_Jul_. I thank you both; and if I have occasion, will borrow their assistance; but I must leave you for a minute, I’ll wait on you anon.-- [_They all three walk as down the street, talking_. _Enter_ Laura, _with_ Silvio _and her_ Equipage. _Lau_. Beyond my wish, I’m got into his Friendship: But Oh, how distant Friendship is from Love, That’s all bestow’d on the fair Prostitute! --Ah, _Silvio_, when he took me in his Arms, Pressing my willing Bosom to his Breast, Kissing my Cheek, calling me lovely Youth, And wond’ring how such Beauty, and such Bravery, Met in a Man so young! Ah, then, my Boy, Then in that happy minute, How near was I to telling all my Soul! My Blushes and my Sighs were all prepar’d; My Eyes cast down, my trembling Lips just parting.-- But still as I was ready to begin, He cries out _Silvianetta_! And to prevent mine, tells me all his Love. --But see--he’s here.-- [Fill. _and_ Gal. _coming up the Scene_. _Gal_. Come, lay by all sullen Unresolves: for now the hour of the Berjere approaches, Night that was made for Lovers.--Hah! my Dear _Sans-Coeur_? my Life! my Soul! my Joy! Thou art of my opinion! _Lau_. I’m sure I am, whate’er it be. _Gal_. Why, my Friend here, and I, have sent and paid our Fine for a small Tenement of Pleasure, and I’m for taking present possession;--but hold--if you shou’d be a Rival after all.-- _Lau_. Not in your _Silvianetta_! my Love has a nice Appetite, And must be fed with high uncommon Delicates. I have a Mistress, Sir, of Quality; Fair, as Imagination paints young Angels; Wanton and gay, as was the first _Corinna_, That charm’d our best of Poets; Young as the Spring, and chearful as the Birds That welcome in the Day; Witty, as Fancy makes the Revelling Gods, And equally as bounteous when she blesses. _Gal_. Ah, for a fine young Whore with all these Charms! but that same Quality allays the Joy: there’s such a damn’d ado with the Obligation, that half the Pleasure’s lost in Ceremony. --Here for a thousand Crowns I reign alone, Revel all day in Love without controul. --But come to our business, I have given order for Musick, Dark Lanthorns, and Pistols. [_This while_ Fil., _stands studying_. _Fil_. Death, if it shou’d not be _Marcella_ now! [_Pausing aside_. _Gal_. Prithee no more considering,--resolve, and let’s about it. _Fil_. I wou’d not tempt my Heart again! for Love, What e’er it may be in another’s Breast, In mine ‘twill turn to a religious Fire; And so to burn for her, a common Mistress, Wou’d be an Infamy below her Practice. _Gal_. Oh, if that be all, doubt not, _Harry_, but an Hour’s Conversation with _Euphemia_ will convert it to as leud a flame, as a Man wou’d wish. _Lau_. What a coil’s here about a Curtezan! what ado to persuade a Man to a Blessing all _Rome_ is languishing for in vain!--Come, Sir, we must deal with him, as Physicians do with peevish Children, force him to take what will cure him.