_Mir._ Thou little, mischievous informing Thing, how vainly hast thou lavish’d out Invention! [Smiling. [Exit. _Prince._ By Heaven, methinks ‘twere Sin but to suspect her. _Geo._ Think so; I’ll trouble your Repose no more: I’ve done my Duty, and I wou’d not see you made a-- _Prince._ Property--Ha--A loath’d convenient Tool--A Woman’s Implement--’Sdeath! she that off--Loose to the nasty Love of every Fool, that will be flatter’d, cozen’d, jilted, cuckolded--No more--I will, unseen, convey my self into the Closet in my Dressing-Room; ‘tis near her Bed--and if I find her wanton-- _Geo._ If you find her--the Youth is waiting now that shall convince you. _Prince._ Where?--Oh, set the happy Slave but in my View, and-- _Geo._ No, faith, Sir, be convinc’d before you strike, for fear she jilt you out of Sense and Reason-- _Prince._ Come to my Closet, from thence we may observe all that passes in her Chamber; from whence I’ll break upon the perjur’d Fair, like Thunder from a Cloud, and more destructive. [Exeunt. SCENE III. A Chamber. Draws and discovers _Mirtilla_ and _Manage_. _Mir._ Is the Prince gone? _Man._ Yes, Madam. _Mir._ Then bring _Endimion_ to me. _Man._ Madam, I wish you’d think no more of him; for I foresee, that this Amour must ruin you. Remember you have left a Husband for the Prince. _Mir._ A Husband! my Drudge, to toil for me, and save me the Expence of careful Thoughts: My Cloke, my Led-Horse, for Necessity to fill my Train--no more--but _Endimion_ waits. [Exit _Manage_. --There is a native Generosity in me, that checks my Inconstancy to this great Man; yet I have so much Woman in my Soul, cannot pain my self to do him Justice--A new desire of humouring my wish, sways all my Interest, and controuls all my Honour. Why should I lose a Pleasure for a Promise? since Time, that gives our Youth so short a Date, may well excuse our needful Perjury. Enter _Manage_, and _Olivia_, she runs and embraces him. --Let the young bashful Maid, unskill’d in Love, deny the pressing Swain. Let wither’d Age, who fondly dreams of Virtue, lose the dear Opportunities of Life. The coming Hours present themselves to us; and are too nice, not to be snatch’d when offer’d. _Oliv._ So hasty! this disarms me of Excuse. [Aside. _Mir._ Why are thy Eyes bent down? Why dost thou pause? _Oliv._ So hot!--I must prepare to shew my Sex’s Evidence, if nothing else will do. [Unbuttons her Coat. _Mir._ What, not a Word! Advance, thou bashful Youth--Love in thy Eyes, and Coward in thy Heart! The one all Fire, the other too much Ice. _Prince_ and _George_ looking out. _Prince._ Yet stay me, my _Lejere_, from my hasty Vengeance. _Oliv._ Ah, Madam, how are you mistaken! ‘Tis not Coldness in me--but-- _Mir._ What, Bashfulness! Oh, Love will lend thee Courage; This Trembling is the soft Effects of it. _Oliv._ Oh, how vilely she’s mistaken!