II. _None can love her more than I, Yet she ne'er shall make me die. If my Flame can never warm her, Lasting Beauty I'll adore; I shall never love her more, Cruelty will so deform her._ _Lady Fan._ Very well: This is _Heartfree_'s Poetry without question. _Treb._ Won't your Ladyship please to sing yourself this Morning? _Lady Fan._ O Lord, Mr. _Treble_, my Cold is still so barbarous to refuse me that Pleasure! He, he, hem. _Treb._ I'm very sorry for it, Madam: Methinks all Mankind should turn Physicians for the Cure on't. _Lady Fan._ Why, truly, to give Mankind their due, there's few that know me but have offer'd their Remedy. _Treb._ They have reason, Madam; for I know no body sings so near a Cherubim as your Ladyship. _Lady Fan._ What I do, I owe chiefly to your Skill and Care, Mr. _Treble_. People do flatter me, indeed, that I have a Voice, and a _Je-ne-sçai-quoy_ in the Conduct of it, that will make Musick of any thing. And truly I begin to believe so, since what happen'd t'other Night: Wou'd you think it, Mr. _Treble_? Walking pretty late in the Park, (for I often walk late in the Park, Mr _Treble_) a Whim took me to sing _Chevy Chase_; and, wou'd you believe it? next Morning I had three Copies of Verses, and six Billet-doux at my Levée upon it. _Treb._ And without all dispute you deserv'd as many more, Madam. Are there any further Commands for your Ladyship's humble Servant? _Lady Fan._ Nothing more at this Time, Mr. _Treble_. But I shall expect you here every Morning for this Month, to sing my little Matter there to me. I'll reward you for your Pains. _Treb._ O Lord, Madam---- _Lady Fan._ Good-morrow, sweet Mr. _Treble_. _Treb._ Your Ladyship's most obedient Servant. [_Exit ~Treb~._ _Enter Servant._ _Serv._ Will your Ladyship please to dine yet? _Lady Fan._ Yes, let 'em serve. [_Exit Servant._] Sure this _Heartfree_ has bewitch'd me, _Madamoiselle_. You can't imagine how oddly he mixt himself in my Thoughts during my Rapture e'en now. I vow 'tis a thousand Pities he is not more polish'd: Don't you think so? _Madam._ Matam, I tink it so great pity, dat if I was in your Ladyship place, I take him home in my House, I lock him up in my Closet, and I never let him go till I teach him every ting dat fine Laty expect from fine Gentelman. _Lady Fan._ Why, truly, I believe I shou'd soon subdue his Brutality; for without doubt, he has a strange _Penchant_ to grow fond of me, in spite of his Aversion to the Sex, else he wou'd ne'er have taken so much Pains about me. Lord, how proud wou'd some poor Creatures be of such a Conquest! But I, alas! I don't know how to receive as a Favour what I take to be so infinitely my Due. But what shall I do to new-mould him, _Madamoiselle_? for till then he's my utter Aversion.