Cor. Stay.—
Gal. I will be rack’d first, let go thy hold!
[In fury.
—Unless thou wou’dst repent.—
[In a soft tone.
Cor. I cannot of my fixt Resolves for Virtue! —But if you could but—love me—honourably— For I assum’d this Habit and this Dress—
Gal. To cheat me of my Heart the readiest way: And now, like gaming Rooks, unwilling to give o’er till you have hook’d in my last stake, my Body too, you cozen me with Honesty.—Oh, damn the Dice—I’ll have no more on’t, I, the Game’s too deep for me, unless you play’d upon the square, or I could cheat like you.— Farewel, Quality— [Goes out.
Cor. He’s gone; Philippa, run and fetch him back; I have but this short Night allow’d for Liberty; Perhaps to morrow I may be a Slave. [Ex. Phil. —Now o’ my Conscience there never came good of this troublesome Virtue— hang’t, I was too serious; but a Devil on’t, he looks so charmingly—and was so very pressing, I durst trust my gay Humour and good Nature no farther. [She walks about, Sir Signal peeps and then comes out.
Sir Sig. He’s gone!—so, ha, ha, ha. As I hope to breathe, Madam, you have nost neatly dispatcht him; poor fool—to compare his Wit and his Person to mine.—
Cor. Hah, the Coxcomb here still.—
Sir Sig. Well, this Countenance of mine never fail’d me yet.
Cor. Ah—
[Looking about on him, sees his face black,
squeaks and runs away.