Volume Iv Part 105 (1/2)

I.

_No, _Delia_, no: What Man can range From such Seraphic Pleasure?

'Tis want of Charms that make us change, To grasp the Fury, Treasure.

What Man of Sense wou'd quit a certain Bliss, For Hopes and empty Possibilities?_

II.

_Vain Fools! that sure Possessions spend, In hopes of Chymic Treasure, But for their fancy'd Riches find Both want of Gold and Pleasure.

Rich in my Delia, I can wish no more; The Wanderer, like the Chymist, must be poor._

_Man._ Not see him, Madam--I protest he's handsomer, and handsomer, _Paris_ has given him such an Air:--Lord, he's all over Monsieur--Not see him, Madam--Why? I hope you do not, like the foolish sort of Wives, design a strict Obedience to your Husband.

_Mir._ Away, a Husband!--when Absence, that sure Remedy of Love, had heal'd the bleeding Wound _Lejere_ had made, by Heaven, I thought I ne'er shou'd love again--but since _Endymion_ has inspir'd my Soul, and for that Youth I burn, I pine, I languish.

Enter _George_ richly drest, stands at a distance gazing on _Mirtilla_.

_Man._ See, Madam, there's an Object may put out that Flame, and may revive the old one.

_Mir._ Shame and Confusion.--_Lejere._ [Turns and walks away.

_Geo._ Yonder she is, that Mien and Shape I know, though the false Face be turn'd with shame away.

[Offers to advance, and stops.

--'Sdeath,--I tremble! yet came well fortify'd with Pride and Anger.

I see thou'st in thy Eyes a little Modesty.

[Goes to her nearer.

That wou'd conceal the Treasons of thy Heart.

_Mir._ Perhaps it is their Scorn that you mistake.

_Geo._ It may be so; she that sets up for Jilting, shou'd go on; 'Twere mean to find remorse, so young, and soon: Oh, this gay Town has gloriously improv'd you amongst the rest; that taught you Perjury.

_Mir._ Alas! when was it sworn?

_Geo._ In the blest Age of Love, When every Power look'd down, and heard thy Vows.

_Mir._ I was a Lover then; shou'd Heaven concern it self with Lovers Perjuries, 'twould find no leisure to preserve the Universe.

_Geo._ And was the Woman so strong in thee, thou couldst not wait a little? Were you so raving mad for Fool and Husband, you must take up with the next ready c.o.xcomb. Death, and the Devil, a dull clumsey Boor!--What was it charm'd you? The beastly quant.i.ty of Man about him?

_Mir._ Faith, a much better thing, five thousand Pounds a Year, his Coach and Six, it shews well in the _Park_.

_Geo._ Did I want Coach, or Equipage, and Shew?

_Mir._ But still there wanted Fool, and Fortune to't; He does not play at the Groom-Porter's for it; nor do the Drudgery of some worn-out Lady.

_Geo._ If I did this, thou hadst the spoils of all my Nation's Conquests, while all the whole World was wondering whence it came; for Heav'n had left thee nothing but thy Beauty, that dear Reward of my industrious Love.

_Mir._ I do confess--