Volume I Part 40 (1/2)

_Feth._ Few Ladies have I seen at a Sheriff's Feast have better Faces, or worn so good Clothes; and by the Lord _Harry_, if these be of the gentle Craft, I'd not give a Real for an honest Women for my use.

_Will._ Come follow me into the Church, for thither I am sure they're gone: And I will let you see what a wretched thing you had been had you lived seven Years longer in _Surrey_, stew'd in Ale and Beef-broth.

_Feth._ O dear _Willmore_, name not those savory things, there's no jesting with my Stomach; it sleeps now, but if it wakes, wo be to your Shares at the Ordinary.

_Blunt._ I'll say that for _Fetherfool_, if his Heart were but half so good as his Stomach, he were a brave Fellow.

[Aside, Exeunt.

_Aria._ I am resolv'd to follow-- and learn, if possible, who 'tis has made this sudden Conquest o'er me.

[All go off.

[Scene draws, and discovers a Church, a great many People at Devotion, soft Musick playing. Enter _La Nuche_, _Aurelia_, _Petron._ and _Sancho_: To them _Willmore_, _Feth._ _Blunt_; then _Ariadne_, _Lucia_; _Feth._ bows to _La Nuche_ and _Petronella_.

_Feth._ Now as I hope to be sav'd, _Blunt_, she's a most melodious Lady.

Would I were worthy to purchase a Sin or so with her. Would not such a Beauty reconcile thy Quarrel to the s.e.x?

_Blunt._ No, were she an Angel in that Shape.

_Feth._ Why, what a pox couldst not lie with her if she'd let thee? By the Lord _Harry_, as errant a Dog as I am, I'd fain see any of _Cupid's_ Cook-maids put me out of countenance with such a Shoulder of Mutton.

_Aria._ See how he gazes on her-- _Lucia_, go nearer, and o'er-hear 'em.

[_Lucia_ listens.

_Will._ Death, how the charming Hypocrite looks to day, with such a soft Devotion in her Eyes, as if even now she were praising Heav'n for all the Advantages it has blest her with.

_Blunt._ Look how _Willmore_ eyes her, the Rogue's smitten heart deep-- Wh.o.r.es--

_Feth._ Only a Trick to keep her to himself-- he thought the Name of a _Spanish_ Harlot would fright us from attempting-- I must divert him-- how is't, Captain-- Prithee mind this Musick-- Is it not most Seraphical?

_Will._ Pox, let the Fidlers mind and tune their Pipes, I've higher Pleasures now.

_Feth._ Oh, have ye so; what, with Wh.o.r.es, Captain?-- 'Tis a most delicious Gentlewoman.

[Aside.

_Pet._ Pray, Madam, mind that Cavalier, who takes such pains to recommend himself to you.

_La Nu._ Yes, for a fine conceited Fool--

_Pet._ Catso, a Fool, what else?

_La Nu._ Right, they are our n.o.blest Chapmen; a Fool, and a rich Fool, and an _English_ rich Fool--

_Feth._ 'Sbud, she eyes me, _Ned_, I'll set my self in order, it may take-- hah-- [Sets himself.

_Pet._ Let me alone to manage him, I'll to him--

_La Nu._ Or to the Devil, so I had one Minute's time to speak to _Willmore_.