Prince. Pray Heaven she lyes but handsomly— Aside.
—for mine, Mirtilla! Ha—ha—
Mir. Am I not yours? You cannot doubt my Vows.
Geo. She’ll do’t, and make me love her anew for her rare dexterity at dissembling.
Prince. I left you wearied, going to your Bed, but find you at your Toylet gayly dress’d, as if some Conquest you design’d e’er morning.
Mir. Manage, Sir, from the Fire, secur’d these Trifles, and I was trying several Dresses on; that this slight Beauty that you say has charm’d you, might, when you saw it next, complete the Conquest.
Geo. And that thou wilt, if Flattery can do’t.
Prince. Now, were she guilty, as I’m sure she’s not, this Softness would undo me, and appease me.
Mir. You seem as if you doubted what I say. This while, Olivia gets off unseen.
By all the Powers—