Belv. No, I have made no new Amours
since I came to Naples. Fred. You have left none behind you in Paris.
Belv. Neither. Fred. I can't divine the Cause then; unless the old
Cause, the want of Mony. Blunt. And another old Cause, the want of a
Wench- Wou'd not that revive you? Belv. You're mistaken, Ned. Blunt.
Nay, 'Sheartlikins, then thou art past Cure. Fred. I have found it
out; thou hast renew'd thy Acquaintance with the Lady that cost thee
so many Sighs at the Siege of Pampelona- pox on't, what d'ye call her-
her Brother's a noble Spaniard- Nephew to the dead General- Florinda-
ay, Florinda- And will nothing serve thy turn but that damn'd virtuous
Woman, whom on my Conscience thou lov'st in spite too, because thou
seest little or no possibility of gaining her? Belv. Thou art
mistaken, I have Interest enough in that lovely Virgin's Heart, to
make me proud and vain, were it not abated by the Severity of a
Brother, who perceiving my Happiness- Fred. Has civilly forbid thee
the House? Belv. 'Tis so, to make way for a powerful Rival, the
Vice-Roy's Son, who has the advantage of me, in being a Man of
Fortune, a Spaniard, and her Brother's Friend; which gives him liberty
to make his Court, whilst I have recourse only to Letters, and distant
Looks from her Window, which are as soft and kind as those which
Heav'n sends down on Penitents.
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