Gay. Kind Light, a little of your aid—now must I be peeping, though my Curiosity should lose me all—hah—Zouns, what here—a Hovel or a Hog-sty? hum, see the Wickedness of Man, that I should find no time to swear in, but just when I’m in the Devil’s Clutches.

Enter Pert, as an old Woman, with a Staff.

Old W. Good Even to you, fair Sir.

Gay. Ha—defend me; if this be she, I must rival the Devil, that’s certain.

Old W. Come, young Gentleman, dare not you venture?

Gay. He must be as hot as Vesuvius that does—I shall never earn my Morning’s Present.

Old W. What, do you fear a longing Woman, Sir?

Gay. The Devil I do—this is a damn’d Preparation to Love.

Old W. Why stand you gazing, Sir? A Woman’s Passion is like the Tide, it stays for no man when the hour is come—

Gay. I’m sorry I have took it at its Turning; I’m sure mine’s ebbing out as fast.

Old W. Will you not speak, Sir—will you not on?

Gay. I wou’d fain ask—a civil Question or two first.

Old W. You know too much Curiosity lost Paradise.

Gay. Why, there’s it now.

Old W. Fortune and Love invite you, if you dare follow me.

Gay. This is the first thing in Petticoats that ever dar’d me in vain. Were I but sure she were but human now—for sundry Considerations she might down—but I will on—

[She goes, he follows; both go out.