ope it about briskly; what think you of
this Lass? is she not frank and free? If you had her in a Corner, she'd
show you the way to _Lyme-house._

_Tott_. Are all your _London_ Women like her? Our Country Wenches are as
Cross with treading upon Nettles; there's _Margery_ our Dairy-Maid, I only
offer'd to feel her Bubbies, and she hit me a dowse o'the Jaws enough to
beat down a Stack o' Chimneys.

_Shr_. We'll carry you to a Lady, Master, that shall stifle you with
Kindness, as pretty a piece of Wild-fowl as paddles about _Covent Garden_;
but you'll tip her a Guinea, her Lodgings are extremely fine; and you must
know a first Floor comes very dear.

_Knap_. She's a Gentlewoman too, I'll assure you, her Father was hang'd in
_Monmonth_'s Time, wears as rich Cloaths as any Body, and never puts on
the same Suit twice.

_Tot_. O Gemini, I long to see her; pray, Mr. _Knapsack,_ lets go; but
what shall I treat her with, boil'd Fowls and Oysters.

_Knap_. Something that's very nice, she's mighty dainty at Supper; but her
constant Breakfast is a Red-Herring, and a quartern o' Geneva. [_Exeunt._

SCENE _Changes to Lady_ Rodomonts.

_Lady_ Rodomont _and the Collonel discover'd_.

L. _Rod_. Well, Collonel, now what think you of our Sex? Is there no Nymph
so sovereignly bright, whole matchless Beauty, Virtue, Wit and Fortune
you'd charm your rambling. Thoughts and chain you to her?

_Coll_. The Goddess you describe, you too well know her wond'rous
Brightness, her commanding Excellence, where ev'ry Star seems glitt'ring
in her Person, and ev'ry Science cultivates her Mind; no Swain but kindles
at her vast Perfections, Sighs at her Feet, and trembles to approach her;
but then a baneful Mischief thwarts our Transports, and while we feast us
with luxuriant Gazing, that bug-bear Marriage rises like a Storm, clouds
ev'ery Beauty, blackens with approaching, and frights away the gen'rous
faithful Lover.

L. _Rod_. You talk of Love with an unusual Warmth, you seem to feel it
too, and talk with Pleasure; and yet strange wand'ring Notions teaze your
Fancy, whose vain Allurements tantalize your Reason, and force you from
the Happiness you wish for. He that loves truly, loves without reserve;
the Object is the Centre of his Wishes, but your wild Sex that hurry after
Pleasure, whose headstrong Passions kindle ev'ry moment, admire each
Nymph, and eager to possess, you burn, you rage, and talk in tragick
Strains: But when the easy Ma