Belv. Let’s first to Dinner, and after that we’ll pass the Day as you please—but at Night ye must all be at my Devotion. Will. I will not fail you. [Exeunt. ACT II. Scene I. The Long Street. Enter _Belvile_ and _Frederick_ in Masquing-Habits, and _Willmore_ in his own Clothes, with a Vizard in his Hand. Will. But why thus disguis’d and muzzl’d? Belv. Because whatever Extravagances we commit in these Faces, our own may not be oblig’d to answer ’em. Will. I should have chang’d my Eternal Buff too: but no matter, my little Gipsy wou’d not have found me out then: for if she should change hers, it is impossible I should know her, unless I should hear her prattle—A Pox on’t, I cannot get her out of my Head: Pray Heaven, if ever I do see her again, she prove damnable ugly, that I may fortify my self against her Tongue. Belv. Have a care of Love, for o’ my conscience she was not of a Quality to give thee any hopes. Will. Pox on ’em, why do they draw a Man in then? She has play’d with my Heart so, that ’twill never lie still till I have met with some kind Wench, that will play the Game out with me—Oh for my Arms full of soft, white, kind—Woman! such as I fancy _Angelica_. Belv. This is her House, if you were but in stock to get admittance; they have not din’d yet; I perceive the Picture is not out. 28 Enter _Blunt_. Will. I long to see the Shadow of the fair Substance, a Man may gaze on that for nothing. Blunt. Colonel, thy Hand—and thine, _Fred_. I have been an Ass, a deluded Fool, a very Coxcomb from my Birth till this Hour, and heartily repent my little Faith. Belv. What the Devil’s the matter with thee _Ned?_ Blunt. Oh such a Mistress, _Fred_, such a Girl! Will. Ha! where? Fred. Ay where! Blunt. So fond, so amorous, so toying and fine! and all for sheer Love, ye Rogue! Oh how she lookt and kiss’d! and sooth’d my Heart from my Bosom. I cannot think I was awake, and yet methinks I see and feel her Charms still—_Fred._—Try if she have not left the Taste of her balmy Kisses upon my Lips— [Kisses him. Belv. Ha, ha, ha! Will. Death Man, where is she? Blunt. What a Dog was I to stay in dull _England_ so long—How have I laught at the Colonel when he sigh’d for Love! but now the little Archer has reveng’d him, and by his own Dart, I can guess at all his Joys, which then I took for Fancies, mere Dreams and Fables—Well, I’m resolved to sell all in _Essex_, and plant here for ever. Belv. What a Blessing ’tis, thou hast a Mistress thou dar’st boast of; for I know thy Humour is rather to have a proclaim’d Clap, than a secret Amour. Will. Dost know her Name? Blunt. Her Name? No,’sheartlikins: what care I for Names?— She’s fair, young, brisk and kind, even to ravishment: and what a Pox care I for knowing her by another Title? Will. Didst give her anything?