_Knap_. But tell us, _Betty_, what Intrigues are going forward, your publick Post brings you into a world of private Business, d'you know ever an amorous Lady that would present me with a hundred Guineas to oblige her? _Bett_. Thee, Child, Lord starve thee, a Foot Soldier! one o'the Infantry, a Lady that's Fool enough to pay for her Pleasures, may provide her self better out o' the Guards.--Come, gi'me t'other Bumper, nothing's to be got here, I find, and I must run. _Shr_. Why in such hast, _Betty_? _Bett_. Haste, Creature, why the Fourth Act is just done, and t'other bold Beast will run away with all the Money. _Knap_. Hark'e, _Bess_, don't stroddle over Peoples Backs so as you us'd to do. _Bett_. Why, how now, Mr. Impudence, I think we do 'em too great an Honour, and whoever affronts me for it I'll have him kick'd as soon as the Play's over. [_Exit._ _Shr_. Come, my dear Boy, let's tope it about briskly; what think you of this Lass? is she not frank and free? If you had her in a Corner, she'd show you the way to _Lyme-house._ _Tott_. Are all your _London_ Women like her? Our Country Wenches are as Cross with treading upon Nettles; there's _Margery_ our Dairy-Maid, I only offer'd to feel her Bubbies, and she hit me a dowse o'the Jaws enough to beat down a Stack o' Chimneys. _Shr_. We'll carry you to a Lady, Master, that shall stifle you with Kindness, as pretty a piece of Wild-fowl as paddles about _Covent Garden_; but you'll tip her a Guinea, her Lodgings are extremely fine; and you must know a first Floor comes very dear. _Knap_. She's a Gentlewoman too, I'll assure you, her Father was hang'd in _Monmonth_'s Time, wears as rich Cloaths as any Body, and never puts on the same Suit twice. _Tot_. O Gemini, I long to see her; pray, Mr. _Knapsack,_ lets go; but what shall I treat her with, boil'd Fowls and Oysters. _Knap_. Something that's very nice, she's mighty dainty at Supper; but her constant Breakfast is a Red-Herring, and a quartern o' Geneva. [_Exeunt._ SCENE _Changes to Lady_ Rodomonts. _Lady_ Rodomont _and the Collonel discover'd_. L. _Rod_. Well, Collonel, now what think you of our Sex? Is there no Nymph so sovereignly bright, whole matchless Beauty, Virtue, Wit and Fortune you'd charm your rambling. Thoughts and chain you to her? _Coll_. The Goddess you describe, you too well know her wond'rous Brightness, her commanding Excellence, where ev'ry Star seems glitt'ring in her Person, and ev'ry Science cultivates her Mind; no Swain but kindles at her vast Perfections, Sighs at her Feet, and trembles to approach her; but then a baneful Mischief thwarts our Transports, and while we feast us with luxuriant Gazing, that bug-bear Marriage rises like a Storm, clouds ev'ery Beauty, blackens with approaching, and frights away the gen'rous faithful Lover.