_Const._ Wou'd you preserve it, nourish it with Favours; for that's the Food it naturally requires. _Lady Brute._ Yet on that natural Food 'twould surfeit soon, shou'd I resolve to grant all you wou'd ask. _Const._ And in refusing all, you starve it. Forgive me, therefore, since my Hunger rages, if I at last grow wild, and in my frenzy force at least this from you. [_Kissing her Hand._] Or if you'd have my Flame soar higher still, then grant me this, and this, and Thousands more; [_Kissing first her Hand, then her Neck._] [_Aside._] For now's the time she melts into Compassion. _Lady Brute._ [_Aside._] Poor Coward Virtue, how it shuns the Battle! O Heavens! let me go. _Const._ Ay, go, ay: Where shall we go, my charming Angel----into this private Arbour----Nay, let's lose no time----Moments are precious. _Lady Brute._ And Lovers wild. Pray let us stop here; at least for this time. _Const._ 'Tis impossible; he that has power over you, can have none over himself. _As he is forcing her into the Arbour, Lady ~Fancyfull~ and ~Madamoiselle~ bolt out upon them, and run over the Stage._ _Lady Brute._ Ah! I'm lost! _Lady Fan._ Fe, fe, fe, fe, fe. _Madam._ Fe, fe, fe, fe, fe. _Const._ Death and Furies, who are these? _Lady Brute._ O Heavens! I'm out of my Wits; if they knew me, I am ruin'd. _Const._ Don't be frightened: Ten thousand to one they are Strangers to you. _Lady Brute._ Whatever they are, I won't stay here a Moment longer. _Const._ Whither will you go? _Lady Brute._ Home, as if the Devil were in me. Lord, where's this _Belinda_ now? _Enter ~Belinda~ and ~Heartfree~._ O! 'tis well you are come: I'm so frightened, my Hair stands an end. Let's be gone, for Heaven's sake! _Bel._ Lord, what's the matter? _Lady Brute._ The Devil's the Matter; we are discovered. Here's a couple of Women have done the most impertinent thing. Away, away, away, away, away. [_Exit running._ _Re-enter Lady ~Fancyfull~ and ~Madamoiselle~._ _Lady Fan._ Well, _Madamoiselle_, 'tis a prodigious thing how Women can suffer filthy Fellows to grow so familiar with 'em. Madam. _Ah Madame, il n'y a rien de si naturel._ _Lady Fan._ Fe, fe, fe! But, oh my Heart! O Jealousy! O Torture! I'm upon the rack. What shall I do? My Lover's lost, I ne'er shall see him mine. [_Pausing._]----But I may be reveng'd; and that's the same thing. Ah sweet Revenge! Thou welcome Thought, thou healing Balsam to my wounded Soul! Be but propitious on this one Occasion, I'll place my Heaven in thee, for all my Life to come. To Woman how indulgent Nature's kind! No Blast of Fortune long disturbs her Mind: Compliance to her Fate supports her still; If Love won't make her happy--Mischief will. [_Exeunt._ +ACT+ V. +SCENE+, _Lady_ Fancyfull's _House_.