_Mir._ My Lord the Prince! now you are kind indeed. [Goes and embraces him. --hah! what means this Unconcern? _Prince._ I thought I’ad left you sick, extremely sick. _Mir._ And are you griev’d to find my Health return? _Prince._ No, wondrous glad of it. You’re mighty gay, _Mirtilla_, much in Glory. _Mir._ Can he, who lays his Fortune at my Feet, think me too glorious for his Arms and Eyes? _Geo._ Fifty to one the Gipsy jilts him yet. [Aside. _Prince._ Pray Heaven she lyes but handsomly-- [Aside. --for mine, _Mirtilla_! Ha--ha-- _Mir._ Am I not yours? You cannot doubt my Vows. _Geo._ She’ll do’t, and make me love her anew for her rare dexterity at dissembling. _Prince._ I left you wearied, going to your Bed, but find you at your Toylet gayly dress’d, as if some Conquest you design’d e’er morning. _Mir._ _Manage_, Sir, from the Fire, secur’d these Trifles, and I was trying several Dresses on; that this slight Beauty that you say has charm’d you, might, when you saw it next, complete the Conquest. _Geo._ And that thou wilt, if Flattery can do’t. _Prince._ Now, were she guilty, as I’m sure she’s not, this Softness would undo me, and appease me. _Mir._ You seem as if you doubted what I say. [This while, _Olivia_ gets off unseen. By all the Powers-- _Prince._ Hold, I scorn to need an Oath to fix my Faith; Oh! thou art all divine, and canst not err. [Embraces her. Curs’d be the Tongue that dares profane thy Virtue, and curs’d the listning Fool that dares believe it. _Geo._ What a poor, wretched, baffled thing is Man, by feebler Woman aw’d and made a Coxcomb! _Mir._ Durst any one traduce my Virtue, Sir, and is it possible that you could hear it?--Then perish all the Beauties you have flatter’d. [Tears her Head-things. _Prince._ Come to my Arms, thou Charmer of my Soul! and if one spark of Jealousy remain, one of those precious Tears shall quench the Crime--Oh, come, and let me lead thee to thy Bed, and breathe new Vows into thy panting Bosom. [Leads her off, she looks back on _George_ and smiles. _Geo._ Now all the Plagues of injur’d Lovers wreck thee; ‘Sdeath, where has she hid _Olivia_? or how am I deceiv’d?--’Tis Day, and with it new Invention rise to damn this Woman to the sin of Shame; break all the Chains that hold the princely Youth, and sink her with her fancy’d Power and Vanity. [Exit. SCENE III. Changes to Lady _Youthly’s_. Enter Sir _Rowland_ half dress’d, Lady _Blunder_ in an Undress, Lady _Youthly_ in her morning-dress, _Teresia_ and Mr. _Twang_. Sir _Row._ Morrow, my Lady _Youthly_, and thank you for my Night’s Lodging--You are as early up as if it had been your Wedding-day. L. _Youth._ Truly, Sir _Rowland_, that I intend. Sir _Row._ But where’s the Bride-groom, Madam? Enter _Roger_. How now, _Roger_, what, no news yet of _George_? _Rog._ Alas! none, Sir, none, till the Rubbish be removed.