_Aria._ What would you, Sir, ought with this Lady?
_Will._ Yes, that which thy Youth will only let thee guess at-- this-- Child, is Man's Meat; there are other Toys for Children.
[Offers to lead her off.
_La Nu._ Oh insolent! and whither would'st thou lead me?
_Will._ Only out of harm's way, Child, here are pretty near Conveniences within: the Doctor will be civil-- 'tis part of his Calling-- Your Servant, Sir-- [Going off with her.
_Aria._ I must huff now, tho I may chance to be beaten-- come back-- or I have something here that will oblige ye to't.
[Laying his hand on his Sword.
_Will._ Yes faith, thou'rt a pretty Youth; but at this time I've more occasion for a thing in Petticoats-- go home, and do not walk the Streets so much; that tempting Face of thine will debauch the grave men of business, and make the Magistrates lust after Wickedness.
_Aria._ You are a scurvy Fellow, Sir. [Going to draw.
_Will._ Keep in your Sword, for fear it cut your Fingers, Child.
_Aria._ So 'twill your Throat, Sir-- here's Company coming that will part us, and I'll venture to draw.
[Draws, Will. draws.
Enter _Beaumond_.
_Beau._ Hold, hold-- hah, _Willmore_! thou Man of constant mischief, what's the matter?
_La Nu._ _Beaumond_! undone!
_Aria._ --_Beaumond!_--
_Will._ Why, here's a young Spark will take my Lady Bright from me; the unmanner'd Hot-spur would not have patience till I had finish'd my small Affair with her.
[Puts up his Sword.
_Aria._ Death, he'll know me-- Sir, you see we are prevented.
[Draws him aside.
--or-- [Seems to talk to him, _Beau._ gazes on _La Nuche_, who has pull'd down her Veil.
_Beau._ 'Tis she! Madam, this Veil's too thin to hide the perjur'd Beauty underneath. Oh, have I been searching thee, with all the diligence of impatient Love, and am I thus rewarded, to find thee here incompass'd round with Strangers, fighting, who first should take my right away?-- Gods! take your Reason back, take all your Love; for easy Man's unworthy of the Blessings.
_Will._ Harkye, _Harry_-- the-- Woman-- the almighty Whore-- thou told'st me of to day.
_Beau._ Death, do'st thou mock my Grief-- unhand me strait, for tho I cannot blame thee, I must hate thee.-- [Goes out.
_Will._ What the Devil ails he?
_Aria._ You will be sure to come.
_Will._ At night in the Piazza; I have an Assignation with a Woman, that once dispatch'd, I will not fail ye, Sir.
_Luc._ And will you leave him with her?
_Aria._ Oh, yes, he'll be ne'er the worse for my use when he has done with her.
[Ex. _Luc._ and _Aria._ _Will._ looks with scorn on _La Nuche_.
_Will._ Now you may go o'ertake him, lie with him-- and ruin him: the Fool was made for such a Destiny-- if he escapes my Sword.
[He offers to go.
_La Nu._ I must prevent his visit to this Woman-- but dare not tell him so. [Aside.] --I would not have ye meet this angry Youth.
_Will._ Oh, you would preserve him for a farther use.
_La Nu._ Stay-- you must not fight-- by Heaven, I cannot see-- that Bosom-- wounded.
[Turns and weeps.
_Will._ Hah! weep'st thou? curse me when I refuse a faith to that obliging Language of thy Eyes-- Oh give me one proof more, and after that, thou conquerest all my Soul; Thy Eyes speak Love-- come, let us in, my Dear, e'er the bright Fire allays that warms my Heart.
[Goes to lead her out.
_La Nu._ Your Love grows rude, and saucily demands it. [Flings away.
_Will._ Love knows no Ceremony, no respect when once approacht so near the happy minute.
_La Nu._ What desperate easiness have you seen in me, or what mistaken merit in your self, should make you so ridiculously vain, to think I'd give myself to such a Wretch, one fal'n even to the last degree of Poverty, whilst all the World is prostrate at my Feet, whence I might chuse the Brave, the Great, the Rich?
[He stands spitefully gazing at her.
--Still as he fires, I find my Pride augment, and when he cools I burn.
[Aside.
_Will._ Death, thou'rt a-- vain, conceited, taudry Jilt, who wou'st draw me in as Rooks their Cullies do, to make me venture all my stock of Love, and then you turn me out despis'd and poor-- [Offers to go.
_La Nu._ You think you're gone now--
_Will._ Not all thy Arts nor Charms shall hold me longer.
_La Nu._ I must submit-- and can you part thus from me?-- [Pulls him.
_Will._ I can-- nay, by Heaven, I will not turn, nor look at thee. No, when I do, or trust that faithless Tongue again-- may I be--
_La Nu._ Oh do not swear--
_Will._ Ever curst-- [Breaks from her, she holds him.
_La Nu._ You shall not go-- Plague of this needless Pride, [Aside.
--stay-- and I'll follow all the dictates of my Love.
_Will._ Oh never hope to flatter me to faith again.
[His back to her, she holding him.
_La Nu._ I must, I will; what wou'd you have me do?
_Will._ [turning softly to her.] Never-- deceive me more, it may be fatal to wind me up to an impatient height, then dash my eager Hopes.
[_Sighing._ Forgive my roughness-- and be kind, _La Nuche_, I know thou wo't--