Lady Fan. Nay, now you make me blush, Mr. Treble; but pray let's hear what you have done.
Treb. You shall, Madam.
A SONG, to be sung between a Man and a Woman.
M. Ah lovely Nymph, the World's on fire;
Veil, veil those cruel Eyes:
W. The World may then in Flames expire,
And boast that so it dies.
M. But when all Mortals are destroy'd,
Who then shall sing your Praise?
W. Those who are fit to be employ'd:
The Gods shall Altars raise.
Treb. How does your Ladyship like it, Madam?
Lady Fan. Rapture, Rapture, Mr. Treble! I'm all Rapture! O Wit and Art, what Power have you when join'd! I must needs tell you the Birth of this little Dialogue, Mr. Treble. Its Father was a Dream, and its Mother was the Moon. I dream'd that by an unanimous Vote, I was chosen Queen of that pale World; and that the first time I appear'd upon my Throne——all my Subjects fell in love with me. Just then I wak'd, and seeing Pen, Ink and Paper lie idle upon the Table, I slid into my Morning-Gown, and writ this impromptu.