_Bel._ Put it off till a fitter season: For the truth is, business is then only tolerable, when the world and the flesh have no baits to set before us for the day. _Wild._ But mine, perhaps, is public business. _Bel._ Why, is any business more public than drinking and wenching? Look on those grave plodding fellows, that pass by us as though they were meditating the reconquest of Flanders: Fly them to a mark, and I'll undertake three parts of four are going to their courtezans. I tell thee, Jack, the whisking of a silk gown, and the rush of a tabby petticoat, are as comfortable sounds to one of these rich citizens, as the chink of their pieces of eight. _Wild._ This being granted to be the common design of human kind, it is more than probable it is yours; therefore I'll leave you to the prosecution of it. _Bel._ Nay, good Jack, mine is but a mistress in embryo; the possession of her is at least some days off; and till that time, thy company will be pleasant, and may be profitable to carry on the work. I would use thee like an under kind of chemist, to blow coals; it will be time enough for me to be alone, when I come to projection. _Wild._ You must excuse me, Frank; I have made an appointment at the gaming-house. _Bel._ What to do there, I pr'ythee? To mis-spend that money, which kind fortune intended for a mistress? Or to learn new oaths and curses to carry into England? That is not it--I heard you were to marry when you left home: Perhaps that may be still running in your head, and keep you virtuous. _Wild._ Marriage, quotha! what, dost thou think I have been bred in the deserts of Africa, or among the savages of America? Nay, if I had, I must needs have known better things than so; the light of nature would not have let me go so far astray. _Bel._ Well, what think you of the Prado this evening? _Wild._ Pox upon't, 'tis worse than our contemplative Hyde-Park. _Bel._ Oh, but we must submit to the custom of the country for courtship: Whatever the means are, we are sure the end is still the same in all places. But who are these? _Enter_ DON ALONZO DE RIBERA, _with his two Daughters_, THEODOSIA _and_ JACINTHA, _and_ BEATRIX, _their Woman, passing by_. _Theo._ Do you see those strangers, sister, that eye us so earnestly? _Jac._ Yes, and I guess them to be feathers of the English ambassador's train; for I think I saw them at the grand audience--and have the strongest temptation in the world to talk to them: A mischief on this modesty! _Beat._ A mischief of this father of yours, that haunts you so. _Jac._ 'Tis very true, Beatrix; for though I am the younger sister, I should have the grace to lay modesty first aside: However, sister, let us pull up our veils, and give them an essay of our faces. [_They pull up their veils, and pull them down again._ _Wild._ Ah, Bellamy! undone, undone! Dost thou see those beauties?