L. _Rod._ While a Woman o' Fortune remains unmarry'd, she's a Petty-Queen; Lovers innumerable trace her Steps; each Coxcomb thinks to be the happy Man, and ev'ry were her Presence makes a Court--but when her Reason's once subdu'd by Love, and the fond, foolish Nymph resigns her Pow'r, she's but a meer _Appendix_ to a Fellow. _No more her darling Liberty can boast, Lovers no more her_ quondam _Beauties toast, But all her Pleasure, Pride and Charms are lost._ End of the First ACT. ACT II. SCENE, _The Park._ _Sir_ Harry_, and the_ Collonel. _Col._ Never a loose Lady tripping through the _Park_ to whet one's Appetite this Morning? Sir _Har._ Fie, _Collonel_, refine your Tast;----A common Woman! I'd as soon dine at a common Ordinary: Give me a Woman of Condition, there's Pride as well as Pleasure in such an Amour. _Col._ Your Women of Condition, Pox on em, are like Noblemen's Dinners, all Garniture and no Meat, then, the Ceremony of Approach and Retire, palls a Man's Inclination, 'till he grows indifferent i' the Matter;-- Wou'd you Charm me, give me a ruddy Country Wench to riffe on the Grass, with no other resistance than,--What a Dickens, is the Man berwattl'd, you are an impudent, bold Rogue, and I'll call my Mother: Besides, the fear of Scandal makes your great Ladies preserve a foolish kind of Virtue, their Principles wou'd fain get rid of. Sir _Har._ You are deceiv'd, _Collonel_, Women of Quality are above Reputation.--Is it my Lady _Tipple-dram_'s Modesty, or the effect of Ratifia, that gives her a high Colour in the Drawing-room?--Is my Lady _Sluggard_'s Religion question'd, that has never been at Church since her Baptism, or my Lady _Gamesom_'s Virtue suspected for admiring Collonel _Sturdy_'s Regiment; both Sexes of Rank, now, use what Liberty they please without censuring one another, and consequently despise the tattling of Inferiours. _Col._ Ha! what pert Fellow's this, that whisks it along in a Silk-Drugget Suit, with the empty Air of a Fop Mercer, or a Judge's Train-bearer? Sir _Har._ Oh! 'Tis young _Nicknack_, a Beau Merchant, his Father dy'd lately, and left him considerably in Money, he has been bred to business, with a Liberty of Pleasure, a little vain and affected as most young Fellows are; but his Foppery is rather pretty and diverting than tiresome and impertinent. For his Father obliging him still to live in the City, and follow Business, he has turn'd Commerce into a Jest, and calls himself, The Ladies Merchant; for he imports nothing but Squirrels, Lap-dogs and _Guinea piggs_ to insnare the Women. _Enter_ Nicknack. _Nick_. Dear Sir _Harry_, I have been twice round the _Park_, in search of you. Sir _Har._ Mr. _Nicknack_ pray know the _Collonel_ here; an intimate Friend o'mine just arriv'd from _Flanders_.