Free. You wou’d suspect my Love then, and swear that all the Adoration I pay you, were, as we do to Heav’n, for Interest only.
L. Des. How you mistake my Love, but do so still, so you will let me give these—Proofs of it. [Gives him Gold.
Free. Thus, like Atlante, you drop Gold in my Pursuit
To Love, I may not over-take you:
What’s this to giving me one happy minute?
Take back your Gold, and give me current Love,
The Treasure of your Heart, not of your Purse—
When shall we meet, Maria?
L. Des. You know my leisure Hours are when [my Honourable Lord is busied] in Affairs of State, or at his Prayers; from which long-winded [Exercise] I have of late withdrawn my self: three Hours by the Clock he prays [extemporary], which is, for National and Household Blessings: For the first—’tis to confound the Interest of the King, that the Lard wou’d deliver him, his Friends, Adherers and Allies, wheresoever scatter’d about the Face of the whole Earth, into the Clutches of the Righteous: Press ’em, good Lard, even as the Vintager doth the Grape in the Wine-Press, till the Waters and gliding Channels are made red with the Blood of the Wicked. [In a Tone.
Free. And grant the Faithful to be mighty, and to be strong in Persecution; and more especially, ah! I beseech thee confound that malignant Tory Freeman—that he may never rise up in judgment against thy Servant, who has taken from him his Estate, his Sustenance and Bread; give him Grace of thy infinite Mercy, to hang himself, if thy People can find no zealous Witnesses to swear him to the Gallows legally. Ah, we have done very much for thee, Lard, thou shoud’st consider us thy Flock, and we shou’d be as good to thee in another thing. [In a Tone.