Which serve but to delude good-natur’d Man,
And when thou hast him fast, betray’st his Heart!
Will. Beaumond!
Beau. Willmore! Is it with thee I must tug for Empire? For I lay claim to all this World of Beauty. [Takes La Nuche, looking with scorn on Willmore.
La Nu. Heavens, how got this Ruffian in?
Will. Hold, hold, dear Harry, lay no Hands on her till thou can’st make thy Claim good.
Beau. She’s mine, by Bargain mine, and that’s sufficient.
Will. In Law perhaps, it may for ought I know, but ’tis not so in Love: but thou’rt my Friend, and I’ll therefore give thee fair Play—if thou canst win her take her: But a Sword and a Mistress are not to be lost, if a Man can keep ’em.
Beau. I cannot blame thee, thou but acts thy self—
But thou fair Hypocrite, to whom I gave my Heart,