How mean you? Will.
How should I mean? Thou know'st there's but one way for a Woman to
oblige me. Belv. Don't prophane- the Maid is nicely virtuous. Will.
Who pox, then she's fit for nothing but a Husband; let her e'en go,
Colonel. Fred. Peace, she's the Colonel's Mistress, Sir. Will. Let her
be the Devil; if she be thy Mistress, I'll serve her- name the way.
Belv. Read here this Postcript. [Gives him a Letter. Will. [Reads.] At
Ten at night- at the Garden-Gate- of which, if I cannot get the Key, I
will contrive a way over the Wall- come attended with a Friend or
two.- Kind heart, if we three cannot weave a String to let her down a
Garden-Wall, 'twere pity but the Hangman wove one for us all. Fred.
Let her alone for that: your Woman's Wit, your fair kind Woman, will
out-trick a Brother or a Jew, and contrive like a Jesuit in Chains-
but see, Ned Blunt is stoln out after the Lure of a Damsel. [Ex. Blunt
and Lucet. Belv. So he'll scarce find his way home again, unless we
get him cry'd by the Bell-man in the Market-place, and 'twou'd sound
prettily- a lost English Boy of Thirty. Fred. I hope 'tis some common
crafty Sinner, one that will fit him; it may be she'll sell him for
Peru, the Rogue's sturdy and would work well in a Mine; at least I
hope she'll dress him for our Mirth; cheat him of all, then have him
well-favour'dly bang'd, and turn'd out naked at Midnight.
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