Will. Ah Rogue! such black Eyes, such a Face, such a Mouth, such Teeth,—and so much Wit!
Belv. All, all, and a thousand Charms besides.
Will. Why, dost thou know her?
Belv. Know her! ay, ay, and a Pox take me with all my Heart for being modest.
Will. But hark ye, Friend of mine, are you my Rival? and have I been only beating the Bush all this while?
Belv. I understand thee not—I’m mad—see here— [Shews the Picture.
Will. Ha! whose Picture is this?—’tis a fine Wench.
Fred. The Colonel’s Mistress, Sir.
Will. Oh, oh, here—I thought it had been another Prize—come, come, a Bottle will set thee right again. [Gives the Picture back.
Belv. I am content to try, and by that time ’twill be late enough for our Design.