might have been hang'd for a Thief.

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——

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Lucy. What all amort, Signior, no Courage left?

Lud. Faith, not much——I think I have lost my Manhood with my Breeches——This Transformation may suit with Gods, but not with Mortals of my Humour——Come, prithee, good Mistress Lucy, help me to my proper Shape again; for tho' I have a natural Inclination to Petticoats, I hate 'em upon my own back.

——

——

——

[A Flourish of Music Within.

Lucy. Hark! I hear Count Bassino's Music: He gives a Mask To-night; you are already drest for Masquerade, won't you stay and take a Dance?

Lud. Egad, I'd rather dance a Jig with thee elsewhere: Faith thou'rt a pretty Girl—and hast a good deal of Wit too——But then, Pox on't, thour't honest, thou sayeth, thou cannot swallow a Pill, except 'tis gilded over with Matrimony.

——

Lucy. And that turns your Stomach, I warrant.

Lud. Why, Ay: Faith my Stomach is damn'd squeemish in these matters: Yet, egad, if I could find one with half as much Money as thou hast Wit and Beauty, I'd marry, and live honest.

Lucy. That is, you'd marry her Money——

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Lud. One with the other, Child: There's no living upon Love thou knowest——Tho' Faith I could live well enough too.

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