_Chris._ Not at all; though he tells me daily of his Passion, I rally him, and give him neither Hope nor Despair,--he’s here. Enter _Daring_, _Fear._ _Rant._ and _Jenny_. _Dar._ Madam, the Complaisance I show in bringing you my Rival, will let you see how glad I am to oblige you every way. _Ran._ I hope the Danger I have exposed my self to for the Honour of kissing your Hand, Madam, will render me something acceptable--here are my Credentials-- [Gives her a Letter. _Chrisante_ reads. Dear Creature, I have taken this Habit to free you from an impertinent Lover, and to secure the damn’d Rogue _Daring_ to my self: receive me as sent by Colonel _Surelove_ from _England_ to marry you--favour me--no more-- Yours, _Ranter_. --Hah, _Ranter_? [Aside.] --Sir, you have too good a Character from my Cousin Colonel Surelove, not to receive my Welcome. [Gives _Surelove_ the Letter. _Ran._ Stand by, General-- [Pushes away _Daring_, looks big, and takes _Chrisante_ by the Hand, and kisses it. _Dar._ ‘Sdeath, Sir, there’s room enough--at first sight so kind! Oh Youth, Youth and Impudence, what Temptations are you to Villanous Woman? _Chris._ I confess, Sir, we Women do not love these rough fighting Fellows, they’re always scaring us with one Broil or other. _Dar._ Much good may it do you with your tame Coxcomb. _Ran._ Well, Sir, then you yield the Prize? _Dar._ Ay, Gad, were she an Angel, that can prefer such a callow Fop as thou before a Man--take her and domineer. [They all laugh. --’Sdeath, am I grown ridiculous? _Fear._ Why hast thou not found the Jest? by Heaven, ‘tis _Ranter_, ‘tis she that loves you; carry on the humour. [Aside. Faith, Sir, if I were you, I wou’d devote my self to Madam _Ranter_. _Chris._ Ay, she’s the fittest Wife for you, she’ll fit your Humour. _Dar._ _Ranter_--Gad, I’d sooner marry a she-Bear, unless for a Penance for some horrid Sin; we should be eternally challenging one another to the Field, and ten to one she beats me there; or if I should escape there, she wou’d kill me with drinking. _Ran._ Here’s a Rogue--does your Country abound with such Ladies? _Dar._ The Lord forbid, half a dozen wou’d ruin the Land, debauch all the Men, and scandalize all the Women. _Fear._ No matter, she’s rich. _Dar._ Ay, that will make her insolent. _Fear._ Nay, she’s generous too. _Dar._ Yes, when she’s drunk, and then she’ll lavish all. _Ran._ A pox on him, how he vexes me. _Dar._ Then such a Tongue--she’ll rail and smoke till she choke again; then six Gallons of Punch hardly recovers her, and never but then is she good-natur’d. _Ran._ I must lay him on-- _Dar._ There’s not a Blockhead in the Country that has not-- _Ran._ What-- _Dar._ Been drunk with her. _Ran._ I thought you had meant something else, Sir. [In huff. _Dar._ Nay--as for that--I suppose there is no great difficulty.