Will. I should have chang’d my Eternal Buff too: but no matter, my little Gipsy wou’d not have found me out then: for if she should change hers, it is impossible I should know her, unless I should hear her prattle—A Pox on’t, I cannot get her out of my Head: Pray Heaven, if ever I do see her again, she prove damnable ugly, that I may fortify my self against her Tongue.
Belv. Have a care of Love, for o’ my conscience she was not of a Quality to give thee any hopes.
Will. Pox on ’em, why do they draw a Man in then? She has play’d with my Heart so, that ’twill never lie still till I have met with some kind Wench, that will play the Game out with me—Oh for my Arms full of soft, white, kind—Woman! such as I fancy Angelica.
Belv. This is her House, if you were but in stock to get admittance; they have not din’d yet; I perceive the Picture is not out.
Enter Blunt.
Will. I long to see the Shadow of the fair Substance, a Man may gaze on that for nothing.
Blunt. Colonel, thy Hand—and thine, Fred. I have been an Ass, a deluded Fool, a very Coxcomb from my Birth till this Hour, and heartily repent my little Faith.
Belv. What the Devil’s the matter with thee Ned?
Blunt. Oh such a Mistress, Fred, such a Girl!
Will. Ha! where?