_Mar._ Ay, ay, Love comes just like an Ague Fit.
_Fas._ What alteration here? Now I am all on Fire! _Alcides_ Shirt sticks close; Fire, incestious Fire, I blaze! I burn! I Rost! I Fry! Fire! Fire! [_Exit._
_Betty._ And my Lady will bring Water, Water, ha, ha, ha.
_Mar._ Laugh heartily, Mrs. _Betty_, go off Laughing.
_Mar._ So, Mr. _Praiseall_, here's a difficult matter brought about with much ease.
_Prais._ Yes, Faith Madam, so there is; the young Gentleman made no great Scruple to fall in Love with his Mother-in-Law.
_Mar._ O fie, Mr. _Praiseall_, 'twas the Struglings of his Virtue put him in such a Passion.
_Prais._ Ah! Madam! When once Virtue comes to strugle, either in Male or Female, it commonly yields.
_Mars._ You are waggish----Now for my Dance----Mrs.-----Mrs. _Cross_, Mrs. _Cross_, come you little Cherubim, your Dance.
_Aw'dwell._ Pray, Madam, who is this Dance to entertain?
_Mar._ What, do you sit an Hour to study a cross Question? Why, to satisfie you, Sir, you are to suppose _Fastin_, in passing towards his Mothers Lodgings, may, out of some Gallery, see it; now you are answered.
Mr. _Prais._ Ay, and sufficiently too: A Gallery Balcony, twenty Peepholes.
Mrs. _Cross_. Madam, I cou'd wish you wou'd not be disoblig'd if I gave up this Part, I shall get my self, nor you, no Credit by it.
_Mar._ How, Mrs. _Cross_! Disoblig'd! Assure your self, I shall resent it ill to the last Degree, what throw up my Heroine! my _Isabella_! Was there ever a Character more Chaste, more Noble, or more Pitiful?
Mrs. _Cross_. Yes, very Chaste, when I am in Love with my Father-in-Law's Steward, I know not why, nor wherefore.
_Mar._ Mrs. _Cross_, I maintain, no Woman in the Play-House, nor out of the Play-house, can be chaster than I ma'e _Isabella_, but trouble your Head no further, I'll do the Part my self.
_Mar._ And let me tell you Mistress _Cross_, I shall command whatever is in the Wardrobe, I assure you!
Mrs _Cross_. Any of my Gowns are at your Service, if they'll fit you, Madam.
_Mar._ Nay, they shall be; perhaps, without boasting, I command them, that command you.
Mrs. _Cross_. Perhaps 'tis not worth boasting on; there's your part. [_Exit._
_Mar._ A little inconsiderable Creature! Well, she shall see how much better 'twill be done, and for meer madness, hang her self in her own Garters. Mrs. _Wellfed_, I'll wear a white Feather, That, I believe, will become me best. _Patty_, is _Patty_ there?