Act 4 — 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 too, and talk with Pleasure; and yet strange wand'ring Notions teaze your Fancy, whose vain Allurements tantalize your Reason, and force you from the Happiness you wish for. He that loves truly, loves without reserve; the Object is the Centre of his Wishes, but your wild Sex that hurry after Pleasure, whose headstrong Passions kindle ev'ry moment, admire each Nymph, and eager to possess, you burn, you rage, and talk in tragick Strains: But when the easy Maid believes, and blesses, when once you ha' rifl'd, ravish'd and enjoy'd, ungratefully you slight the yielding Charmer; your Love boil'd o'er descends to cold Indifference, and a regardless Look rewards her Favours; were I inclin'd to wave my Resolutions, and yield my self a Victim to Love's Pow'r, were I to chuse a Man by Fortune slighted, and raise him to a more than common Affluence; such is the Temper of your graceless Sex, there's not a Cottage Swain that proves sincere.

Coll. Cou'd you then, Madam, condescend to love, and cou'd a Lover manifest his Passion, by constant waiting, vigilant Observance, by sacerdotal Plights, and Faith inviolate, wou'd you prove kind, and take him to your Arms.

L. Rod. Of things impossible we lightly talk; if such a Man were found, perhaps, I might.

Coll. Cherish that Thought; believe there is that Man; believe you see him now; observe him well.

L. Rod. Ha!

Coll. Read from his Eyes his passionate Concern, his flattering Hopes, his anxious killing Fears; examine ev'ry Symptom, feel his Tremblings, 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 e'er countenanc'd; I went into the Shop, struck up a Bargain, whipt over to the Castle, where we eat four Crabs, top'd six Bottles, skuttl'd up and down, kiss'd, towz'd and tumbl'd 'till we broke ev'ry Chair in the Room. But you are so engag'd with Lady Rodomont, your Company's a Blessing unattainable.

Coll. Yes, I have been engag'd, and finely treated. The Syren with her false deluding Arts, her Force of Words and seeming to comply, has drawn me to declare my Passion for her; now rallies and despises all I said, and hugs her self in baffling my Design.

Sir Har. 'Tis like her Sex, they will ha' their Jades Tricks, but never mind 'em; we'll to the Tavern and consult new Measures: Our Perseverance is beyond their Policy.

The started Hare may frisk it o'er the Plain, And the staunch Hound long trace her Steps in vain, Swiftly she flies, then stops, turns back and views, } Doubles, and quats, and her lost Strength renews, } But tho' unseen, he still the Scent persues, } 'Till breathless to a fatal Period brought, The Hound o'ertakes her, and poor Puss is caught.

The End of the Fourth ACT.