Volume I Part 17 (1/2)

_Luc._ I have nothing to pay for so great a Favour, but such a Love as cannot but be great, since at first sight of that sweet Face and Shape it made me your absolute Captive.

_Blunt._ Kind heart, how prettily she talks! Egad I'll show her Husband a _Spanish_ Trick; send him out of the World, and marry her: she's d.a.m.nably in love with me, and will ne'er mind Settlements, and so there's that say'd.

[Aside.

_Luc._ Well, Sir, I'll go and undress me, and be with you instantly.

_Blunt._ Make haste then, for 'dsheartlikins, dear Soul, thou canst not guess at the pain of a longing Lover, when his Joys are drawn within the compa.s.s of a few minutes.

_Luc._ You speak my Sense, and I'll make haste to provide it. [Exit.

_Blunt._ 'Tis a rare Girl, and this one night's enjoyment with her will be worth all the days I ever past in Ess.e.x.-- Would she'd go with me into _England_, tho to say truth, there's plenty of Wh.o.r.es there already.-- But a pox on 'em they are such mercenary prodigal Wh.o.r.es, that they want such a one as this, that's free and generous, to give 'em good Examples:-- Why, what a House she has! how rich and fine!

Enter _Sancho_.

_Sancho._ Sir, my Lady has sent me to conduct you to her Chamber.

_Blunt._ Sir, I shall be proud to follow-- Here's one of her Servants too: 'dsheartlikins, by his Garb and Gravity he might be a Justice of Peace in _Ess.e.x_, and is but a Pimp here.

[Exeunt.

_The Scene changes to a Chamber with an Alcove-Bed in it, a Table, &c. _Lucetta_ in Bed. Enter _Sancho_ and _Blunt_, who takes the Candle of _Sancho_ at the Door._

_Sanch._ Sir, my Commission reaches no farther.

_Blunt._ Sir, I'll excuse your Complement:-- what, in Bed, my sweet Mistress?

_Luc._ You see, I still out-do you in kindness.

_Blunt._ And thou shall see what haste I'll make to quit scores-- oh the luckiest Rogue!

[Undresses himself.

_Luc._ Shou'd you be false or cruel now!

_Blunt._ False, 'Sheartlikins, what dost thou take me for a _Jew_? an insensible Heathen,-- A Pox of thy old jealous Husband: and he were dead, egad, sweet Soul, it shou'd be none of my fault, if I did not marry thee.

_Luc._ It never shou'd be mine.

_Blunt._ Good Soul, I'm the fortunatest Dog!

_Luc._ Are you not undrest yet?

_Blunt._ As much as my Impatience will permit.

[Goes towards the Bed in his s.h.i.+rt and Drawers.

_Luc._ Hold, Sir, put out the Light, it may betray us else.

_Blunt._ Any thing, I need no other Light but that of thine Eyes!-- 'sheartlikins, there I think I had it.

[Aside.

[Puts out the Candle, the Bed descends, he gropes about to find it.