Sir Har.  Not a Word o’the Secret.

Mrs. Lov. [angrily] Sir Harry, I’m no tattler, depend upon’t; ’tis lock’d up in this Breast, safe and secure as lodg’d within your own [aside].  I’m ready to burst, ’till I tell it my Lady.

Sir Har.  So she’s brimful of it already.——­Now Exit, for my Friend to humour the design. [Exit.

Enter Lady Rodomont, and Mrs.  Lovejoy.

L. Rod.  Prithee, Cozen, what is’t you mean by the Collonel’s going to be marry’d?  You credulous Creatures, that are ignorant of the World, believe all the stuff you hear.  Or suppose him going to be marry’d; why do you trouble me with such idle Stories?

Mrs. Lov.  Nay, Madam, your Ladiship need’n’t be discompos’d about the Matter, I only told it you as a piece o’news, and if it be no concern t’you, you may soon forget it.

L. Rod.  Discompos’d, Creature!  Have you had your being in my Family so long not to know nothing under the Sun’s considerable enough to discompose me?  But ’tis a thing impossible; it’s not two Hours since he kneel’d to me, said his sole Happiness depended on my Smiles, with utmost Arguments enforc’d his Passion, faulter’d, look’d pale, and trembl’d as he spoke it:  Not that I who have had foreign Princes at my Feet, value the conqu’ring an English Collonel; but I that know my Power infallible, drew him by policy to that Confession, to have him, as I wou’d have all Mankind, my Slave.

Mrs. Lov.  Sir Harry, Madam, affirm’d it with that unaffected Air of Truth, enjoyn’d me so strict a Secrecy in the Matter, saying, if’t were discover’d his Life might be in danger; that you must pardon me, Madam, if I can’t help believing it.

L. Rod.  Cozen, you that have never been beyond Tunbridge-Wells, must’nt dispute with me that know the Intreagues of ev’ry Court and Country.  Matches an’t so easily made up, nor is it probable my slighting him, shou’d make another Lady value him; if it be true, he must have been in League with her some time, and, certainly, I shan’t care to be banter’d.——­But I’ll know that presently;—­Where are all my Fellows? prithee, Cozen, bid one of ’em come, hither. [Exit Mrs. Lov.

    Enter Footman.

Who order’d you, you fat, heavy heel’d Booby; you are two Hours creeping to the Gate?  Call another,—­

    Enter another Footman.

Nor you you Sot, you’ll loiter at ev’ry Ale-house you come to.  Send in the Yorkshire Footman that’s never out o’breath;——­

    Enter a Third.

This Fellow’s an intollerable Fool too; d’you hear Changling, go to Young Man’s Coffee-house, enquire for Collonel Blenheim; if he’s not there, run to the Smyrna, White’s, Tom’s, Will’s, Offendo’s, and the Gaunt; tell him I desire to speak with him presently; search the Park, the Play house, and all the Taverns and Gaming-houses you can think on; for, positively, if you don’t find him, I’ll immediately turn you off.