HEART. Well, why do you not move? Feet, do your office--not one
inch; no, fore Gad I'm caught. There stands my north, and thither
my needle points. Now could I curse myself, yet cannot repent. O
thou delicious, damned, dear, destructive woman! S'death, how the
young fellows will hoot me! I shall be the jest of the town: nay,
in two days I expect to be chronicled in ditty, and sung in woful
ballad, to the tune of the Superannuated Maiden's Comfort, or the
Bachelor's Fall; and upon the third, I shall be hanged in effigy,
pasted up for the exemplary ornament of necessary houses and
cobblers' stalls. Death, I can't think on't--I'll run into the
danger to lose the apprehension.


SCENE III.


BELLMOUR, VAINLOVE.

BELL. A very certain remedy, probatum est. Ha, ha, ha, poor
George, thou art i' th' right, thou hast sold thyself to laughter;
the ill-natured town will find the jest just where thou hast lost
it. Ha, ha, how a' struggled, like an old lawyer between two fees.

VAIN. Or a young wench between pleasure and reputation.

BELL. Or as you did to-day, when half afraid you snatched a kiss
from Araminta.

VAIN. She has made a quarrel on't.