_Prince._ As Gat shall save me, Sir, I am sorry for it--another time, Sir: I have earnest business. Now, I am sure nothing worth seeing can belong to this litter of Fools.
L. _Blun._ My Daughter is a Person of Quality, I assure you, Sir.
_Prince._ I doubt it not, Madam--If she be of the same Piece--Send me a fair Deliverance.
[Sir _Morgan_ leads him to _Mirtilla_, he starts.
--Ha! What bright Vision's that?
_Mir._ Heav'n! 'Tis the lovely Prince I saw in _Flanders_. [Aside.
Sir _Mer._ Look how he stares--why, what the Devil ails he?
Sir _Morg._ To her, Sir, or so, d'ye see, what a Pox, are you afraid of her?
L. _Blun._ He's in Admiration of her Beauty, Child.
_Prince._ By Heav'n, the very Woman I adore! [Aside.
Sir _Morg._ How d'ye, see, Sir, how do ye, ha, ha, ha?
_Prince._ I cannot be mistaken; for Heav'n made nothing but young Angels like her!
Sir _Morg._ Look ye, Page, is your Master in his right Wits?
Sir _Mer._ Sure he's in love, and Love's a devilish thing.
Sir _Morg._ Sa, ho, ho, ho, where are you, Sir, where are you?
_Prince._ In Heav'n! [Puts him away.
Oh! do not rouse me from this charming Slumber, lest I shou'd wake, and find it but a Dream.
Sir _Mer._ A plaguy dull Fellow this, that can sleep in so good Company as we are.
Sir _Morg._ Dream--A Fiddle-stick; to her, Man, to her, and kiss her soundly, or so, d'ye see.
Sir _Mer._ Ay, ay; kiss her, Sir, kiss her--ha, ha, ha, he's very simple.
_Prince._ Kiss her,--there's universal Ruin in her Lips.
_Mir._ I never knew 'em guilty of such Mischiefs.
Sir _Morg._ No, I'll be sworn, I have kist 'em twenty times, and they never did me harm.
_Prince._ Thou kiss those Lips? impossible, and false; they ne'er were prest but by soft _Southern_ Winds.
Sir _Morg._ _Southern_ Winds--ha, ha, lookye, d'ye see, Boy, thy Master's mad, or so, d'ye see--why, what a Pox, d'ye think I never kiss my Wife, or so, d'ye see.
_Prince._ Thy Wife!--
_Mir._ He will betray his Passion to these Fools: Alas, he's mad--and will undo my Hopes.
[Aside.
_Prince._ Thou mayst as well claim Kindred to the Gods; she's mine, a Kingdom shall not buy her from me.
Sir _Morg._ Hay day, my Wife yours! look ye, as d'ye see, what, is it _Midsummer-moon_ with you, Sir, or so, d'ye see?
_Mir._ In pity give him way, he's madder than a Storm.
_Prince._ Thou know'st thou art, and thy dear Eyes confess it--a numerous Train attended our Nuptials, witness the Priest, witness the sacred Altar where we kneel'd--when the blest silent Ceremony was perform'd.
_Mir._ Alas! he's mad, past all recovery mad.
Sir _Mer._ Mad, say, poor Soul--Friend, how long has your Master been thus intoxicated?
_Page._ He's mad indeed to make this Discovery. [Aside.
Alas, Sir, he's thus as often as he sees a beautiful Lady, since he lost a Mistress, who dy'd in _Flanders_ to whom he was contracted.
Sir _Mer._ Good lack--ay, ay, he's distracted, it seems.
_Page._ See how he kneels to her! stand off, and do but mind him.
_Mir._ Rise, Sir,--you'l ruin me--dissemble if you love--or you can ne'er be happy.
[In a low Voice, and raising him.
_Prince._ My Transport is too high for a Disguise--give me some hope, promise me some Relief, or at your Feet I'll pierce a wounded Heart.
_Mir._ Rise, and hope for all you wish: Alas, he faints-- [She takes him up, he falls upon her Bosom.
_Page._ Hold him fast, Madam, between your Arms, and he'll recover presently. Stand all away.--
_Prince._ Oh! tell me, wilt thou bless my Youth and Love? Oh! swear, lest thou shouldst break--for Women wou'd be Gods, but for Inconstancy.
_Page._ See, he begins to come to himself again--keep off--
_Mir._ You have a thousand Charms that may secure you--The Ceremony of my Nuptials is every Evening celebrated, the noise of which draws all the Town together; be here in Masquerade, and I'll contrive it so, that you shall speak with me this Night alone.
_Prince._ So, now let my Soul take Air--
L. _Blun._ What pity 'tis so fine a Gentleman shou'd be thus.
_Mir._ You must be bringing home your Fops to me, and see what comes of it.
[As she passes out.
Sir _Morg._ Fops! I thought him no more a Fop, than I do my own natural Cousin here.
[Ex. _Mir._ in Scorn.
_Prince._ Where am I? [The _Page_ has whispered him.
Sir _Mer._ Why, here, Sir, here, at Sir _Morgan Blunder's_ Lodging in _Lincolns-Inn-Fields_.