[They walk by one another, he with his Hat cocked, she fretting, and tearing her Fan; he offers her his Box, she strikes it out of his Hand; while he is gathering it up, Brazen enters, and takes her round the Waist; she cuffs him.]
Brazen. What, here before me, my dear!
Mel. What means this insolence?
Lucy. Are you mad? don't you see Mr. Worthy?
[To Brazen.
Brazen. No, no; I'm struck blind—Worthy! odso! well turned—My mistress has wit at her fingers' ends—Madam, I ask your pardon; 'tis our way abroad—Mr. Worthy, you're the happy man.
Wor. I don't envy your happiness very much, if the lady can afford no other sort of favours but what she has bestowed upon you.
Mel. I'm sorry the favour miscarried, for it was designed for you, Mr. Worthy; and be assured 'tis the last and only favour you must expect at my hands——captain, I ask your pardon.
[Exit with Lucy.
Brazen. I grant it——You see, Mr. Worthy, 'twas only a random-shot; it might have taken off your head as well as mine. Courage, my dear! 'tis the fortune of war; but the enemy has thought fit to withdraw, I think.