Oliv. At his usual Diversion, Madam, drinking.
Mir. Do you wait near me to Night, I may perhaps have kinder Business for you e’er the Morning.
Oliv. You heap too many Blessings on me, Madam.
Prince. Oh, turn thy lovely Eyes upon thy Slave, that waits and watches for a tender Look.
Mir. Oh, Sir, why do you press a yielding Heart too much, undone by what you’ve said already?
Oliv. Those soft Addresses must be those of Love. Aside.
Mir. My Honour was in danger when I promis’d—and yet I blush to tell you I was pleas’d, and blest the dear necessity that forc’d me.
Oliv. Ha! ’tis the Man I love—and courts Mirtilla, and she receives him with inviting Looks. ’Sdeath, she’s a common Lover! already I’m arriv’d to Jealousy!
Enter George in Masquerade, with a Paper on his Back and Breast, goes to Mirtilla, sees one courting her.
Geo. What gilded thing is that?—I must disturb ’em—’Tis I, Mirtilla, languishing for the appointed Happiness, while you, perhaps, are taken up with different Thoughts—