Will. Death! how she throws her Fire about my Soul! [Aside. —Take heed, fair Creature, how you raise my Hopes, Which once assum’d pretend to all Dominion. There’s not a Joy thou hast in store I shall not then command: For which I’ll pay thee back my Soul, my Life. Come, let’s begin th’ account this happy minute. Ang. And will you pay me then the Price I ask? Will. Oh, why dost thou draw me from an awful Worship, By shewing thou art no Divinity? Conceal the Fiend, and shew me all the Angel; Keep me but ignorant, and I’ll be devout, And pay my Vows for ever at this Shrine. [Kneels, and kisses her Hand. Ang. The Pay I mean is but thy Love for mine. —Can you give that? Will. Intirely—come, let’s withdraw: where I’ll renew 42 my Vows,—and breathe ’em with such Ardour, thou shall not doubt my Zeal. Ang. Thou hast a Power too strong to be resisted. [Ex. _Will._ and _Angelica_. Moret. Now my Curse go with you—Is all our Project fallen to this? to love the only Enemy to our Trade? Nay, to love such a Shameroon, a very Beggar; nay, a Pirate-Beggar, whose Business is to rifle and be gone, a No-Purchase, No-Pay Tatterdemalion, an _English_ Piccaroon; a Rogue that fights for daily Drink, and takes a Pride in being loyally lousy—Oh, I could curse now, if I durst—This is the Fate of most Whores. Trophies, which from believing Fops we win, Are Spoils to those who cozen us again. ACT III. Scene I. A Street. Enter _Florinda_, _Valeria_, _Hellena_, in Antick different Dresses from what they were in before, _Callis_ attending. Flor. I wonder what should make my Brother in so ill a Humour: I hope he has not found out our Ramble this Morning. Hell. No, if he had, we should have heard on’t at both Ears, and have been mew’d up this Afternoon; which I would not for the World should have happen’d—Hey ho! I’m sad as a Lover’s Lute. Val. Well, methinks we have learnt this Trade of Gipsies as readily as if we had been bred upon the Road to _Loretto_: and yet I did so fumble, when I told the Stranger his Fortune, that I was afraid I should have told my own and yours by mistake—But methinks _Hellena_ has been very serious ever since. Flor. I would give my Garters she were in love, to be reveng’d upon her, for abusing me—How is’t, _Hellena?_ Hell. Ah!—would I had never seen my mad Monsieur 43 —and yet for all your laughing I am not in love— and yet this small Acquaintance, o my Conscience, will never out of my Head. Val. Ha, ha, ha—I laugh to think how thou art fitted with a Lover, a Fellow that, I warrant, loves every new Face he sees. Hell. Hum—he has not kept his Word with me here—and may be taken up—that thought is not very pleasant to me—what the Duce should this be now that I feel? Val. What is’t like?