r Man of Luck--Some happy Star reign'd at thy
glorious Birth; every thing is prosperous thou espousest.--How fares my
Love, the Treasure of my Soul?

_Man._ Only fainting with the Fright, but she recovers.

_Prince._ My Chair there, quickly, that waits for me.--

Enter Chair; he puts her, and _Manage_ into it.

Enter _Olivia_.

Carry 'em to Mr. _Welborn's_, to my Lodgings there, and then return to
me; for I am wondrous faint, and cannot walk.

_Oliv._ Ha! by my Life, my Man!

_Prince._ But if I might impose so much, _Lejere_, upon thy Friendship,
I beg thou wouldst see her safely carry'd to my Lodgings at _Welborn's_.

_Geo._ You shall command me, Sir.

[Exeunt Chair, _George_ and _Britton_.

_Oliv._ You seem not well, Sir, pray repose upon my Arm a while.

_Prince._ I thank you, Sir, indeed I am not well.

_Oliv._ Methinks I find a Pleasure but in touching him--Wou'd I cou'd
see his Face by all this fatal Light.

Enter _Constable_ and Watch.

_Const._ So, so, the Fire abates, the Engines play'd rarely, and we have
Ten Guineas here, Neighbours, to watch about the House; for where
there's Fire, there's Rogues--Hum, who have we here?--How now, Mr.--Hum,
what have you got under your Arm there, ha? Take away this Box of
Jewels.
[Sir _Morgan_, and Sir _Merlin_, creeping out of the Cellar
Window.
Ha, who have we here creeping out of the Cellar-Window? more Rogues!

Sir _Mer._ Sirrah! you're a Baud, Sirrah! and for a Tester will wink at
the Vices of the Nation, Sirrah! Call men of the best Quality Rogues!
that have stood for Knights of the Shire, and made the Mobile drunk,
Sirrah!

_Const._ We cry you Mercy, Sir, we did not know your Worships.

Sir _Morg._ Lookye, de see, here's a Crown for you; carry us to the next
Tavern, and we'll make thee, and all thy Mirmidons, as drunk as a Boat
in a Storm.

_Oliv._ Sir, I find you have Interest with these arbitrary Tyrants of
the Parish; pray will you bail me, and this Gentleman?

Sir _Mer._ What, _Endimion_! my Lady _Mirtilla's_ Page? He lent me Money
to Night at the Basset-Table; I'll be bound Hand and Foot for him, Mr.
Constable, and, gad, we'll all to the Tavern, and drink up the Sun,
Boys.

_Oliv._ Yonder Gentleman too has receiv'd some hurt by the Fire, and
must go home, Sir; but you must restore him the Box, Mr. Constable.

Sir _Morg._ Ay, ay, lookye, de see, return the Gentleman all; they're
Gentlemen, and our intimate Frien