arn so soon so much of Confidence:
Pray, Sir, what Arts and Cunning do you use?

_Fred._ Faith, time and importunity refuse no body.

_Cur._ Is that the way? had you no other Aids?
Made you no promise to her, Sir, of Marriage?

_Fred._ Oh, yes, in abundance, that's your only bait,
And though they cannot hope we will perform it,
Yet it secures their Honour and my Pleasure.

_Cur._ Then, Sir, you have enjoy'd her?

_Fred._ Oh, yes, and gather'd Sweets
Would make an Anchoret neglect his Vow,
And think he had mistook his way to future bliss,
Which only can be found in such Embraces;
'Twas hard to gain, but, _Curtius_, when once Victor,
Oh, how the joys of Conquest did enslave me!

_Cur._ But, Sir, methinks 'tis much that she should yield,
With only a bare promise that you'd marry her.

_Fred._ Yes, there was something more--but--

_Cur._ But, what, Sir, you are not married.

_Fred._ Faith, yes, I've made a Vow,
And that you know would go as far with any other Man.

_Cur._ But she it seems forgot you were the Prince?

_Fred._ No, she urg'd that too,
And left no Arguments unus'd
Might make me sensible of what I did;
But I was fixt, and overcame them all,
Repeating still my Vows and Passions for her,
Till in the presence of her Maid and Heaven
We solemnly contracted.

_Cur._ But, Sir, by your permission, was it well?

_Fred._ What wouldst thou have him do
That's all on fire, and dies for an Enjoyment?

_Cur._ But having gain'd it, do you love her still?

_Fred._ Yes, yes, extremely,
And would be constant to the Vows I've made,
Were I a Man, as thou art of thy self;
But with the aid of Counsels I must chuse,
And what my Soul adores I must refuse.

_Cur._ This Passion, Sir, Possession will destroy,
And you'l love less, the more you do enjoy.

_Fred._ That's all my hope of cure; I'll ply that game,
And slacken by degrees th' unworthy flame.

_Cur._ Methinks, my Lord, it had more generous been
To've check'd that flame when first it did begin,
E'er you the slighted Victory had won,
And a poor harmless Virgin quite undone:
And what is worse, you've made her love you too.

_Fred._ Faith, that's the greater mischief of the two;
I know to such nice virtuous Souls as thine,
My juster Inclination is a Crime:
But I love Pleasures which thou canst not prize,
Beyond dull gazing on thy Mistress Eyes,
The l