but with a Courtezan-- some Comfort that. We'll
after him-- 'Tis a faint-hearted Lover, Who for the first Discouragement
gives over.
[Ex. _Ariadne_ and _Lucia_.

ACT II.

SCENE I. _The Street._

Enter _Fetherfool_ and _Sancho_, passing over the Stage; after them
_Willmore_ and _Blunt_, follow'd by _Ariadne_ and _Lucia_.

_Will._ 'Tis so, by Heaven, he's chaffering with her Pimp. I'll spare my
Curses on him for having her, he has a Plague beyond 'em.
--Harkye, I'll never love, nor lie with Women more, those Slaves to
Lust, to Vanity and Interest.

_Blunt._ Ha, Captain! [Shaking his Head and smiling.

_Will._ Come, let's go drink Damnation to 'em all.

_Blunt._ Not all, good Captain.

_Will._ All, for I hate 'em all--

_Aria._ Heavens! if he should indeed! [Aside.

_Blunt._ But, _Robert_, I have found you most inclined to a Damsel when
you had a Bottle in your Head.

_Will._ Give me thy Hand, _Ned_-- Curse me, despise me, point me out for
Cowardice if e'er thou see'st me court a Woman more: Nay, when thou
knowest I ask any of the Sex a civil Question again-- a Plague upon 'em,
how they've handled me-- come, let's go drink, I say-- Confusion to the
Race-- A Woman!-- no, I will be burnt with my own Fire to Cinders e'er
any of the Brood shall lay my Flame--

_Aria._ He cannot be so wicked to keep this Resolution sure--
[She passes by.
Faith, I must be resolv'd-- you've made a pious Resolution, Sir, had you
the Grace to keep it--
[Passing on he pauses, and looks on her.

_Will._ Hum-- What's that?

_Blunt._ That-- O-- nothing-- but a Woman-- come away.

_Will._ A Woman! Damn her, what Mischief made her cross my way just on
the Point of Reformation!

_Blunt._ I find the Devil will not lose so hopeful a Sinner. Hold, hold,
Captain, have you no Regard to your own Soul? 'dsheartlikins, 'tis a
Woman, a very errant Woman.

_Aria._ Your Friend informs you right, Sir, I am a Woman.

_Will._ Ay, Child, or I were a lost Man-- therefore, dear lovely
Creature--

_Aria._ How can you tell, Sir?

_Will._ Oh, I have naturally a large Faith, Child, and thou'st a
promising Form, a tempting Motion, clean Limbs, well drest, and a most
damnable inviting Air.

_Aria._ I am not to be sold, nor fond of Praise I merit not.

_Will._ How, not to be sold too! By this light, Child, thou speakest
like a Cherubim, I have not heard so obliging a Sound from the Mouth of
Woman-kind this many