have refus'd prodigious
Settlements, tell 'em but a Secret, and they'll grant you any thing.
I'll trump up a delicate Lie to tickle her Curiosity and serve the
_Collonel_.----Well, Madam, since you are resolv'd to cross me, I must
apply my self to those more kind tho' less agreeable, tho' had you giv'n
me but the least Encouragement to have shown my opinion of your Parts as
well as Person, I had trusted you with a Story worth your Attention, tho'
'tis a most prodigious Secret.

Mrs. _Lov_. A Secret! Sir _Harry_, positively, I will know it.

Sir _Har_, Then ev'ry body'll know it for a Secret. 'Tis a thing of that
dangerous Consequence, Madam, shou'd it e'er be divulg'd, I may have my
Throat cut about it; and pray, what security have I either for your
Fidelity, or that in return you'll favour my Addresses.

Mrs. _Lov_. 'Tis well known, Sir _Harry_, I can keep a Secret; I have
found Ladies cheat at Cards, seen Ladies steal Tea-Spoons, and have never
spoke on't; nay more, I once caught a Lady making her Husband a Cuckold,
and I never discover'd it.----I'll tell you who it was, my Lady
_Elcebeth_.----

Sir. _Har._ Nay, Madam, you have giv'n me prodigious Proofs of your
Secrecy, and I'll disclose the Matter. _Collonel Blenheim_ having been so
intollerably us'd by Lady _Rodomont_ is just going to be marry'd to my
Lady _Catterwawl_, the rich Widow in the _Mewse_.

Mrs. _Lov_. Indeed!

Sir _Har_. The Lady has regarded him some Years, and her Woman, Mrs.
_Squatt_, has often brought him Presents and Messages which he receiv'd
but coldly, admiring Lady _Rodomont_; but her ill treatment makes him now
resolve gratefully to marry one, who not only will advance his Fortune,
but intirely Loves him.

Mrs. _Lov_. Sir _Harry_, you have oblig'd me infinitely, I wou'd'nt but
have known this Story for the World.

Sir _Har_. But when shall we be happy in each other?

Mr. _Lov_. I'll give you leave to hope; when I have study'd well, what
Virtue is, I'll tell you more; but at present I must leave you, for I have
a hundr'd and fifty Holes to mend in a lac'd Head just going to the Wash.

Sir _Har_. Not a Word o'the Secret.

Mrs. _Lov._ [_angrily_] Sir _Harry_, I'm no tattler, depend upon't; 'tis
lock'd up in this Breast, safe and secure as lodg'd within your own
[_aside_]. I'm ready to burst, 'till I tell it my Lady.

Sir _Har_. So she's brimful of it already.----Now _Exit_, for my Friend to
humour the design. [_Exit._

_Enter