36 Belv. The Devil’s in thee for a mad Fellow, thou art always one at an unlucky Adventure.—Come, let’s be gone whilst we’re safe, and remember these are _Spaniards_, a sort of People that know how to revenge an Affront. Fred. You bleed; I hope you are not wounded. [To _Will._ Will. Not much:—a plague upon your Dons, if they fight no better they’ll ne’er recover _Flanders_.—What the Devil was’t to them that I took down the Picture? Blunt. Took it! ’Sheartlikins, we’ll have the great one too; ’tis ours by Conquest.—Prithee, help me up, and I’ll pull it down.— Ang. Stay, Sir, and e’er you affront me further, let me know how you durst commit this Outrage—To you I speak, Sir, for you appear like a Gentleman. Will. To me, Madam?—Gentlemen, your Servant. [_Belv._ stays him. Belv. Is the Devil in thee? Do’st know the danger of entring the house of an incens’d Curtezan? Will. I thank you for your care—but there are other matters in hand, there are, tho we have no great Temptation.—Death! let me go. Fred. Yes, to your Lodging, if you will, but not in here.—Damn these gay Harlots—by this Hand I’ll have as sound and handsome a Whore for a Patacoone.—Death, Man, she’ll murder thee. Will. Oh! fear me not, shall I not venture where a Beauty calls? a lovely charming Beauty? for fear of danger! when by Heaven there’s none so great as to long for her, whilst I want Money to purchase her. Fred. Therefore ’tis loss of time, unless you had the thousand Crowns to pay. Will. It may be she may give a Favour, at least I shall have the pleasure of saluting her when I enter, and when I depart. Belv. Pox, she’ll as soon lie with thee, as kiss thee, and sooner stab than do either—you shall not go. 37 Ang. Fear not, Sir, all I have to wound with, is my Eyes. Blunt. Let him go, ’Sheartlikins, I believe the Gentle-woman means well. Belv. Well, take thy Fortune, we’ll expect you in the next Street.—Farewell Fool,—farewell— Will. B’ye Colonel— [Goes in. Fred. The Rogue’s stark mad for a Wench. [Exeunt. Scene II. A Fine Chamber. Enter _Willmore_, _Angelica_, and _Moretta_. Ang. Insolent Sir, how durst you pull down my Picture? Will. Rather, how durst you set it up, to tempt poor amorous Mortals with so much Excellence? which I find you have but too well consulted by the unmerciful price you set upon’t.—Is all this Heaven of Beauty shewn to move Despair in those that cannot buy? and can you think the effects of that Despair shou’d be less extravagant than I have shewn? Ang. I sent for you to ask my Pardon, Sir, not to aggravate your Crime.—I thought I shou’d have seen you at my Feet imploring it. Will. You are deceived, I came to rail at you, and talk such Truths, too, as shall let you see the Vanity of that Pride, which taught you how to set such a Price on Sin. For such it is, whilst that which is Love’s due is meanly barter’d for.