L. Lam. Thou art i’th’ right—Do’st know my Quality, and thy own Poverty? And hast thou nothing to ask that I may grant? Lav. Sure she loves me! and I, frail Flesh and Blood, Cannot resist her Charms; but she’s of the damn’d Party. [Aside. L. Lam. Are all your Party, Sir, so proud? Lov. But what have I to do with Religion! Is Beauty the worse, or a kind Wench to be refus’d for Conventickling? She lives high on the Spoils of a glorious Kingdom, and why may not I live upon the Sins of the Spoiler? [Aside. L. Lam. Sir—you are poor! Lov. So is my Prince; a Plague on the occasion. L. Lam. I think you are—no Fool too. Lov. I wou’d I were, then I had been a Knave, had thriv’d, and possibly by this time had been tugging for rifled Crowns and Kingdoms. L. Lam. This Satir ill befits my present Bus’ness with you—you—want some Necessaries—as Clothes, and Linen too; and ’tis great pity so proper a Man shou’d want Necessaries. _Gilliflower_—take my Cabinet Key, and fetch the Purse of Broad-pieces that lies in the lower Drawer; ’tis a small Present, Sir, but ’tis an Earnest of my farther Service. [_Gill._ goes out and returns with a Purse. Lov. I’m angry, that I find one Grain of Generosity in this whole Race of Hypocrites. [Aside. L. Lam. Here, Sir,’tis only for your present use; for Clothes—three hundred Pieces; let me see you sweet— Lov. Stark mad, by this good Day. L. Lam. Ah, _Gilliflower!_ How prettily those Cavalier 363 things charm; I wonder how the Powers above came to give them all the Wit, Softness, and Gallantry—whilst all the great ones of our Age have the most slovenly, ungrateful, dull Behaviour; no Air, no Wit, no Love, nor any thing to please a Lady with. Gill. Truly, Madam, there’s a great Difference in the Men; yet Heaven at first did its part, but the Devil has since so over-done his, that what with the Vizor of Sanctity, which is the gadly Sneer, the drawing of the Face to a prodigious length, the formal Language, with a certain Twang through the Nose, and the pious Gogle, they are fitter to scare Children than beget love in Ladies. Lav. You hit the Character of your new Saint. L. Lam. And then their Dress, _Gilliflower_. Gil. Oh! ’Tis an Abomination to look like a Gentleman; long Hair is wicked and cavalierish, a Periwig is flat Popery, the Disguise of the Whore of _Babylon_; handsom Clothes, or lac’d Linen, the very Tempter himself, that debauches all their Wives and Daughters; therefore the diminutive Band, with the Hair of the Reformation Cut, beneath which a pair of large sanctify’d Souses appear, to declare to the World they had hitherto escap’d the Pillory, tho deserv’d it as well as _Pryn_. L. Lam. Have a care what you say, _Gilliflower_. Gil. Why, Madam, we have no Informers here. Enter _Page_. Page. Madam, here’s Old _Noll’s_ Wife desires Admittance to your Hon—your Highness.