Provinces, has bought one single Sigh, or Wish: No, my dear Prince, you
owe 'em all to Love, and your own Charms.

_Geo._ Oh, damn'd, dissembling Jilt! [Aside.

_Prince._ No more, no more, my Soul's opprest with Joy: let me unload it
in thy tender Arms, and sigh it out into thy ravishing Bosom.

_Geo._ Death, and Damnation!--

I shall forget his Quality and Virtue, forget he was my Friend, or sav'd
this Life; and like a River, swell'd with angry Tides, o'erflow those
Banks that made the Stream so gay.

_Mir._ Who's there?--I heard a Voice--_Manage_?

_Geo._ Yes. [Softly.

_Prince._ Approach, thou Confident of all my Joys; approach, and be
rewarded--
[_Prince_ takes his Jewel from his Hat.

_Geo._ Yes, for my excellent Bauding--By Heav'n, I dare not touch his
princely Person.

_Prince._ Where art thou? take this Jewel and retire.
[Gropes for his Hand, gives it him.

_Geo._ E'en my Misfortunes have a sort of Luck; but I'll withdraw, for
fear this Devil about me shou'd raise my too rash Hand against his Life.
[Exit.

_Prince._ Come, my eternal Pleasure--each Moment of the happy Lover's
Hour, is worth an Age of dull, and common Life.

[Exeunt into the Alcove, the Scene shuts.

SCENE III. A Garden by Night still.

Enter _George_ with his Sword in his Hand, as before.

_Geo._ Why do I vainly call for Vengeance down, and have it in my
Hand?--By Heav'n, I'll back--Whither? To kill a Woman, a young perjur'd
Woman!--Oh, ye false Fair Ones! shou'd we do you Justice, a universal
Ruin wou'd ensue; not one wou'd live to stock the World anew. Who is't
among ye All, ye Fair Deceivers, ye charming Mischiefs to the noble
Race, can swear she's Innocent, without Damnation? No, no, go on--be
false--be fickle still: You act but Nature--But, my faithless
Friend--where I repose the secrets of my Soul--except this one--Alas! he
knew not this:--Why do I blame him then?

Enter _Olivia_, dress'd as before.

_Oliv._ Fire! Fire! Fire!

_Geo._ _Olivia's_ Voice!--Ha! what art thou? Thy Voice shou'd be
_Olivia's_, but thy Shape--and yet a Woman is all o'er Disguise.

Enter Lady _Blunder_ in her Night-Gown.

L. _Blun._ Fire! Fire! Fire! My Son, my dear Sir _Morgan._

Enter Sir _Rowland_, and Servants.

Sir _Row._ A Pox on your Son, and mine to boot; they have set all the
Sack-Butts a Flaming in the Cellar, thence the Mischief began.
_Timothy_, _Roger_, _Jeffrey_, my Money-Trunks, ye