Free. We have been there, but could get no opportunity of speaking to her—_Loveless_, know this Fellow—he’s honest and true to the Hero, tho a Red-Coat. I trust him with my Love, and have done with my Life. Lov. Love! Thou canst never make me believe thou art earnestly in love with any of that damn’d Reformation. Free. Thou art a Fool; where I find Youth and Beauty, I adore, let the Saint be true or false. 348 Lov. ’Tis a Scandal to one of us to converse with ’em; they are all sanctify’d Jilts; and there can neither be Credit nor Pleasure in keeping ’em company; and ’twere enough to get the Scandal of an Adherer to their devilish Politicks, to be seen with ’em. Free. What, their Wives? Lov. Yes, their Wives. What seest thou in ’em but Hypocrisy? Make love to ’em, they answer in Scripture. Free. Ay, and lie with you in Scripture too. Of all Whores, give me your zealous Whore; I never heard a Woman talk much of Heaven, but she was much for the Creature too. What do’st think I had thee to the Meeting for? Lov. To hear a Rascal hold forth for Bodkins and Thimbles, Contribution, my beloved! to carry on the good Cause, that is, Roguery, Rebellion, and Treason, profaning the sacred Majesty of Heaven, and our glorious Sovereign. Free. But—were there not pretty Women there? Lov. Damn ’em for sighing, groaning Hypocrites. Free. But there was one, whom that handsome Face and Shape of yours, gave more occasion for sighing, than any Mortification caus’d by the Cant of the Lay-Elder in the half Hogs-Head: Did’st thou not mind her? Lov. Not I, damn it, I was all Rage; and hadst not thou restrain’d me, I had certainly pull’d that Rogue of a Holder forth by the Ears from his sanctify’d Tub. ’Sdeath, he hum’d and haw’d all my Patience away, nosed and snivel’d me to Madness. Heaven! That thou shouldst suffer such Vermin to infect the Earth, such Wolves amongst thy Flocks, such Thieves and Robbers of all Laws of God and Man, in thy Holy Temples. I rave to think to what thou’rt fall’n, poor _England!_ Free. But the she Saint— Lov. No more; were she as fair as Fancy could imagine, to see her there wou’d make me loath the Form; she that can listen to the dull Nonsense, the bantering of such a 349 Rogue, such an illiterate Rascal, must be a Fool, past sense of loving, _Freeman_. Free. Thou art mistaken.—But, didst thou mind her next the Pulpit? Lov. A Plague upon the whole Congregation: I minded nothing but how to fight the Lord’s Battle with that damn’d sham Parson, whom I had a mind to beat. Free. My Lady _Desbro_ is not of that Persuasion, but an errant Heroick in her Heart, and feigns it only to have the better occasion to serve the Royal Party. I knew her, and lov’d her before she married. Lov. She may chance then to be sav’d. Free. Come, I’ll have thee bear up briskly to some one of ’em, it may redeem thy Sequestration; which, now thou see’st no hopes of compounding, puts thee out of Patience.