Sir Feeb. Oh, Francis! Come hither, Francis. Lette, here’s a young Rogue has a mind to kiss thee. [Puts them together, she starts back. —Nay, start not, he’s my own Flesh and Blood, My Nephew—Baby—look, look how the young Rogues stare at one another; like will to like, I see that.
Let. There’s something in his Face so like my Bellmour, it calls my Blushes up, and leaves my Heart defenceless.
Enter Ralph.
Ralph. Sir, Dinner’s on the Table.
Sir Feeb. Come, come—let’s in then—Gentlemen and Ladies,
And share to day my Pleasures and Delight,
But—
Adds bobs, they must be all mine own at Night.
[Exeunt.
ACT II.
SCENE I. Gayman’s Lodging.
_Enter Gayman in a Night-Cap, and an old Campaign Coat tied about him, very melancholy_.
Gay. Curse on my Birth! Curse on my faithless Fortune!
Curse on my Stars, and curst be all—but Love!
That dear, that charming Sin, though t’have pull’d
Innumerable Mischiefs on my head,
I have not, nor I cannot find Repentance for.
Nor let me die despis’d, upbraided, poor:
Let Fortune, Friends and all abandon me—
But let me hold thee, thou soft smiling God,
Close to my heart while Life continues there.
Till the last pantings of my vital Blood,
Nay, the last spark of Life and Fire be Love’s!