_Wel._ What have we here? the Spark that rally’d me about a Woman at the Ball to night? Who is it, Sir, you curse so heartily. _Oliv._ Ha, how beautiful he is--how many Charms dwell in that lovely Face-- [Aside. ‘Tis you I curse. _Wel._ Gad, I thank you for that, you were kinder to night, when you told me of a fine Woman that was in love with me. _Oliv._ Why, what have you to do with Woman-kind? _Wel._ A pretty civil Question; has the Lady that sent you a mind to be inform’d. _Oliv._ Or if she had, you’re not at leisure now, you are taken up, Sir, with another Beauty. Did not you swear, never to speak to Woman-kind, till I had brought her, I told you, sigh’d for you? _Wel._ Right, and I have kept my word religiously. _Oliv._ The Devil you have, witness the Joy _Mirtilla_ gave your Soul: Even now you were all Transport, all Extasy of Love; by Heaven, you had forgot you brought me in, and past triumphant in _Mirtilla’s_ Arms, Love in your Heart, and Pleasure in your Eyes. _Wel._ Ay, sure he mistakes me for the amorous Prince, and thus, perhaps, has mistook me all the Night: I must not undeceive him. [Aside. Whate’er you saw, I have a Heart unwounded, a Heart that never soundly loved, a little scratch it got the other day by a young Beauty in the _Mall_, her Name I know not, but I wish’d to know it, and dogg’d her Coach, I sigh’d a little after her, but since ne’er saw the lovely Vision. _Oliv._ Sure this was I. [Aside. What Livery had she, Sir? _Wel._ That I took notice of, ‘twas Green and Gold--Since that, I trifle now and then with Love, to chase away this Image, and that’s all. _Oliv._ Ha, now I view him well, ‘tis the same handsome Fellow that entertain’d us in the _Mall_ last Thursday. _Wel._ Come, Sir, ‘tis late, please you to take a Bed with me to Night, where we’ll beget a better Understanding. _Oliv._ A better than you imagine--’Sdeath, to bed with him, I tremble at the thought--Sir, I do not love a Bedfellow. _Wel._ Sir, I have lent my Lodgings to a Stranger of Quality, or I wou’d offer you a single Bed--but for once you may dispense with a Bedfellow. _Oliv._ I will not put you to that trouble, Sir. _Wel._ Do you design to make me your Friend, and use me with Ceremony? Who waits there? Enter Footman. _Oliv._ ‘Slife, what shall I do? I cou’d even consent, to prevent his going to _Mirtilla_--besides, I have no home to go to-- _Wel._ Come, no more Scruples--here--a Night-Gown and a Cap for the Gentleman. _Oliv._ What shall I do?--I have a little urgent Business, Sir. _Wel._ If there be absolute necessity, I’ll see you to your Lodgings. _Oliv._ Oh, by no means, Sir. ‘Sdeath, whither can I go? _Wel._ Why do you pause? Deal freely with me, Sir, I hope you do not take me for a Lover of my own Sex-- Come, come to bed. _Oliv._ Go you, Sir, I’ll sit and read by you till Day. _Wel._ ‘Sdeath, Sir, d’ye think my bed’s infectious?