Knap. What think you now, Master, of a pretty Wench to towze a little?

Tott.  He, he, he, [grins] I don’t know what you mean, Sir.

Knap.  Had you never any pleasant Thoughts o’the Fair Sex.

Tott.  I never lay with any Body but my Grand-mother; when she was in a good humour, she’d tickle a Body sometimes, but if she never meddl’d mith me, I never meddl’d with her.

Knap.  A sapless old Hen, you might as well have lain with a Paring-Shovel; but what think you of a young Woman, that’s warm, tender and inviting.

Shr.  By this Light, here’s Betty the Orange Woman from the Play-house.

    Enter Betty. [They rise

Bett.  Ah! you Devils are you here, why did n’t you come into the Pit to night, and eat an Orange,—­who have you got with you, by my lost Maidenhead, a meer Country Widgeon, you sly Toads will bubble him finely; let me go snacks, or I’ll discover it.  Come, Fellows, drink about; positively it’s very cold, fitting so behind at the Box Doors.

Shr.  Honest Betty, here’s Success to thee in ev’ry thing.

Bett.  Ay, Faith, but there’s little to do this Winter yet, now the Officers are come over, I hope, to have full Trade; I have had but one poor Shilling giv’n me to Night, and that was for carrying a Note from a Baronet in the Side Box to a Citizens Wife in the Gall’ry; but there was no harm in’t, ’twas only to treat with her here by and by, about borrowing a hundred Pound of her Husband upon the Reversion of a Parsonage. [To Knap.] Red Coat your Inclinations. [To Tott.] Sir, prosperity t’you, you are got into hopeful Company.

Tott.  Thank you, Mrs. Betty.

Shr.  Prithee Betty give us a Song.

Bett.  A Song, Pigsneyes, why, I have been roaring all Night with Six Temple Rakes at the Dog and Partridge Tavern in Wild-street, and am so hoarse I cou’d not sing a Line, were the whole Town to subscribe for me.

Knap.  Take t’other Glass, Betty.

Bett.  T’other Glass, Fellow, by the Bishop of Munster, these Puppies have a Design upon me! but give it me, however, for all that know me, know I never baulk my Glass.

Shr.  But the Song, the Song, Betty. [She Sings

    SONG.

I.

 How happy are we,
  Who from Virtue are free,
  That curbing Disease of the Mind,
  Can indulge ev’ry Taste,
  Love where we like best,
  Not by dull Reputation confin’d.

II.

 When were Young, fit to toy,
  Gay Delights we enjoy,
  And have Crouds of new Lovers wooing;
  When were old and decay’d,
  We procure for the Trade,
  Still in ev’ry Age we are doing.