_Miran._ (_Peeping_.) Say you so? Then I am safe.

Sir _Geo._ What tho' my Tongue never spoke, my Eyes said a thousand Things, and my Hopes flatter'd me hers answer'd 'em. If I'm lucky--if not, 'tis but a hundred Guineas thrown away.

(__Miranda_ and _Patch_ come forwards._

_Miran._ Upon what Sir _George?_

Sir _Geo._ Ha! my _Incognito_--upon a Woman, Madam.

_Miran._ They are the worst Things you can deal in, and damage the soonest; your very Breath destroys 'em, and I fear you'll never see your Return, Sir _George_, Ha, ha!

Sir _Geo._ Were they more brittle than _China_, and drop'd to pieces with a Touch, every Atom of her I have ventur'd at, if she is but Mistress of thy Wit, ballances Ten times the Sum--Prithee let me see thy Face.

_Miran._ By no means, that may spoil your Opinion of my Sense--

Sir _Geo._ Rather confirm it, Madam.

_Patch._ So rob the Lady of your Gallantry, Sir.

Sir _Geo._ No Child, a Dish of Chocolate in the Morning never spoils my Dinner; the other Lady, I design a set Meal; so there's no danger--

_Miran._ Matrimony! Ha, ha, ha; what Crimes have you committed against the G.o.d of Love, that he should revenge 'em so severely to stamp Husband upon your Forehead--

Sir _Geo._ For my Folly in having so often met you here, without pursuing the Laws of Nature, and exercising her command--But I resolve e'er we part now, to know who you are, where you live, and what kind of Flesh and Blood your Face is; therefore unmask and don't put me to the trouble of doing it for you.

_Miran._ My Face is the same Flesh and Blood with my Hand, Sir _George_, which if you'll be so rude to provoke.

Sir _Geo._ You'll apply it to my Cheek--The Ladies Favours are always Welcome; but I must have that Cloud withdrawn. (_Taking hold of her_.) Remember you are in the _Park_, Child, and what a terrible thing would it be to lose this pretty white Hand.

_Miran._ And how will it sound in a _Chocolate-House_, that Sir _George Airy_ rudely pull'd off a Ladies Mask, when he had given her his Honour, that he never would, directly or indirectly endeavour to know her till she gave him Leave.

_Patch._ I wish we were safe out.

(_Aside._

Sir _Geo._ But if that Lady thinks fit to pursue and meet me at every turn like some troubl'd Spirit, shall I be blam'd if I inquire into the Reality? I would have nothing dissatisfy'd in a Female Shape.

_Miran._ What shall I do?

(_Pause._

Sir _Geo._ Ay, prithee consider, for thou shalt find me very much at thy Service.

_Patch._ Suppose, Sir, the Lady shou'd be in Love with you.

Sir _Geo._ Oh! I'll return the Obligation in a Moment.

_Patch._ And marry her?

Sir _Geo._ Ha, ha, ha, that's not the way to Love her Child.

_Miran._ If he discovers me, I shall die--Which way shall I escape?--Let me see.

(_Pauses._

Sir _Geo._ Well, Madam--

_Miran._ I have it--Sir _George_, 'tis fit you should allow something; if you'll excuse my Face, and turn your Back (if you look upon me I shall sink, even mask'd as I am) I will confess why I have engag'd you so often, who I am, and where I live?

Sir _Geo._ Well, to show you I'm a Man of Honour I accept the Conditions. Let me but once know those, and the Face won't be long a Secret to me.

(_Aside._

_Patch._ What mean you, Madam?

_Miran._ To get off.

Sir _Geo._ 'Tis something indecent to turn ones Back upon a Lady; but you command and I obey. (_Turns his Back._) Come, Madam, begin--

_Miran._ First then it was my unhappy Lot to see you at _Paris_ (_Draws back a little while and speaks_) at a Ball upon a Birth-Day; your Shape and Air charm'd my Eyes; your Wit and Complaisance my Soul, and from that fatal Night I lov'd you. (_Drawing back._) And when you left the Place, Grief seiz'd me so--No Rest my Heart, no Sleep my Eyes cou'd know.--

_Last I resolv'd a hazardous Point to try,_ _And quit the Place in search of Liberty._ (Exit.

Sir _Geo._ Excellent--I hope she's Handsome--Well, Now, Madam, to the other two Things: Your Name, and where you live?--I am a Gentleman, and this Confession will not be lost upon me.--Nay, prithee don't weep, but go on--for I find my Heart melts in thy Behalf--speak quickly or I shall turn about--Not yet.--Poor Lady, she expects I shou'd comfort her; and to do her Justice, she has said enough to encourage me. (_Turns about._) Ha? gone! The Devil, jilted? Why, what a Tale has she invented--of _Paris_, b.a.l.l.s, and Birth-Days.--Egad I'd give Ten Guineas to know who this Gipsie is.--A Curse of my Folly--I deserve to lose her; what Woman can forgive a Man that turns his Back.

_The Bold and Resolute, in Love and War, To Conquer take the Right, and swiftest way; The boldest Lover soonest gains the Fair, As Courage makes the rudest Force obey, Take no denial, and the Dames adore ye, Closely pursue them and they fall before ye._

The End of the First ACT.

ACT the Second.

_Enter Sir _Francis Gripe_, _Miranda_._

Sir _Fran._ Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.

_Miran._ Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha; Oh, I shall die with Laughing.--The most Romantick Adventure: Ha, ha! what does the odious young Fop mean? A Hundred Pieces to talk an Hour with me; Ho, ha.

Sir _Fran._ And I'm to be by too; there's the Jest; Adod, if it had been in Private, I shou'd not have car'd to trust the young Dog.

_Mirand._ Indeed and Indeed, but you might _Gardy_.--Now methinks there's no Body Handsomer than you; So Neat, so Clean, so Good-Humour'd, and so Loving.--

Sir _Fran._ Pritty Rogue, Pritty Rogue, and so thou shalt find me, if thou do'st prefer thy _Gardy_ before these Caperers of the Age, thou shalt out-shine the Queen's Box on an _Opera_ Night; thou shalt be the Envy of the Ring (for I will Carry thee to _Hide-Park_) and thy Equipage shall Surpa.s.s, the what--d'ye call 'em Amba.s.sadors.

_Miran._ Nay, I'm sure the Discreet Part of my s.e.x will Envy me more for the Inside Furniture, when you are in it, than my Outside Equipage.

Sir _Fran._ A Cunning Bagage, a faith thou art, and a wise one too; and to show thee thou hast not chose amiss, I'll this moment Disinherit my Son, and Settle my whole Estate upon thee.

_Miran._ There's an old Rogue now: (_Aside._) No, _Gardy_, I would not have your Name be so Black in the World--You know my Father's Will runs, that I am not to possess my Estate, without your Consent, till I'm Five and Twenty; you shall only abate the odd Seven Years, and make me Mistress of my Estate to Day, and I'll make you Master of my Person to Morrow.

Sir _Fran._ Humph? that may not be safe--No _Chargy_, I'll Settle it upon thee for _Pin-mony_; and that will be every bit as well, thou know'st.