Blunt. If this be a Whore, as thou say’st, I understand nothing—by this Light such a Wench would pass for a Person of Quality in _London_. Feth. Few Ladies have I seen at a Sheriff’s Feast have better Faces, or worn so good Clothes; and by the Lord _Harry_, if these be of the gentle Craft, I’d not give a Real for an honest Women for my use. Will. Come follow me into the Church, for thither I am sure they’re gone: And I will let you see what a wretched thing you had been had you lived seven Years longer in _Surrey_, stew’d in Ale and Beef-broth. Feth. O dear _Willmore_, name not those savory things, there’s no jesting with my Stomach; it sleeps now, but if it wakes, wo be to your Shares at the Ordinary. 130 Blunt. I’ll say that for _Fetherfool_, if his Heart were but half so good as his Stomach, he were a brave Fellow. [Aside, Exeunt. Aria. I am resolv’d to follow—and learn, if possible, who ’tis has made this sudden Conquest o’er me. [All go off. [Scene draws, and discovers a Church, a great many People at Devotion, soft Musick playing. Enter _La Nuche_, _Aurelia_, _Petron._ and _Sancho_: To them _Willmore_, _Feth._ _Blunt_; then _Ariadne_, _Lucia_; _Feth._ bows to _La Nuche_ and _Petronella_. Feth. Now as I hope to be sav’d, _Blunt_, she’s a most melodious Lady. Would I were worthy to purchase a Sin or so with her. Would not such a Beauty reconcile thy Quarrel to the Sex? Blunt. No, were she an Angel in that Shape. Feth. Why, what a pox couldst not lie with her if she’d let thee? By the Lord _Harry_, as errant a Dog as I am, I’d fain see any of _Cupid’s_ Cook-maids put me out of countenance with such a Shoulder of Mutton. Aria. See how he gazes on her—_Lucia_, go nearer, and o’er-hear ’em. [_Lucia_ listens. Will. Death, how the charming Hypocrite looks to day, with such a soft Devotion in her Eyes, as if even now she were praising Heav’n for all the Advantages it has blest her with. Blunt. Look how _Willmore_ eyes her, the Rogue’s smitten heart deep—Whores— Feth. Only a Trick to keep her to himself—he thought the Name of a _Spanish_ Harlot would fright us from attempting—I must divert him—how is’t, Captain—Prithee mind this Musick—Is it not most Seraphical? Will. Pox, let the Fidlers mind and tune their Pipes, I’ve higher Pleasures now. Feth. Oh, have ye so; what, with Whores, Captain?—’Tis a most delicious Gentlewoman. [Aside. 131 Pet. Pray, Madam, mind that Cavalier, who takes such pains to recommend himself to you. La Nu. Yes, for a fine conceited Fool— Pet. Catso, a Fool, what else? La Nu. Right, they are our noblest Chapmen; a Fool, and a rich Fool, and an _English_ rich Fool— Feth. ’Sbud, she eyes me, _Ned_, I’ll set my self in order, it may take—hah— [Sets himself. Pet. Let me alone to manage him, I’ll to him— La Nu. Or to the Devil, so I had one Minute’s time to speak to _Willmore_. Pet. And accosting him thus—tell him—