Prais. I am all Ear.
Mars. I wou'd you were——I was just beginning to speak.
Prais. Mum, I ha' done a Fault.
Aw'dw. Sure this Scene will chace her from my Soul. [Aside.
Mars. Thy Head! Thy Head! Proud City!— I'll say no more of his; I don't love to repeat other Peoples Works;—now my own.— Thy solid Stones, and thy cemented Walls, this Arm shall scatter into Atoms; then on thy Ruins will I mount! Mount my aspiring Spirit mount! Hit yon Azure Roof, and justle Gods;— [Ex. Patty. My Fan, my Fan, Patty.— [All clap.
Prais. Ah! Poor Ben! Poor Ben! You know, Madam, there was a famous Poet pick'd many a Hole in his Coat in several Prefaces.—He found fault, but never mended the Matter—Your Ladyship has lay'd his Honour in the Dust.—Poor Ben! 'Tis well thou art dead; this News had broke thy Heart.
Mars. Then in the Conspiracy, I make Fulvia a Woman of the nicest Honour; and such Scenes!
Mrs. Wellf. Madam, you forget the Rehearsal.
Mars. Oh Gods! That I could live in a Cave! Ecchoes wou'd repeat, but not interrupt me; Madam, if you are beholden to those Creatures, I am not; let 'em wait, let 'em wait, or live without me if they can.
Enter Patty.