_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