my money, and your bill lengthens and lengthens every day; upon my word, I shall not be able to hold out.---Besides, here you have draggled me a long way, and told me I should be paid by your uncle; and alas-a-day, 'tis an idle tale, a fim-flam, for you dare not so much as look towards the gates of his house-No, he won't see you, it seems; I wish I were at home again. - Here have you brought us into a cursed country, where we can neither get victuals, nor sleep.

Carb. Pho, pox, this is very silly; is this your land of Canaan that you talk'd of, that flowed with strong beer and chines of beef?

Lurch. Have patience, old fiery face, thy nose shall have comfort presently

Carb. Patience! demme, Dick, which way now shall I come by my money-You know I love you, you roaring young dog, you know I do ;—but here, now, here's a hundred pounds due for clean claret, besides money lent, hard neat money- Reckonings paid, coach hire, suppers at your lodging, and ladies fees.--How the devil do you imagine, now, Dick Lurcher, that I shall pay the merchant-Why, you will force me to break and turn gentleman-It will never do.

Long. Sir, I would in the most submissive manner imaginable· Lurch. So, so, what! all upon the hunt at onceOne word, gentlemen.

Long. You know very well the last tye-up I sold you' was as light and bright as silver, and as strong as wire, with a fine flowing, large open curl; I reckon you but twelve pieces for it; and upon my soul, my lord Lanthorn Joul would have paid me as much for it in ready gold. Lurch. And why wou'd you not take his money? Long. Because it did not suit his complexion. Lurch. Why what was that to thee, puppy?

Long. Ah, Sir, his dark olive face would have thrown a shade upon the brightness of the hair; I should have lost all my credit. Now, Sir, if a gen. tleman does but wear one's work well, and become it -I must needs say that for your worship.

Lurch. Well, gentlemen, here you are, and I thank you for your attendance to my uncle's. I wish I had interest enough in my own person to desire you to walk in and refresh: but that is impossible.

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