iest, witness
the sacred Altar where we kneel'd--when the blest silent Ceremony was
perform'd.

_Mir._ Alas! he's mad, past all recovery mad.

Sir _Mer._ Mad, say, poor Soul--Friend, how long has your Master been
thus intoxicated?

_Page._ He's mad indeed to make this Discovery. [Aside.
Alas, Sir, he's thus as often as he sees a beautiful Lady, since he
lost a Mistress, who dy'd in _Flanders_ to whom he was contracted.

Sir _Mer._ Good lack--ay, ay, he's distracted, it seems.

_Page._ See how he kneels to her! stand off, and do but mind him.

_Mir._ Rise, Sir,--you'l ruin me--dissemble if you love--or you can
ne'er be happy.
[In a low Voice, and raising him.

_Prince._ My Transport is too high for a Disguise--give me some hope,
promise me some Relief, or at your Feet I'll pierce a wounded Heart.

_Mir._ Rise, and hope for all you wish: Alas, he faints--
[She takes him up, he falls upon her Bosom.

_Page._ Hold him fast, Madam, between your Arms, and he'll recover
presently. Stand all away.--

_Prince._ Oh! tell me, wilt thou bless my Youth and Love? Oh! swear,
lest thou shouldst break--for Women wou'd be Gods, but for Inconstancy.

_Page._ See, he begins to come to himself again--keep off--

_Mir._ You have a thousand Charms that may secure you--The Ceremony of
my Nuptials is every Evening celebrated, the noise of which draws all
the Town together; be here in Masquerade, and I'll contrive it so, that
you shall speak with me this Night alone.

_Prince._ So, now let my Soul take Air--

L. _Blun._ What pity 'tis so fine a Gentleman shou'd be thus.

_Mir._ You must be bringing home your Fops to me, and see what comes of
it.
[As she passes out.

Sir _Morg._ Fops! I thought him no more a Fop, than I do my own natural
Cousin here.
[Ex. _Mir._ in Scorn.

_Prince._ Where am I? [The _Page_ has whispered him.

Sir _Mer._ Why, here, Sir, here, at Sir _Morgan Blunder's_ Lodging in
_Lincolns-Inn-Fields_.

_Prince._ That's well, he has told me--Where have I been this long half
hour, and more?

Sir _Mer._ Nay, the Lord knows.

_Prince._ I fancy'd I saw a lovely Woman.

Sir _Mer._ Fancy'd--why, so you did, Man, my Lady _Mirtilla Blunder_.

_Prince._ Methought I slept upon her snowy Bosom, and dreamt I was in
Heaven, where I claim'd her.

Sir _Mer._ Good lack aday--why, so you did, Sir, ha, ha, ha.

_Prince._ And rav'd on Love; and talk'd abundance of Nonsense.

Sir _Morg._ Ha,