ut
the gay, young, brisk Lover, that brings his equal Fires, and can give
you Dart for Dart, he'll be as nice as you sometimes.

_Ang._ All this thou'st made me know, for which I hate thee.
Had I remain'd in innocent Security,
I shou'd have thought all Men were born my Slaves;
And worn my Pow'r like Lightning in my Eyes,
To have destroy'd at Pleasure when offended.
--But when Love held the Mirror, the undeceiving Glass
Reflected all the Weakness of my Soul, and made me know,
My richest Treasure being lost, my Honour,
All the remaining Spoil cou'd not be worth
The Conqueror's Care or Value.
--Oh how I fell like a long worship'd Idol,
Discovering all the Cheat!
Wou'd not the Incense and rich Sacrifice,
Which blind Devotion offer'd at my Altars,
Have fall'n to thee?
Why woud'st thou then destroy my fancy'd Power?

_Will._ By Heaven thou art brave, and I admire thee strangely.
I wish I were that dull, that constant thing,
Which thou woud'st have, and Nature never meant me:
I must, like chearful Birds, sing in all Groves,
And perch on every Bough,
Billing the next kind She that flies to meet me;
Yet after all cou'd build my Nest with thee,
Thither repairing when I'd lov'd my round,
And still reserve a tributary Flame.
--To gain your Credit, I'll pay you back your Charity,
And be oblig'd for nothing but for Love.
[Offers her a Purse of Gold.

_Ang._ Oh that thou wert in earnest!
So mean a Thought of me,
Wou'd turn my Rage to Scorn, and I shou'd pity thee,
And give thee leave to live;
Which for the publick Safety of our Sex,
And my own private Injuries, I dare not do.
Prepare--
[Follows still, as before.
--I will no more be tempted with Replies.

_Will._ Sure--

_Ang._ Another Word will damn thee! I've heard thee talk too long.
[She follows him with a Pistol ready to shoot: he retires still
amaz'd.

Enter Don _Antonio_, his Arm in a Scarf, and lays hold on the
Pistol.

_Ant._ Hah! _Angelica!_

_Ang._ _Antonio!_ What Devil brought thee hither?

_Ant._ Love and Curiosity, seeing your Coach at Door. Let me disarm you
of this unbecoming Instrument of Death.-- [Takes away the Pistol.]
Amongst the Number of your Slaves, was there not one worthy the Honour
to have fought your Quarrel?
--Who are you, Sir, that are so very wretched
To merit Death from her?

_Will._ One, Sir, that cou'd have made a better End of an amor