Will. My Life! my Soul! how glad am I to find thee in my Arms again—and well—When left you _Paris?_ _Paris_, that City of Pottage and Crab-Wine, swarming with Lacquies and Philies, whose Government is carried on by most Hands, not most Voices—And prithee how does _Belvile_ and his Lady? Beau. I left ’em both in Health at St. _Germains._ 121 Will. Faith, I have wisht my self with ye at the old Temple of Bacchus at _St. Clou_, to sacrifice a Bottle and a Damsel to his Deity. Beau. My constant Place of Worship whilst there, tho for want of new Saints my Zeal grew something cold, which I was ever fain to supply with a Bottle, the old Remedy when _Phyllis_ is sullen and absent. Will. Now thou talk’st of Phillis prithee, dear _Harry_, what Women hast in store? Beau. I’ll tell thee; but first inform me whom these two Sparks are. Will. Egad, and so they are, Child: Salute ’em—They are my Friends—True Blades, _Hal._ highly guilty of the royal Crime, poor and brave, loyal Fugitives. Beau. I love and honour ’em, Sir, as such [Bowing to _Blunt_. Blunt. Sir, there’s neither Love nor Honour lost. Feth. Sir, I scorn to be behind-hand in Civilities. Beau. At first sight I find I am much yours, Sir. [To _Feth._ Feth. Sir, I love and honour any Man that’s a Friend to Captain _Willmore_—and therefore I am yours— Enter _Shift_. —Well, honest Lieutenant, how does thy Body?—When shall _Ned_, and thou and I, crack a Bisket o’er a Glass of Wine, have a Slice of Treason and settle the Nation, hah? Shift. You know, Squire, I am devotedly yours. [They talk aside. Beau. Prithee who are these? Will. Why, the first you saluted is the same _Ned Blunt_ you have often heard _Belvile_ and I speak of: the other is a Rarity of another Nature, one Squire _Fetherfool_ of _Croydon_, a tame Justice of Peace, who liv’d as innocently as Ale and Food could keep him, till for a mistaken Kindness to one of the Royal Party, he lost his Commission, and got the 122 Reputation of a Sufferer: He’s rich, but covetous as an Alderman. Beau. What a Pox do’st keep ’em Company for, who have neither Wit enough to divert thee, nor Good-nature enough to serve thee? Will. Faith, _Harry_, ’tis true, and if there were no more Charity than Profit in’t, a Man would sooner keep a Cough o’th’ Lungs than be troubled with ’em: but the Rascals have a blind side as all conceited Coxcombs have, which when I’ve nothing else to do, I shall expose to advance our Mirth; the Rogues must be cozen’d, because they’re so positive they never can be so: but I am now for softer Joys, for Woman, for Woman in abundance—dear _Hal_. inform me where I may safely unlade my Heart. Beau. The same Man still, wild and wanton! Will. And would not change to be the Catholick King. Beau. I perceive Marriage has not tam’d you, nor a Wife who had all the Charms of her Sex. Will. Ay—she was too good for Mortals. [With a sham Sadness. Belv. I think thou hadst her but a Month, prithee how dy’d she?