_Bac._ Ah! she retires--displeas’d I fear with my presumptuous Love,--Oh, pardon, fairest Creature. [Kneels.
_Queen._ I’ll talk no more, our Words exchange our Souls, and every Look fades all my blooming Honour, like Sun-beams on unguarded Roses--Take all our Kingdoms --make our People Slaves, and let me fall beneath your conquering Sword: but never let me hear you talk again, or gaze upon your Eyes.-- [Goes out.
_Bac._ She loves! by Heaven, she loves! and has not Art enough to hide her Flame, though she have cruel Honour to suppress it. However, I’ll pursue her to the Banquet. [Exit.
Enter _Surelove_ fan’d by two Negroes, followed by _Hazard_.
_Sure._ This Madam _Ranter_ is so prodigious a Treater --oh! I hate a Room that smells of a great Dinner, and what’s worse, a desert of Punch and Tobacco--what! are you taking leave so soon, Cousin?
_Haz._ Yes, Madam, but ‘tis not fit I should let you know with what regret I go,--but Business will be obey’d.
_Sure._ Some Letters to dispatch to _English_ Ladies you have left behind--come, Cousin, confess.
_Haz._ I own I much admire the _English_ Beauties but never yet have put their Fetters on.
_Sure._ Never in love! oh, then you have pleasure to come.
_Haz._ Rather a Pain when there’s no Hope attends it.
_Sure._ Oh, such Diseases quickly cure themselves.
_Haz._ I do not wish to find it so; for even in Pain I find a Pleasure too.
_Sure._ You are infected then, and come abroad for Cure.
_Haz._ Rather to receive my Wounds, Madam.
_Sure._ Already, Sir,--whoe’er she be, she made good haste to conquer, we have few here boast that Dexterity.
_Haz._ What think you of _Chrisante_, Madam?
_Sure._ I must confess your Love and your Despair are there plac’d right, of which I am not fond of being made a Confident, since I am assur’d she can love none but _Friendly_. [Coldly.
_Haz._ Let her love on as long as Life shall last, let _Friendly_ take her, and the Universe, so I had my next wish-- [Sighs. Madam, it is yourself that I adore--I should not be so vain to tell you this, but that I know you have found the Secret out already from my Sighs.
_Sure._ Forbear, Sir, and know me for your Kinsman’s Wife, and no more.
_Haz._ Be scornful as you please, rail at my Passion, and refuse to hear it; yet I’ll love on, and hope in spite of you; my Flame shall be so constant and submissive, it shall compel your Heart to some return.