come, and say your Catechism;--_What is the
chief End of Man?_ And upon ev'ry little Fault, she'd lock me up to get
_Quarles's Emblems_ by heart, and threaten I shou'd lie in the great Room
that's haunted, and never let one have any other diversion, than to hear
the Chaplain play _Jumping Joan_ upon the Base Viol.

_Shr_. Shall we adjourn to the _Rose_, the Drawer's my particular Friend,
and will give us _French_ Wine for Eighteen Pence a Bottle.

_Tot_. But lets ha' some Sack, do.

_Knap_. Ay, and Sugar, my brave Boy, thou shall't have any thing; we'll be
merry as mony'd Sailors over a Bowl o'Rum Punch, fluster'd as their
Whores, and frolicksom, 'till we have spent all, drink Confusion to all
Grand-mothers, and if the old Cat pretends to Ptysick it much longer,
we'll get an Act of Parliament to poyson her.

_Tot_. With all my Heart! they say the Parliament can do any thing.
[_Exeunt._

SCENE, _A Drawing-Room._

_Enter the_ Collonel, _and_ Lady Rodomont _rising from Play_.

L. _Rod_. Fling up the Cards, good _Collonel_, after two Games, the
Pleasure becomes a Business; like my Lady _Shuffler_ that gits her living
at 'em.

_Col_. Your Ladyship's a Chymist in Diversions, extracts the quintessence
of ev'ry Pleasure, and leaves the drossy Part upon the World; Agreements,
when too tedious pall the Fancy, when short they quicken and refine our
Appetites; and the sublimest Joy to Mortals known, evaporates the Moment
that 'tis tasted.

L. _Rod_. Variety alone supports dull Life, the light Amusements that
connect and change, Spur on the creeping Circle of the Year; I love to
humour an unbounded Genius, to give a lose to ev'ry spring of Fancy, to
rove, to range, to sport with different Countries, and share the Revels of
the Universe.

_Col_. My Genius fain wou'd Court superiour Blessings; those Passions are
too hurrying to last; Vapours that start from a Mercurial Brain, whose
wild Chimera's flush the lighter Faculties, which tir'd i'th'vain pursuit
of fancy'd Pleasures; a Passion more substantial Courts our Reason, solid,
persuasive, elegant, sublime, where ev'ry Sense crowds to the luscious
Banquet, and ev'ry nobler Faculty's imploy'd.

L. _Rod_. That Passion you describe's a sleeping Potion, a lazy, stupid,
lethargy of Mind, that nums our Faculties, destroys our Reason, and to our
Sex the bane of all Agreements; shou'd I whom Fortune, lavish of her
store, has given the means to glut insatiate Wishes, out-