SCENE I. The Park.

Enter CLERIMONT and ATALL.

Cler. MR. Atall, your very humble servant. Atall. O, Clerimont, such an adventure! I was just going to your lodgings; such a transporting accident! in short, I am now positively in love for altogether. Cler. All the sex together, 1 believe.

Atall. Nay, if thou dost not believe me, and stand my friend, I am ruin'd past redemption.

Cler. Dear sir, if I stand your friend without believing you, won't that do as well? But why should you think I don't believe you? I have seen you twice in love within this fortnight; and it would be hard indeed to suppose a heart of so much mettle could not hold out a third engagement.

Atall. Then, to be serious, in one word, I am honourably in love; and, if she proves the woman I am sure she must, will positively marry

her.

Cler. Marry! O degenerate virtue!
Atall. Now, will you help me?

Cler. Sir, you may depend upon me. leave first to ask a question or two. honourable lady's name?

Atall. Faith, I don't know.
Cler. What are her parents?
Atall. I can't tell.

Cler. What fortune has she?
Atall. I don't know.

Cler. Where does she live?
Atall. I can't tell.

Pray give me
What is this

Cler. A very concise account of the person you design to marry. Pray, sir, what is it you do know of her?

Atall. That I'll tell you. Coming yesterday from Greenwich by water, I overtook a pair of oars, whose lovely freight was one single lady, and a fellow in a handsome livery in the stern. When I came up, I had at first resolved to use the privilege of the element, and bait her with waterman's wit, till I came to the bridge; but, as soon as she saw me, she very prudently prevented my design; and, as I passed, bowed to me with an humble blush, that spoke at once such sense, so just a fear, and modesty, as put the loosest of my thoughts to rout. To be brief, her conversation was as charming as her person; both easy, unconstrained, and sprightly,

Cler. Pray, sir, how came you so well acquainted with her?

Atall. By the most fortunate misfortune sure that ever was: for, as we were shooting the bridge, her boat, by the negligence of the waterman, was overset; out jumps the footman to take care of a single rogue, and down went the poor lady to the bottom. At sight of her I plunged in, caught her in my arms, and, with much ado, supported her till my waterman pulled in to

save us.

Cler. What happiness!

Atall. When she was a little recovered from her fright, she began to inquire my name, abode, and circumstances, that she might know to whom she owed

her life. Now, to tell you the truth, I durst not trust her with my real name, lest she should from thence have discovered that my father was now actually under bonds to marry me to another woman; so, faith, I even told her my name was Freeman, a Gloucestershire gentleman, of a good estate, just come to town about a chancery suit. Besides, I was unwilling any accident should let my father know of my being yet in England, lest he should find me out, and force me to marry the woman I never saw (for which, you know, he commanded me home) before I have time to prevent it.

Cler. Well, but could you not learn the lady's name all this while?

Atall. No, faith, she was inexorable to all entreaties; only told me, in general terms, that if what I vowed to her was sincere, she would give me a proof in a few days what hazards she would run to requite my services; so, after having told her where she might hear of me, I saw her into a chair, pressed her by the cold rosy fingers, kissed them warm, and parted.

Čler. What, then you are quite off with the lady, I suppose, that you made an acquaintance with in the park last week?

Atall. No, no; not so neither: one's my Juno, all pride and beauty; but this my Venus, all life, love, and softness. Now, what I beg of thee, dear Clerimont, is this: Mrs. Juno, as I told you, having done me the honour of a civil visit or two at my own lodgings, I must needs borrow thine to entertain Mrs. Venus in; for if the rival goddesses should meet and clash, you know there would be the devil to do between them.

Cler. Well, sir, my lodgings are at your service:but you must be very private and sober, I can tell you; for my landlady's very particular; if she suspects your design, you're blown up, depend upon't.

Atall. Don't fear; I'll be as careful as a guilty conscience: but I want immediate possession; for I ex

pect to hear from her every moment, and have already directed her to send thither. Pr'ythee, come with me.

Cler. 'Faith you must excuse me; I expect some ladies in the park that I would not miss of for an empire: but yonder's my servant, he shall conduct you.

Atall. Very good! that will do as well then; I'll send my man along with him to expect her commands, and call me if she sends: and in the mean time I'll e'en go home to my own lodgings; for, to tell you the truth, I expect a small message there from my goddess imperial. And I am not so much in love with my new bird in the bush, as to let t'other fly out of my hand for her.

Cler. And pray, sir, what name does your goddess imperial, as you call her, know you by?

Atall. Oh, sir, with her I pass for a man of arms, and am called colonel Standfast; with my new face, John Freeman, of Flatland Hall, esq.-But time flies: I must leave you.

Cler. Well, dear Atall, I'm yours- Good luck to you. [Exit Atall.]-What a happy fellow is this, that owes his success with the women purely to his inconstancy? Here comes another too, almost as happy as he, a fellow that's wise enough to be but half in love, and make his whole life a studied idleness.

Enter CARELESS.

So, Careless! you're constant, I see, to your morning's saunter. Well, how stand matters?—I hear strange things of thee; that, after having railed at marriage all thy life, thou hast resolved to fall into the noose at last.

Care. I don't see any great terror in the noose, as you call it, when a man's weary of liberty: the liberty of playing the fool, when one's turned of thirty, is not of much value.

Cler. Hey-day! Then you begin to have nothing in your head now, but settlements, children, and the main chance?

Care. Even so, faith; but in hopes to come at 'em