[_Embracing her._ _Lady Fan._ Well, the _French_ have strange obliging ways with 'em; you may take those two pair of Gloves, _Madamoiselle_. _Madam._ Me humbly tanke my sweet Lady. _Enter ~Cornet~._ _Cor._ Madam, here's a Letter for your Ladyship by the Penny Post. _Lady Fan._ Some new Conquest, I'll warrant you. For without Vanity, I look'd extremely clear last Night when I went to the Park.--O agreeable! Here's a new Song made of me: And ready set too. O thou welcome thing! [_Kissing it._] Call _Pipe_ hither, she shall sing it instantly. _Enter ~Pipe~._ Here, sing me this new Song, _Pipe_. SONG. I. _Fly, fly, you happy Shepherds, fly; Avoid ~Philira~'s Charms; The Rigour of her Heart denies The Heaven that's in her Arms. Ne'er hope to gaze, and then retire, Nor yielding, to be blest; Nature, who form'd her Eyes of Fire, Of Ice compos'd her Breast._ II. _Yet, lovely Maid, this once believe A Slave whose Zeal you move; The Gods, alas! your Youth deceive, Their Heav'n consists in Love. In spite of all the Thanks you owe, You may reproach 'em this; That where they did their Form bestow, They have deny'd their Bliss._ _Lady Fan._ Well, there may be Faults, _Madamoiselle_, but the Design is so very obliging, 'twou'd be a matchless Ingratitude in me to discover 'em. Madam. _Ma foy, Madame_, I tink de Gentleman's Song tell you de Trute. If you never love, you never be happy--Ah--_que l'aime l'amour moy_! _Enter Servant with another Letter._ _Ser._ Madam, here's another Letter for your Ladyship. _Lady Fan._ 'Tis this way I am importun'd every Morning, _Madamoiselle_. Pray how do the _French_ Ladies when they are thus _accablées_? _Madam._ Matam, dey never complain. _Au contraire_, when one _Frense_ Laty have got hundred Lover--den she do all she can--to get a hundred more. _Lady Fan._ Well, strike me dead, I think they have _le Gout bon_. For 'tis an unutterable Pleasure to be ador'd by all the Men, and envy'd by all the Women----Yet I'll swear I'm concern'd at the Torture I give 'em. Lard, why was I form'd to make the whole Creation uneasy! But let me read my Letter. [_Reads._] "If you have a mind to hear of your Faults, instead of being prais'd for your Virtues, take the pains to walk in the Green-walk in St. _James_'s with your Woman an Hour hence. You'll there meet one, who hates you for some things, as he cou'd love you for others, and therefore is willing to endeavour your Reformation.----If you come to the Place I mention, you'll know who I am: If you don't, you never shall: so take your Choice." This is strangely familiar, _Madamoiselle_; now have I a provoking Fancy to know who this impudent Fellow is.