Bred.  No, were you born an humble Village-Maid,
That fed a Flock upon the neighbouring Plain;
With all that shining Vertue in your Soul,
By Heaven, I wou’d adore you—­love you—­wed you—­
Though the gay World were lost by such a Nuptial.
                                    [Bear. looks on him. 
—­This—­I wou’d do, were I my Friend the Squire
          
                          [Recollecting.

Bea.  Ay, if you were me—­you might do what you pleas’d; but I’m of another mind.

Dia.  Shou’d I consent, my Father is a Man whom Interest sways, not Honour; and whatsoever Promises he ’as made you, he means to break ’em all, and I am destin’d to another.

Bea.  How, another—­his Name, his Name, Madam—­here’s Ned and I fear ne’er a single Man i’th’ Nation, What is he—­what is he?—­

Dia.  A Fop, a Fool, a beaten Ass—­a Blockhead.

Bea.  What a damn’d Shame’s this, that Women shou’d be sacrificed to Fools, and Fops must run away with Heiresses—­whilst we Men of Wit and Parts dress and dance, and cock and travel for nothing but to be tame Keepers.

Dia.  But I, by Heaven, will never be that Victim:  But where my Soul is vow’d, ’tis fix’d for ever.

Bred.  Are you resolv’d, are you confirm’d in this?  Oh my Diana, speak it o’er again. [Runs to her, and embraces her.  Bless me, and make me happier than a Monarch.

Bea.  Hold, hold, dear Ned—­that’s my part, I take it.

Bred.  Your Pardon, Sir, I had forgot my self.  —­But time is short—­what’s to be done in this?

Bea.  Done!  I’ll enter the House with Fire and Sword, d’ye see, not that I care this—­but I’ll not be fob’d off—­what, do they take me for a Fool—­an Ass?

Bred.  Madam, dare you run the risk of your Father’s Displeasure, and run away with the Man you love?

Dia.  With all my Soul—­

Bea.  That’s hearty—­and we’ll do it—­Ned and I here—­and I love an Amour with an Adventure in’t like Amadis de Gaul—­Harkye, Ned, get a Coach and six ready to night when ’tis dark, at the back Gate—­

Bred.  And I’ll get a Parson ready in my Lodging, to which I have a Key through the Garden, by which we may pass unseen.

Bea.  Good—­Mun, here’s Company—­

    Enter Gayman with his Hat and Money in’t, Sir Cautious
    in a rage, Sir Feeble, Lady Fulbank, Leticia, Captain
    Noisey, Bellmour.

Sir Cau.  A hundred Pound lost already!  Oh Coxcomb, old Coxcomb, and a wise Coxcomb—­to turn Prodigal at my Years, why, I was bewitcht!

Sir Feeb.  Shaw, ’twas a Frolick, Sir, I have lost a hundred Pound as well as you.  My Lady has lost, and your Lady has lost, and the rest—­ what, old Cows will kick sometimes, what’s a hundred Pound?