Dor. I have been used to deep play, but I can make one at small game when I like my gamester well.

Har. And be so unconcerned you’ll ha’ no pleasure in it.

Dor. Where there is a considerable sum to be won the hope of drawing people in makes every trifle considerable.

Har. The sordidness of men’s natures, I know, makes ’em willing to flatter and comply with the rich, though they are sure never to be the better for ’em.

Dor. ’Tis in their power to do us good, and we despair not but at some time or other they may be willing.

Har. To men who have fared on this town like you, ’twould be a great mortification to live on hope; could you keep a Lent for a mistress?

Dor. In expectation of a happy Easter, and though time be very precious, think forty days well lost to gain your favour.

Har. Mr. Bellair! let us walk, ’tis time to leave him; men grow dull when they begin to be particular.

Dor. You’re mistaken, flattery will not ensue, though I know you’re greedy of the praises of the whole Mall.

Har. You do me wrong.

Dor. I do not; as I followed you I observed how you were pleased when the fops cried: “She’s handsome, very handsome, By God she is,” and whispered aloud your name, the thousand several forms you put your face into; then, to make yourself more agreeable, how wantonly you played with your head, hung back your locks, and looked smilingly over your shoulder at ’em. SCENE III.]

The Man of Mode

Har. I do not go begging the men’s, as you do the ladies’ good liking, with a sly softness in your looks and a gentle slowness in your bows as you pass by ’em—as thus, sir;— [Acts him. Is not this like you?

Enter Lady WOODVIL and BUSY.

Y. Bell. Your mother, madam.

[Pulls HARRIET; she composes herself.

Lady Wood. Ah, my dear child Harriet!

Busy. Now is she so pleased with finding her again she cannot chide her.

Lady Wood. Come away!

Dor. ’Tis now but high Mall, madam, the most entertaining time of all the evening.

Har. I would fain see that Dorimant, mother, you so cry out for a monster; he’s in the Mall, I hear.

Lady Wood. Come away then! the plague is here, and you should dread the infection.

Y. Bell. You may be misinformed of the gentleman.

Lady Wood. Oh, no! I hope you do not know him! He is the prince of all the devils in the town, delights in nothing but in rapes and riots.