[She goes out, and all but Wild. Sir Anth. and
Sir Char, who stands sadly looking after her.
Sir Anth. A Heavenly Girl!—Well, now she’s gone, by George, I am for disputing your Title to her by dint of Sword.
Sir Char. I wo’not fight.
Wild. Another time will decide it, Sir. [Wild, goes out.
Sir Anth. After your whining Prologue, Sir, who the Devil would have expected such a Farce?—Come, Charles, take up thy sword, Charles; and d’ye hear forget me this Woman.—
Sir Char. Forget her, Sir! there never was a thing so excellent!
Sir Anth. You lye, Sirrah, you lye, there’s a thousand
As fair, as young, and kinder by this day.
We’ll into th’ Country, Charles, where every Grove
Affords us rustick Beauties,
That know no Pride nor Painting,
And that will take it and be thankful, Charles;
Fine wholesom Girls that fall like ruddy Fruit,
Fit for the gathering, Charles.
Sir Char. Oh, Sir, I cannot relish the coarse Fare.
But what’s all this, Sir, to my present Passion?
Sir Anth. Passion, Sir! you shall have no Passion, Sir.
Sir Char. No Passion, Sir! shall I have Life and Breath?