e the only Enemy to our Trade? Nay, to love such a Shameroon, a
very Beggar; nay, a Pirate-Beggar, whose Business is to rifle and be
gone, a No-Purchase, No-Pay Tatterdemalion, an _English_ Piccaroon; a
Rogue that fights for daily Drink, and takes a Pride in being loyally
lousy-- Oh, I could curse now, if I durst-- This is the Fate of most
Whores.

_Trophies, which from believing Fops we win,
Are Spoils to those who cozen us again._

ACT III.

SCENE I. _A Street._

Enter _Florinda_, _Valeria_, _Hellena_, in Antick different
Dresses from what they were in before, _Callis_ attending.

_Flor._ I wonder what should make my Brother in so ill a Humour: I hope
he has not found out our Ramble this Morning.

_Hell._ No, if he had, we should have heard on't at both Ears, and have
been mew'd up this Afternoon; which I would not for the World should
have happen'd-- Hey ho! I'm sad as a Lover's Lute.

_Val._ Well, methinks we have learnt this Trade of Gipsies as readily as
if we had been bred upon the Road to _Loretto_: and yet I did so fumble,
when I told the Stranger his Fortune, that I was afraid I should have
told my own and yours by mistake-- But methinks _Hellena_ has been very
serious ever since.

_Flor._ I would give my Garters she were in love, to be reveng'd upon
her, for abusing me-- How is't, _Hellena_?

_Hell._ Ah!-- would I had never seen my mad Monsieur-- and yet for all
your laughing I am not in love-- and yet this small Acquaintance, o my
Conscience, will never out of my Head.

_Val._ Ha, ha, ha-- I laugh to think how thou art fitted with a Lover,
a Fellow that, I warrant, loves every new Face he sees.

_Hell._ Hum-- he has not kept his Word with me here-- and may be taken
up-- that thought is not very pleasant to me-- what the Duce should this
be now that I feel?

_Val._ What is't like?

_Hell._ Nay, the Lord knows-- but if I should be hanged, I cannot chuse
but be angry and afraid, when I think that mad Fellow should be in love
with any Body but me-- What to think of my self I know not-- Would I
could meet with some true damn'd Gipsy, that I might know my Fortune.

_Val._ Know it! why there's nothing so easy; thou wilt love this
wandring Inconstant till thou find'st thy self hanged about his Neck,
and then be as mad to get free again.

_Flor._ Yes, _Valeria_; we shall see her bestride his Baggage-horse, and
follow him to the Campaign.

_Hell._ So, so; now you are provided f