VINCENTIO.

But pr'ythee Youth why not the swift Foot of Time? methinks, that had sounded better.

JULIO.

Why aye, it might so with some People perhaps; for Time, you must know, has different Paces with different Persons; there are some he walks with, others that he trots with; with this Man he ambles, with that he gallops, and with another he stands stock-still,

VINCENTIO.

A pretty Youth this; I'll have some Discourse with him.—Pr'ythee, young Gentleman, who does time walk with?

JULIO.

Faith very few, I'm afraid; but such as are rich without Pride, and Ambition, poor without Knavery, and Discontent, wise without Frowardness, and gay without Libertinism, find his Pace so easy, that they cannot be persuaded he goes faster than a Walk.

VINCENTIO.

That may be very true; but who does he trot with?

JULIO.

With a Usurer on his Death-Bed, and a young Spendthrift to the Expiration of a Bond; both of them think he travels very unpleasantly.

VINCENTIO.

Well, and who does he gallop with?

JULIO.

With a Lover in his Mistress's Arms, and a Thief to the Gallows; for let him travel never so slow, he's at his Journey's End with them in a Moment.

VINCENTIO.

But pr'ythee Youth, who does he stand still with?

JULIO.

Oh! with every body almost:—With a Maid between the drawing up of her Marriage Articles and the Wedding-Day; with a young Heir, whose Father lives after he's of Age; with a Poet between the Receipt of his Play and his Benefit Night; and a Lawyer in the Vacation.

VINCENTIO.

There's something so surprisingly engaging in this Youth, I must be better acquainted with him. [Aside. Whereabouts in the Forest do you live, Youngster?

JULIO.

About a Quarter of a Mile hence Northward.

VINCENTIO.

Are you a Native of it?

JULIO.

I have heard my Mother say so, Sir.

VINCENTIO.

Methinks your Accent is a little finer than one would expect in so desart a Place.

JULIO.

I have been told so indeed;—but I confess an old Uncle of mine that was a Courtier, and grew fond of Retirement, because he was thrown out of Favour, taught me to speak:—Poor Paulino!—I shall never forget

him;—he was the merriest, best-natured Creature, —sometimes;—and then he wou'd so rail at the Vices of the Court, and the Vanities of this wicked World, that I protest he has given me many a comfortable Nap in an Afternoon, when I could not sleep for the Tooth-Ach all the Night before.—Sometimes he would touch upon Love too.—

VINCENTIO.

He understood it doubtless.

JULIO.

Aye marry, but too well; for while he was at Court, he happened to fall in Love with one of the Maids of Honour, who slighted him forsooth; ah! it went to the very Heart of him.—I have heard him run on about a Fop, and an Opera, and an Assembly, and a Coach and Six, and a fine Coat; and I don't know what all, for an Hour together.—Well, thank Heaven that I'm no Woman: I wou'd not have all the Mischiefs that he has charged that Sex with to answer for, for the best Face in Christendom.

VINCENTIO.

Do you remember any of the principal Faults he accused them with?

JULIO.

Principal! Death Sir! they were all Principals; they were as like as these two Fellows: (shewing her Hands.) Ev'ry one was biggest till another was brought to match it.

VINCENTIO.

Pr'ythee tell me some of the Generals then.

JULIO.

'Tis not my Custom to throw away Physick where there is no Occasion for it; but there is somebody hereabouts that's continually spoiling the Trees with scratching

Names upon them; and then he has hung such a Parcel of Songs and Dittys up and down the ^note Bushes, that he has made a perfect Ballad-Shop of the Forest. Now if I could meet with that Fancy-monger, methinks I cou'd find in my Heart to give him a little Advice, for he seems to be in a desperate Condition.

VINCENTIO.

Suppose I were that Man, now what wou'd you say to me?

JULIO.

You! marry, I'm not to be caught so; you've none of the Marks upon you, that my Uncle taught me to know a Lover by.

VINCENTIO.

Marks! pray what were they?

JULIO.

Oh! I have them under black and white. (Takes out a Pocket-Book.) Let me see—Oh! here—

VINCENTIO.

