Now the Game begins. Will. Fine pretty
Creatures! may a stranger have leave to look and love?- What's here-
Roses for every Month! [Reads the Paper. Blunt. Roses for every Month!
what means that? Belv. They are, or wou'd have you think they're
Curtezans, who here in Naples are to be hir'd by the Month. Will. Kind
and obliging to inform us- Pray where do these Roses grow? I would
fain plant some of 'em in a Bed of mine. Wom. Beware such Roses, Sir.
Will. A Pox of fear: I'll be bak'd with thee between a pair of Sheets,
and that's thy proper Still, so I might but strow such Roses over me
and under me- Fair one, wou'd you wou'd give me leave to gather at
your Bush this idle Month, I wou'd go near to make some Body smell of
it all the Year after. Belv. And thou hast need of such a Remedy, for
thou stinkest of Tar and Rope-ends, like a Dock or Pesthouse. [The
Woman puts her self into the Hands of a Man, and Exit. Will. Nay, nay,
you shall not leave me so. Belv. By all means use no Violence here.
Will. Death! just as I was going to be damnably in love, to have her
led off! I could pluck that Rose out of his Hand, and even kiss the
Bed, the Bush it grew in. Fred. No Friend to Love like a long Voyage
at Sea. Blunt. Except a Nunnery, Fred. Will. Death! but will they not
be kind, quickly be kind? Thou know'st I'm no tame Sigher, but a
rampant Lion of the Forest.
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