_Dia_. Are you his Advocate, Sir? [_In scorn_.
_Bea_. For want of a better-- [_Stands behind him, pushing him on_.
_Bred_. An Advocate for Love I am, And bring you such a Message from a Heart--
_Bea_. Meaning mine, dear Madam.
_Bred_. That when you hear it, you will pity it.
_Bea_. Or the Devil's in her--
_Dia_. Sir, I have many Reasons to believe, It is my Fortune you pursue, not Person.
_Bea_. There is something in that, I must confess. [_Behind him_.
But say what you will, _Ned_.
_Bred_. May all the Mischiefs of despairing Love Fall on me if it be.
_Bea_. That's well enough--
_Bred_. No, were you born an humble Village-Maid, That fed a Flock upon the neighbouring Plain; With all that shining Vertue in your Soul, By Heaven, I wou'd adore you--love you--wed you-- Though the gay World were lost by such a Nuptial.
[Bear. _looks on him_.
--This--I wou'd do, were I my Friend the Squire [_Recollecting_.
_Bea_. Ay, if you were me--you might do what you pleas'd; but I'm of another mind.
_Dia_. Shou'd I consent, my Father is a Man whom Interest sways, not Honour; and whatsoever Promises he 'as made you, he means to break 'em all, and I am destin'd to another.
_Bea_. How, another--his Name, his Name, Madam--here's _Ned_ and I fear ne'er a single Man i'th' Nation, What is he--what is he?--
_Dia_. A Fop, a Fool, a beaten Ass--a Blockhead.
_Bea_. What a damn'd Shame's this, that Women shou'd be sacrificed to Fools, and Fops must run away with Heiresses--whilst we Men of Wit and Parts dress and dance, and cock and travel for nothing but to be tame Keepers.
_Dia_. But I, by Heaven, will never be that Victim: But where my Soul is vow'd, 'tis fix'd for ever.
_Bred_. Are you resolv'd, are you confirm'd in this? Oh my _Diana_, speak it o'er again. [_Runs to her, and embraces her_.
Bless me, and make me happier than a Monarch.
_Bea_. Hold, hold, dear _Ned_--that's my part, I take it.
_Bred_. Your Pardon, Sir, I had forgot my self.
--But time is short--what's to be done in this?
_Bea_. Done! I'll enter the House with Fire and Sword, d'ye see, not that I care this--but I'll not be fob'd off--what, do they take me for a Fool--an Ass?
_Bred_. Madam, dare you run the risk of your Father's Displeasure, and run away with the Man you love?
_Dia_. With all my Soul--
_Bea_. That's hearty--and we'll do it--_Ned_ and I here--and I love an Amour with an Adventure in't like _Amadis de Gaul_--Harkye, _Ned_, get a Coach and six ready to night when 'tis dark, at the back Gate--
_Bred_. And I'll get a Parson ready in my Lodging, to which I have a Key through the Garden, by which we may pass unseen.
_Bea_. Good--Mun, here's Company--
_Enter_ Gayman _with his Hat and Money in't, Sir_ Cautious _in a rage, Sir_ Feeble, _Lady_ Fulbank, Leticia, _Captain_ Noisey, Bellmour.
Sir _Cau_. A hundred Pound lost already! Oh Coxcomb, old Coxcomb, and a wise Coxcomb--to turn Prodigal at my Years, why, I was bewitcht!
Sir _Feeb_. Shaw, 'twas a Frolick, Sir, I have lost a hundred Pound as well as you. My Lady has lost, and your Lady has lost, and the rest-- what, old Cows will kick sometimes, what's a hundred Pound?
Sir _Cau_. A hundred Pound! why, 'tis a sum, Sir--a sum--why, what the Devil did I do with a Box and Dice!
L. _Ful_. Why, you made a shift to lose, Sir? And where's the harm of that? We have lost, and he has won; anon it may be your Fortune.
Sir _Cau_. Ay, but he could never do it fairly, that's certain. Three hundred Pound! why, how came you to win so unmercifully, Sir?
_Gay_. Oh, the Devil will not lose a Gamester of me, you see, Sir.
Sir _Cau_. The Devil!--mark that, Gentlemen--
_Bea_. The Rogue has damn'd luck sure, he has got a Fly--
Sir _Cau_. And can you have the Conscience to carry away all our Money, Sir?
_Gay_. Most assuredly, unless you have the courage to retrieve it. I'll set it at a Throw, or any way: what say you, Gentlemen?
Sir _Feeb_. Ods bobs, you young Fellows are too hard for us every way, and I'm engag'd at an old Game with a new Gamester here, who will require all an old Man's stock.
L. _Ful_. Come, Cousin, will you venture a Guinea? Come, Mr. _Bredwel_.
_Gay_. Well, if no body dare venture on me, I'll send away my Cash--
[_They all go to play at the Table, but Sir_ Cau.
_Sir_ Feeb. _and_ Gay.
Sir _Cau_. Hum--must it all go?--a rare sum, if a Man were but sure the Devil wou'd but stand Neuter now-- [Aside.
--Sir, I wish I had any thing but ready Money to stake: three hundred Pound--a fine Sum!
_Gay_. You have Moveables, Sir, Goods--Commodities--
Sir _Cau_. That's all one, Sir; that's Money's worth, Sir: but if I had any thing that were worth nothing--
_Gay_. You wou'd venture it,--I thank you, Sir,--I wou'd your Lady were worth nothing--
Sir _Cau_. Why, so, Sir?
_Gay_. Then I wou'd set all this against that Nothing.