Well, examine me a little closer; compare me with your Notes, and see what you'll think of me then.

JULIO.

Never the better I'm afraid. But come—

Imprimis, a lean Cheek;—you have it not.—Item, a hollow melancholy Eye;—you have it not.—Item, a pale Countenance;—you have it not.—Item, to muse, and to sigh, to talk to himself, and start on a sudden as if just awakened;—you do no such Thing.—Item, to have the Collar unbuttoned, the Wig without Powder, the Coat undusted, the Stockings ungarter'd;—the—

VINCENTIO.

Oh! you're quite mistaken Child; it might be so in Days of Yore indeed, but the Case is clean altered now: 'Tis a Lover's Business to please; and one of these Fellows

you describe, will go no more down with a modern fine Lady, than a Play without Satire, or a Carnival without masquing.—The Lover that would succeed now-a-days, must be a quite different Sort of a Creature, a mere Petit Maitre, a Beau Garçon. In short, he must fence, dance, sing, drink, rake, wench, and dress, or he'll have no Share with the Ladies, take my Word for it.

JULIO.

Well, you shan't make me believe you're a Lover yet; nay, you have cast yourself, for you agree as ill with your own Description as you did with mine.

VINCENTIO.

Faith! I'm sorry, my Dear, I have so little Credit with you; I wou'd fain make you believe I am in Love.

JULIO.

Me believe it! you may as soon make her you pretend to love confess she believes it:—And let me tell you, you'll not find that very easy, as Sincerity goes now: But come, tell me sincerely, are you the Man that makes all these fine Sonnets upon this same Camilla, and adorns the Trees with them in this Manner?

VINCENTIO.

I swear to thee Youth, by the lilly Hand, ruby Lips, starry Eyes, and heaving Breasts of the lovely Camilla, that I am the He, the very, unfortunate He.

JULIO.

And are you really so much in Love as your Rhymes speak you?

VINCENTIO.

Oh! far beyond, neither Rhyme nor Reason is sufficient to express how deep I am in Love.

JULIO.

Well then, out of pure Compassion, d'ye see, I'll do my Endeavour to cure you; follow my Advice, and I warrant we effect it.

VINCENTIO.

Aye, but suppose I wou'd not be cured, Youth?

JULIO.

But I can't suppose so, nor I won't suppose so; and what then Sir? Death Sir, d'ye think I have had all my Experience for nothing? Shew me e'er a Lover in Christendom, that wou'd not be cured one Way or other, and I'll ne'er wear Breeches again.

VINCENTIO.

There is something so surprisingly agreeable in this Youth's Conversation, I can't bear the Thoughts of leaving him. I'll e'en trifle with him his own Way; it may at least be an Amusement for a melancholy Hour. (Aside.) Well Sir, I have considered on't, and am resolved to obey you, begin your Instructions as soon as you please.

JULIO.

Why aye, this is as it shou'd be now; I knew you'd come too. Come then, stand up, and look in my Face— nay, never be bashful, look boldly Man; well, d'ye think you shou'd know me again?

VINCENTIO.

Aye, tho' I were to meet you at an Assembly, or at Court on a Ball-Night, where most People appear as different from their natural selves, as a modern Beau from a human Creature, or a handsome Nun from a Virgin.

JULIO.

Well then, you must remember wherever you see me, to make Love to me, and call me your Camilla. Not only

that, you must follow me to all Places, wait on me every Hour, sigh, kneel at my Feet, press my Hands, swear, lye, rave, and die if you please; in short, you must do every Thing as if I were your real Mistress.

VINCENTIO.

This is an odd Sort of a Remedy; but however, I'm determined to follow you.

JULIO.

Well, come on then; but remember I expect you to be very constant, and very punctual: If once I catch you tripping—

VINCENTIO.

Fear not; but first let me know, where I may find you on Occasion.

JULIO.

Follow me, and I'll shew you, 'tis not far.

VINCENTIO.

Lead on Sir.

JULIO.

How! Sir!

VINCENTIO.

Gad so! Camilla I meant; I beg Pardon.

JULIO.

Well, take care for the future. Come Sir, this Way.

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