assum'd pretend to all Dominion. There's not a Joy thou hast in store
   I shall not then command: For which I'll pay thee back my Soul, my
   Life. Come, let's begin th' account this happy minute. Ang. And will
   you pay me then the Price I ask? Will. Oh, why dost thou draw me from
   an awful Worship, By shewing thou art no Divinity? Conceal the Fiend,
   and shew me all the Angel; Keep me but ignorant, and I'll be devout,
   And pay my Vows for ever at this Shrine. [Kneels, and kisses her Hand.
   Ang. The Pay I mean is but thy love for mine. -Can you give that?
   Will. Intirely- come, let's withdraw: where I'll renew my Vows,- and
   breathe 'em with such Ardour, thou shalt not doubt my Zeal. Ang. Thou
   hast a Power too strong to be resisted. [Ex. Will. and Angelica.
   Moret. Now my Curse go with you- Is all our Project fallen to this? to
   love the only Enemy to our Trade? Nay, to love such a Shameroon, a
   very Beggar; nay, a Pirate-Beggar, whose Business is to rifle and be
   gone, a No-Purchase, No-Pay Tatterdemalion, an English Piccaroon; a
   Rogue that fights for daily Drink, and takes a Pride in being loyally
   lousy- Oh, I could curse now, if I durst- This is the Fate of most
   Whores. Trophies, which from believing Fops we win, Are Spoils to
   those who cozen us again. ACT III. SCENE I. A Street. Enter Florinda,
   Valeria, Hellena, in Antick different Dresses from what they were in
   before, Callis attending. Flor. I wonder what should make my Brother
   in so ill a Humour: I hope he has not found out our Ramble this
   Morning. Hell. No, if he had, we should have heard on't at both Ears,
   and have been mew'd up this Afternoon; which I would not for the World
   should have happen'd- Hey ho! I'm sad as a Lover's Lute. Val. Well,
   methinks we have learnt this Trade of Gipsies as readily as if we had
   been bred upon the Road to Loretto: and yet I did so fumble, when I
   told the Stranger his Fortune, that I was afraid I should have told my
   own and yours by mistake- But methinks Hellena has been very serious
   ever since. Flor. I would give my Garters she were in love, to be
   reveng'd upon her, for abusing me- How is't, Hellena? Hell. Ah!- would
   I had never seen my mad Monsieur- and yet for all your laughing I am
   not in love- and yet this small Acquaintance, o'my Conscience, will
   never out of my Head. Val. Ha, ha, ha- I laugh to think how thou art
   fitted with a Lover, a Fellow that, I warrant, loves every new Face he
   sees. Hell. Hum- he has not kept his Word with me here- and may be
   taken up- that thought is not very pleasant to me- what the Duce
   should this be now that I feel? Val. What is't like? Hell. Nay, the
   Lord knows- but if I should be hanged, I cannot chuse but be angry and
   afraid, when I think that mad Fellow should be in love with any Body
   but me- What to think of my self I know not- Would I could meet with
   some true damn'd Gipsy, that I might know my Fortune. Val. Know it!
   why there's nothing so easy; thou wilt love this wandring Inconstant
   till thou find'st thy self hanged about his Neck, and then be as mad
   to get free again. Flor. Yes, Valeria; we shall see her bestride his
   Baggage-horse, and follow him to the Campaign. Hell. So, so; now you
   are provided for, there's no care taken of poor me- But since you have
   set my Heart a wishing, I am resolv'd to know for what. I will not die
   of the Pip, so I will not. Flor. Art thou mad to talk so? Who will
   like thee well enough to have thee, that hears what a mad Wench thou
   art? Hell. Like me! I don't intend every he that likes me shall have
   me, but he that I like: I shou'd have staid in the Nunnery still, if I
   had lik'd my Lady Abbess as well as she lik'd me. No, I came thence,
   not (as my wise Brother imagines) to take an eternal Farewel of the
   World, but to love and to be belov'd; and I will be belov'd, or I'll
   get one of your Men, so I will. Val. Am I put into the Number of
   Lovers? Hell. You! my Couz, I know thou art too good natur'd to leave
   us in any Design: Thou wou't venture a Cast, tho thou comest off a
   Loser, especially with such a Gamester- I observ'd your Man, and your
   willing Ears incline that way; and if you are not a Lover, 'tis an Art
   soon learnt- that I find. [Sighs. Flor. I wonder how you learnt to
   love so easily, I had a thousand Charms to meet my Eyes and Ears, e'er
   I cou'd yield; and 'twas the knowledge of Belvile's Merit, not the
   surprising Person, took my Soul- Thou art too rash to give a Heart at
   first sight. Hell. Hang your considering Lover; I ne'er thought beyond
   the Fancy, that 'twas a very pretty, idle, silly kind of Pleasure to
   pass ones time with, to write little, soft, nonsensical Billets, and
   with great difficulty and danger receive Answers; in which I shall
   have my Beauty prais'd, my Wit admir'd (tho little or none) and have
   the Vanity and Power to know I am desirable; then I have the more
   Inclination that way, because I am to be a Nun, and so shall not be
   suspected to have any such earthly Thoughts about me- But when I walk
   thus- and sigh thus- they'll think my Mind's upon my Monastery, and
   cry, how happy 'tis she's so resolv'd!- But not a Word of Man. Flor.
   What a mad Creature's this! Hell. I'll warrant, if my Brother hears
   either of you sigh, he cries (gravely)- I fear you have the
   Indiscretion to be in love, but take heed of the Honour of our House,
   and your own unspotted Fame; and so he conjures on till he has laid
   the soft-wing'd God in your Hearts, or broke the Birds-nest- But see
   here comes your Lover: but where's my inconstant? let's step aside,
   and we may learn something. [Go aside. Enter Belvile, Fred. and Blunt.
   Belv. What means this? the Picture's taken in. Blunt. It may be the
   Wench is good-natur'd, and will be kind gratis. Your Friend's a proper
   handsom Fellow. Belv. I rather think she has cut his Throat and is
   fled: I am mad he should throw himself into Dangers- Pox on't, I shall
   want him to night- let's knock and ask for him. Hell. My heart goes
   a-pit a-pat, for fear 'tis my Man they talk of. [Knock, Moretta above.
   Moret. What would you have? Belv. Tell the Stranger that enter'd here
   about two Hours ago, that his Friends stay here for him. Moret. A
   Curse upon him for Moretta, would he were at the Devil- but he's
   coming to you. [Enter Wilmore. Hell. I, I, 'tis he. Oh how this vexes
   me. Belv. And how, and how, dear Lad, has Fortune smil'd? Are we to
   break her Windows, or raise up Altars to her! hah! Will. Does not my
   Fortune sit triumphantant on my Brow? dost not see the little wanton
   God there all gay and smiling? have I not an Air about my Face and
   Eyes, that distinguish me from the Croud of common Lovers? By Heav'n,
   Cupid's Quiver has not half so many Darts as her Eyes- Oh such a Bona
   Roba, to sleep in her Arms is lying in Fresco, all perfum'd Air about
   me. Hell. Here's fine encouragement for me to fool on. [Aside. Will.
   Hark ye, where didst thou purchase that rich Canary we drank to-day?