Luc. And art not thou an unmerciful Rogue, not to afford him one Night
for all this?- I should not have been such a Jew. Phil. Blame me not,
Lucetta, to keep as much of thee as I can to my self- come, that
thought makes me wanton,- let's to Bed,- Sancho, lock up these. This
is the Fleece which Fools do bear, Design'd for witty Men to sheer.
[Exeunt. The Scene changes, and discovers Blunt, creeping out of a
Common Shore, his Face, &c., all dirty. Blunt. Oh Lord! [Climbing up.
I am got out at last, and (which is a Miracle) without a Clue- and now
to Damning and Cursing,- but if that would ease me, where shall I
begin? with my Fortune, my self, or the Quean that cozen'd me- What a
dog was I to believe in Women! Oh Coxcomb- ignorant conceited Coxcomb!
to fancy she cou'd be enamour'd with my Person, at the first sight
enamour'd- Oh, I'm a cursed Puppy, 'tis plain, Fool was writ upon my
Forehead, she perceiv'd it,- saw the Essex Calf there- for what
Allurements could there be in this Countenance? which I can indure,
because I'm acquainted with it- Oh, dull silly Dog! to be thus sooth'd
into a Cozening! Had I been drunk, I might fondly have credited the
young Quean! but as I was in my right Wits, to be thus cheated,
confirms I am a dull believing English Country Fop.- But my Comrades!
Death and the Devil, there's the worst of all- then a Ballad will be
sung to Morrow on the Prado, to a lousy Tune of the enchanted Squire,
and the annihilated Damsel- But Fred.
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