fumed Air about me-- Was this your Man Friend too?

_Will._ So--

_Hell._ That gave you the He, and the She-- Gold, that begets young
Pleasures.

_Will._ Well, well, Madam, then you see there are Ladies in the World,
that will not be cruel-- there are, Madam, there are--

_Hell._ And there be Men too as fine, wild, inconstant Fellows as your
self, there be, Captain, there be, if you go to that now-- therefore I'm
resolv'd--

_Will._ Oh!

_Hell._ To see your Face no more--

_Will._ Oh!

_Hell._ Till to morrow.

_Will._ Egad you frighted me.

_Hell._ Nor then neither, unless you'l swear never to see that Lady
more.

_Will._ See her!-- why! never to think of Womankind again?

_Hell._ Kneel, and swear. [Kneels, she gives him her hand.

_Hell._ I do, never to think-- to see-- to love-- nor lie with any but
thy self.

_Hell._ Kiss the Book.

_Will._ Oh, most religiously. [Kisses her Hand.

_Hell._ Now what a wicked Creature am I, to damn a proper Fellow.

_Call._ Madam, I'll stay no longer, 'tis e'en dark. [To _Flor._

_Flor._ However, Sir, I'll leave this with you-- that when I'm gone, you
may repent the opportunity you have lost by your modesty.
[_Gives him the Jewel, which is her Picture, and Ex. He gazes
after her._

_Will._ 'Twill be an Age till to morrow,-- and till then I will most
impatiently expect you-- Adieu, my dear pretty Angel.
[Ex. all the Women.

_Belv._ Ha! _Florinda's_ Picture! 'twas she her self-- what a dull Dog
was I? I would have given the World for one minute's discourse with
her.--

_Fred._ This comes of your Modesty,-- ah pox on your Vow,'twas ten to
one but we had lost the Jewel by't.

_Belv._ _Willmore_! the blessed'st Opportunity lost!-- _Florinda_,
Friends, _Florinda_!

_Will._ Ah Rogue! such black Eyes, such a Face, such a Mouth, such
Teeth,-- and so much Wit!

_Belv._ All, all, and a thousand Charms besides.

_Will._ Why, dost thou know her?

_Belv._ Know her! ay, ay, and a Pox take me with all my Heart for being
modest.

_Will._ But hark ye, Friend of mine, are you my Rival? and have I been
only beating the Bush all this while?

_Belv._ I understand thee not-- I'm mad-- see here--
[Shews the Picture.

_Will._ Ha! whose Picture is this? --'tis a fine Wench.

_Fred._ The Colonel's Mistress, Sir.

_Will._ Oh, oh, here-- I thought it had been another Prize-- come, come,
a Bottle will set thee right again.
[Gives the Picture