Will. That Absence makes me think of her so much; and all
the Passions thou find'st about me are to the Sex alone. Give me a
Woman, Ned, a fine young amorous Wanton, who would allay this Fire
that makes me rave thus, and thou shouldst find me no longer
particular, but cold as Winter-Nights to this La Nuche: Yet since I
lost my little charming Gipsey, nothing has gone so near my Heart as
this. Blunt. Ay, there was a Girl, the only she thing that could
reconcile me to the Petticoats again after my Naples Adventure, when
the Quean rob'd and stript me. Will. Oh name not Hellena! She was a
Saint to be ador'd on Holy-days. Enter Beaumond. Beau. Willmore! my
careless wild inconstant- how is't, my lucky Rover? [embracing. Will.
My Life! my Soul! how glad am I to find thee in my Arms again- and
well- When left you Paris? Paris, that City of Pottage and Crab-Wine
swarming with Lacquies and Philies, whose Government is carried on by
most Hands, not most Voices- And prithee how does Belvile and his
Lady? Beau. I left 'em both in Health at St. Germains. Will. Faith, I
have wisht my self with ye at the old Temple of Bacchus at St. Clou,
to sacrifice a Bottle and a Damsel to his Deity. Beau. My constant
Place of Worship whilst there, tho for want of new Saints my Zeal grew
something cold, which I was ever fain to supply with a Bottle, the old
Remedy when Phyllis is sullen and absent.
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