Day see more young Fellows that I cou'd like very well to play at _Piquet_
with; and if your Ladiship has sworn to die a Maid, recommend one of your
Admirers to me, and it shan't be my Fault, if in a few Months I don't
produce you a very pretty Bantling to inherit your Estate.

_Enter Major_ Bramble.

_Bram_. (_Aside_.) Now must I screw my self into more submissive Forms
than a hungry Poet at the lower end of a Lord's Table, when he has more
Wit than all the Company; muster up more Lies than are told behind a
_Cheapside_-Counter, and talk to her of Agues, Agonies and Agitations,
when I have no more Notion of Love, than a Lawyer has of the next World:
Her Estate indeed wou'd put a Man into a Conflagration, but a fine Woman
is to me like a fine Race-Horse, admir'd only by Fools, very costly, very
wanton, and very apt to run away--Madam, your Ladiship's incomparable
Perfections, which are as much talk'd of, as if they had been publish'd in
the _Flying-Post, Post-Boy_, and _Post-Man,_ have stirr'd up all my
Faculties to admire, ev'ry Part about you, and to tell you the Ambition I
have of being your Ladiship's most devoted, humble Servant at Bed and
Board.

La. _Rod_. A Man of your Character, _Major_, is seldom touch'd with a
Lady's Perfections; our trifling Beauties soften weaker Mortals, you Men
that bustle about publick Matters, whose fiery Souls are charm'd with
Broils of State, retain no mighty Transports for our Sex.

_Bram_. True, Madam, Love's but an insipid Business; but I wou'd marry to
keep up that fiery Breed; and your Ladyship having a more sublime Genius
than the rest of your Sex, I thought you the properest Person to apply to,
that with equal Pains-taking we may produce a Race of _Alexanders_, that