SONG. _Ah, Jenny, gen your Eyes do kill, You’ll let me tell my Pain; Gued Faith, I lov’d against my Will, But wad not break my Chain. I ence was call’d a bonny Lad, Till that fair Face of yours Betray’d the Freedom ence I had, And ad my bleether Howers. But noo ways me like Winter looks, My gloomy showering Eyne, And on the Banks of shaded Brooks I pass my wearied time. I call the Stream that gleedeth on, To witness if it see, On all the flowry Brink along, A Swain so true as lee_. _Wild_. This very Swain am I, so true and so forlorn, unless ye pity me.--This is an excellency _Charlot_ wants, at least I never heard her sing. [_Aside_. Sir _Anth_. Why, _Charles_, where stands the Woman, _Charles_? [Fop. _comes up to_ Charlot. _Wild_. I must speak to _Galliard_, though all my Fortunes depend on the Discovery of my self. [_Aside_. Sir _Anth_. Come, come, a cooling Glass about. _Wild_. Dear _Dresswell_, entertain _Charles Meriwill_ a little, whilst I speak to _Galliard_. [_The Men go all to the drinking Table_. By Heaven, I die, I languish for a Word! --Madam, I hope you have not made a Vow To speak with none but that young Cavalier. They say, the Freedom English Ladies use, Is, as their Beauty, great. L. _Gal_. Sir, we are none of those of so nice and delicate a Virtue, as Conversation can corrupt; we live in a cold Climate. _Wild_. And think you’re not so apt to be in Love, As where the Sun shines oftner. But you too much partake of the Inconstancy of this your fickle Climate. [_Maliciously to her_. One day all Sun-shine, and th’ encourag’d Lover Decks himself up in glittering Robes of Hope; And in the midst of all their boasted Finery Comes a dark Cloud across his Mistress’ Brow, Dashes the Fool, and spoils the gaudy Show. [L. Gal. _observing him nearly_. L. _Gal_. Hah, do I not know that railing Tongue of yours? _Wild_. ‘Tis from your Guilt, not Judgment then. I was resolv’d to be to night a Witness Of that sworn Love you flatter’d me so often with. By Heaven, I saw you playing with my Rival, Sigh’d, and lookt Babies in his gloating Eyes. When is the Assignation? When the Hours? For he’s impatient as the raging Sea, Loose as the Winds, and amorous as the Sun, That kisses all the Beauties of the Spring. L. _Gal_. I take him for a sober Person, Sir. _Wild_. Have I been the Companion of his Riots In all the leud course of our early Youth, Where like unwearied Bees we gather’d Flowers? But no kind Blossom could oblige our stay, We rifled and were gone. L. _Gal_. Your Virtues I perceive are pretty equal; Only his Love’s the honester o’th’ two.