search to his Heart, and there find Truth unblemish'd; approve his Flame,
and nourish it with Favours.

L. _Rod_. Have I caught you, Collonel; is this the Sum of all your
Self-sufficiency, your Matrimonial Hate, and boasted Liberty. [_Aside_.]
His Merits probably may vie with any, but sure he last shou'd hope a
Lady's Graces, who saucily arraigns her Sex's Pow'r.

_Enter_ Nicknack.

Mr. _Nicknack_, I have a Miracle to tell you, the Collonel from a
blustering, ranting Heroe is dwindl'd to a panting, pining Lover; talks in
blank Verse, and Sighs in mournful postures: He the fam'd _Pyramus_, and I
bright _Thisbe_.

_Nic_. I thought, Madam, the Collonel had been a profess'd Marriage-hater.

L. _Rod_. Mr. _Nicknack_, we'll divert our selves at Picquet. When you
recover, Collonel, from this Lethargy, you'll play a Pool with us; Ladies
admit all sorts to lose their Mony. [_Exit Lady_ Rod. _and_ Nick.

_Coll_. I have plaid a fine Card truly, now shall I be number'd with
those doating Fools, her Pride encourages, then Jilts, and laughs at.
She's fair, but, oh! the Treachery of her Sex.

_Enter Sir_ Harry.

Sir _Har_. My dear Collonel, prithee why so pensive? I have had the
pleasantest Adventure this Afternoon, going to the Bank to receive Mony;
in _Pater-Noster-Row_ I saw two of the loveliest Sempstresses the Trade