_Bel._ Why, 'faith, I cou'd almost be in love with him for despising that foolish, affected Lady _Fancyfull_; but I'm afraid he's too cold ever to warm himself by my Fire. _Lady Brute._ Then he deserves to be froze to death. Wou'd I were a Man for your sake, dear Rogue! [_Kissing her._] _Bel._ You'd wish yourself a Woman again for your own, or the Men are mistaken. But if I cou'd make a Conquest of this Son of _Bacchus_, and rival his Bottle, what shou'd I do with him? He has no Fortune, I can't marry him: and sure you wou'd not have me commit Fornication? _Lady Brute._ Why, if you did, Child, 'twould be but a good friendly part; if 'twere only to keep me in countenance whilst I commit--you know what. _Bel._ Well, if I can't resolve to serve you that way, I may perhaps some other, as much to your Satisfaction. But pray how shall we contrive to see these Blades again quickly? _Lady Brute._ We must e'en have recourse to the old way; make 'em an Appointment 'twixt Jest and Earnest; 'twill look like a Frolick, and that you know 's a very good thing to save a Woman's Blushes. _Bel._ You advise well; but where shall it be? _Lady Brute._ In _Spring Garden_. But they shan't know their Women, till their Women pull off their Masks; for a Surprize is the most agreeable thing in the World: And I find myself in a very good Humour, ready to do 'em any good turn I can think on. _Bel._ Then pray write 'em the necessary Billet, without farther delay. _Lady Brute._ Let's go into your Chamber, then, and whilst you say your Prayers I'll do it, Child. [_Exeunt._ [Illustration] +ACT+ IV. +SCENE+, _Covent Garden_. _Enter Lord ~Rake~, Sir ~John~, &c. with Swords drawn._ _Lord Rake._ Is the Dog dead? _Col. Bully._ No, damn him, I heard him wheeze. _Lord Rake._ How the Witch his Wife howl'd! _Col. Bully._ Ay, she'll alarm the Watch presently. _Lord Rake._ Appear, Knight, then; come, you have a good Cause to fight for--there's a Man murder'd. _Sir John._ Is there? Then let his Ghost be satisfy'd; for I'll sacrifice a Constable to it presently, and burn his Body upon his wooden Chair. _Enter a Taylor, with a Bundle under his Arm._ _Col. Bully._ How now? What have we got here? A Thief. _Taylor._ No, an't please you, I'm no Thief. _Lord Rake._ That we'll see presently: Here, let the General examine him. _Sir John._ Ay, ay, let me examine him, and I'll lay a hundred Pound I find him guilty, in spite of his Teeth--for he looks--like a--sneaking Rascal. Come, Sirrah, without Equivocation or mental Reservation, tell me of what Opinion you are, and what Calling; for by them----I shall guess at your Morals. _Taylor._ An't please you, I'm a Dissenting Journeyman Taylor. _Sir John._ Then, Sirrah, you love Lying by your Religion, and Theft by your Trade: And so, that your Punishment may be suitable to your Crimes--I'll have you first gagg'd--and then hang'd.