SCENE I.—A Dressing-room. A table covered with a toilet; clothes laid ready

Enter Dorimant in his gown and slippers, with a note in his hand made up, repeating verses.

Dor. Now for some ages had the pride of Spain Made the sun shine on half the world in vain.

[Then looking on the note. [For Mrs. Loveit.] What a dull insipid thing is a billet-doux written in cold blood, after the heat of the business is over! It is a tax upon good-nature which I have here been labouring to pay, and have done it, but with as much regret as ever fanatic paid the Royal Aid or Church Duties. ’Twill have the same fate, I know, that all my notes to her have had of late, ’twill not be thought kind enough. Faith, women are i’ the right when they jealously examine our letters, for in them we always first discover our decay of passion.—Hey! Who waits?

Enter Handy

Handy. Sir—

Dor. Call a footman.

Handy. None of’em are come yet.

Dor. Dogs! Will they ever lie snoring a-bed till noon?

Handy. ’Tis all one, sir: if they’re up, you indulge ’em so they’re ever poaching after whores all the morning.

Dor. Take notice henceforward, who’s wanting in his duty, the next clap he gets, he shall rot for an example. What vermin are those chattering without?

Handy. Foggy Nan the orange-woman and swearing Tom the shoemaker.

Dor. Go; call in that overgrown jade with the flasket of guts before her; fruit is refreshing in a morning.

[Exit Handy.

It is not that I love you less
Than when before your feet I lay.

Enter Orange-Woman with Handy.

How now, Double Tripe! what news do you bring?

Or.-Wom. News! Here’s the best fruit has come to town t’year; gad, I was up before four o’clock this morning, and bought all the choice i’ the market.

Dor. The nasty refuse of your shop.

Or-Wom. You need not make mouths at it; I assure you ’tis all culled ware.

Dor. The citizens buy better on a holiday in their walk to Totnam.

Or.-Wom. Good or bad, tis all one; I never knew you commend anything. Lord! would the ladies had heard you talk of ’em as I have done. Here, bid your man give me an angel.

[Sets down the fruit.

  By PanEris using Melati.

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