_Lady Fan._ Good-breeding! He wants to be caned, _Madamoiselle_: an insolent Fellow! And yet let me expose my Weakness, 'tis the only Man on Earth I cou'd resolve to dispense my Favours on, were he but a fine Gentleman. Well! did Men but know how deep an Impression a fine Gentleman makes in a Lady's Heart, they would reduce all their Studies to that of Good-breeding alone. _Enter ~Cornet~._ _Cor._ Madam, here's Mr. _Treble_. He has brought home the Verses your Ladyship made, and gave him to set. _Lady Fan._ O let him come in by all means. Now _Madamoiselle_, am I going to be unspeakably happy. _Enter ~Treble~._ So, Mr. _Treble_, you have set my little Dialogue? _Treb._ Yes, Madam, and I hope your Ladyship will be pleased with it. _Lady Fan._ O, no doubt on't; for really, Mr. _Treble_, you set all things to a wonder: But your Musick is in particular heavenly, when you have my Words to clothe in't. _Treb._ Your Words themselves, Madam, have so much Musick in 'em, they inspire me. _Lady Fan._ Nay, now you make me blush, Mr. _Treble_; but pray let's hear what you have done. _Treb._ You shall, Madam. A SONG, to be sung between a Man and a Woman. M. _Ah lovely Nymph, the World's on fire; Veil, veil those cruel Eyes_: W. _The World may then in Flames expire, And boast that so it dies_. M. _But when all Mortals are destroy'd, Who then shall sing your Praise?_ W. _Those who are fit to be employ'd: The Gods shall Altars raise_. _Treb._ How does your Ladyship like it, Madam? _Lady Fan._ Rapture, Rapture, Mr. _Treble_! I'm all Rapture! O Wit and Art, what Power have you when join'd! I must needs tell you the Birth of this little Dialogue, Mr. _Treble_. Its Father was a Dream, and its Mother was the Moon. I dream'd that by an unanimous Vote, I was chosen Queen of that pale World; and that the first time I appear'd upon my Throne----all my Subjects fell in love with me. Just then I wak'd, and seeing Pen, Ink and Paper lie idle upon the Table, I slid into my Morning-Gown, and writ this _impromptu_. _Treb._ So I guess the Dialogue, Madam, is suppos'd to be between your Majesty and your first Minister of State. _Lady Fan._ Just: He, as Minister, advises me to trouble my Head about the Welfare of my Subjects; which I, as Sovereign, find a very impertinent Proposal. But is the Town so dull, Mr. _Treble_, it affords us never another new Song? _Treb._ Madam, I have one in my Pocket, came out but Yesterday, if your Ladyship pleases to let Mrs. _Pipe_ sing it. _Lady Fan._ By all means. Here, _Pipe_, make what Musick you can of this Song, here. SONG. I. _Not an Angel dwells above, Half so fair as her I love. Heaven knows, how she'll receive me; If she smiles, I'm blest indeed; If she frowns, I'm quickly freed; Heaven knows she ne'er can grieve me._