t she assures me, the Lodging she has
taken for you, is the best in all _Lincolns-Inn-Fields_.

_Geo._ And did you charge her to send _Mirtilla's_ Page to me?

_Britt._ I did, Sir; and he'll be with you instantly.

_Geo._ 'Tis well--Then shall I hear some News of my _Mirtilla_.
[Aside.
_Britton_, haste thee, and get my Equipage in order; a handsome Coach,
rich Liveries, and more Footmen: for 'tis Appearance only passes in the
World--And d'ye hear, take care none know me by any other Name than that
of _Lejere_.

_Britt._ I shall, Sir. [Exit.

_Geo._ I came not from _Paris_ into _England_, as my old Father thinks,
to reform into a dull wretched Life in _Wales._ No, I'll rather trust my
kind Mistress Fortune, that has still kept me like her Darling, than
purchase a younger Brother's narrow Stipend, at the expence of my
Pleasure and Happiness.

Enter _Olivia_ in a Page's Habit. She runs and embraces _George_.

_Oliv._ My ever charming Brother!

_Geo._ My best, my dear _Olivia_!

_Oliv._ The same lovely Man still! Thy Gallantry and Beauty's all thy
own; _Paris_ could add no Graces to thy Air; nor yet pervert it into
Affectation.

_Geo._ Spare me, and tell me how _Mirtilla_ fares.

_Oliv._ I think, Brother, I writ you word to Paris, of a Marriage
concluded betwixt me and _Welborn_?

_Geo._ That Letter I receiv'd: but from the dear _Mirtilla_, not one
soft word; not one tender Line has blest my Eyes, has eas'd my panting
Heart this tedious three Months space; and thou with whom I left the
weighty Charge of her dear Heart, to watch her lovely Eyes, to give me
notice when my Rivals press'd, and when she waver'd in her Faith to me,
even thou wert silent to me, cruel Sister.

_Oliv._ Thou wilt be like a Lover presently, and tire the Hearer with a
Book of Words, of heavy Sighs, dying Languishments, and all that huddle
of Nonsense; and not tell me how you like my Marriage.

_Geo._ _Welborn's_ my Friend, and worthy of thy Heart.

_Oliv._ I never saw him yet; and to be sold unseen, and unsigh'd for, in
the Flower of my Youth and Beauty, gives me a strange aversion to the
Match.

_Geo._ Oh! you'll like him when you see him--But my _Mirtilla_.--

_Oliv._ Like him--no, no, I never shall--what, come a Stranger to my
Husband's Bed? 'Tis Prostitution in the leudest manner, without the
Satisfaction; the Pleasure of Variety, and the Bait of Profit, may make
a lame excuse for Whores, who change their Cullies,