write a Note, and if I chance to see _Belvile_,
and want an opportunity to speak to him, that shall let him know what
I've resolv'd in favour of him.

_Hell._ Come, let's in and dress us. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. _A Long Street._

Enter _Belvile_, melancholy, _Blunt_ and _Frederick_.

_Fred._ Why, what the Devil ails the Colonel, in a time when all the
World is gay, to look like mere Lent thus? Hadst thou been long enough
in _Naples_ to have been in love, I should have sworn some such Judgment
had befall'n thee.

_Belv._ No, I have made no new Amours since I came to Naples.

_Fred._ You have left none behind you in Paris.

_Belv._ Neither.

_Fred._ I can't divine the Cause then; unless the old Cause, the want of
Mony.

_Blunt._ And another old Cause, the want of a Wench-- Wou'd not that
revive you?

_Belv._ You're mistaken, _Ned_.

_Blunt_ Nay, 'Sheartlikins, then thou art past Cure.

_Fred._ I have found it out; thou hast renew'd thy Acquaintance with the
Lady that cost thee so many Sighs at the Siege of _Pampelona_-- pox
on't, what d'ye call her-- her Brother's a noble _Spaniard_-- Nephew to
the dead General-- _Florinda_-- ay, _Florinda_-- And will nothing serve
thy turn but that damn'd virtuous Woman, whom on my Conscience thou
lov'st in spite too, because thou seest little or no possibility of
gaining her?

_Belv._ Thou art mistaken, I have Interest enough in that lovely
Virgin's Heart, to make me proud and vain, were it not abated by the
Severity of a Brother, who perceiving my Happiness--

_Fred._ Has civilly forbid thee the House?

_Belv._ 'Tis so, to make way for a powerful Rival, the Vice-Roy's Son,
who has the advantage of me, in being a Man of Fortune, a _Spaniard_,
and her Brother's Friend; which gives him liberty to make his Court,
whilst I have recourse only to Letters, and distant Looks from her
Window, which are as soft and kind as those which Heav'n sends down on
Penitents.

_Blunt._ Hey day! 'Sheartlikins, Simile! by this Light the Man is quite
spoil'd-- _Frederick_, what the Devil are we made of, that we cannot be
thus concern'd for a Wench?-- 'Sheartlikins, our _Cupids_ are like the
Cooks of the Camp, they can roast or boil a Woman, but they have none of
the fine Tricks to set 'em off, no Hogoes to make the Sauce pleasant,
and the Stomach sharp.

_Fred._ I dare swear I have had a hundred as young, kind and handsom as
this _Florinda_; and Dogs eat me, if they were not as tr