_Oliv._ I’ll tell you better News--our hopeful elder Brother, Sir _Merlin_, is like to be disinherited; for he is, Heaven be thanked-- _Geo._ Marry’d to some Town-Jilt, the common fate of Coxcombs. _Oliv._ Not so, my dear _George_, but sets up for a celebrated Rake-hell, as well as Gamester; he cou’d not have found out a more dextrous way to have made thee Heir to four Thousand Pounds a Year. _Geo._ What’s that without _Mirtilla_? _Oliv._ Prithee no more of her--Love spoils a fine Gentleman: Gaming, Whoring and Fighting may qualify a Man for Conversation; but Love perverts all one’s Thoughts, and makes us fit Company for none but one’s self; for even a Mistress can scarce dispense with a fighting, whining Lover’s Company long, though all he says flatters her Pride. _Geo._ Why dost thou trifle with me, when thou knowest the Violence of my Love? _Oliv._ I wish I could any way divert your Thoughts from her, I would not have your Joy depend on such a fickle Creature. _Geo._ _Mirtilla_ false! What, my _Mirtilla_ false! _Oliv._ Even your _Mirtilla’s_ false, and married to another. _Geo._ Married! _Mirtilla_ married! ‘Tis impossible. _Oliv._ Nay, married to that bawling, drinking Fool, Sir _Morgan Blunder_. _Geo._ Married, and married to Sir _Morgan Blunder_! a Sot, an ill-bred senseless Fool; almost too great a Fool to make a Country Justice? _Oliv._ No doubt, she had her Aims in’t, he’s a very convenient Husband, I’ll assure you, and that suits her Temper: he has Estate and Folly enough, and she has Youth and Wantonness enough to match ‘em. _Geo._ Her Choice gives me some Comfort, and some Hopes; for I’ll pursue her, but for Revenge, not Love. _Oliv._ Forget her rather, for she’s not worth Revenge, and that way ’.will be none; prostitute in Soul as Body, she doats even on me in Breeches. _Geo._ On thee, her Page? doat on thee, a Youth! she knew thee not as Woman. _Oliv._ No, that Secret I have kept to do you Service.--At first she said she lov’d me for your sake, because you recommended me; and when I sung, or plaid upon my Flute, wou’d kiss my Cheek, and sigh, and often (when alone) wou’d send for me, and smile, and talk, and set my Hair in Curls, to make me saucy and familiar with her. One Day she said, _Endimion_, thy Name-sake was thus caress’d by _Cynthia_: A Goddess did not scorn the humble Swain, whom by her Love she equal’d to her Deity. She found that I had Sense to understand her, and paid her Advances back with equal Ardour. _Geo._ Oh, Curse! where learnt she all this Wickedness? [Aside.