Prince _Frederick_, Mr. _Verbruggen_. Sir _Rowland Marteen_, Mr. _Johnson_. _George Marteen_, Mr. _Powell_. Mr. _Welborn_, Mr. _Horden_. Sir _Merlin Marteen_, Mr. _Pinkethman_. Sir _Morgan Blunder_, Mr. _Bullock_. Mr. _Twang_, Mr. _Smeaton_. _Britton_, Mr. _Kent_. _Philip_.
_Mirtilla_, Mrs. _Knight_. _Olivia_, Mrs. _Verbruggen_. _Teresia_, Mrs. _Temple_. Lady _Blunder_, Mrs. _Powell_. Mrs. _Manage_, Mrs. _Willis_. Lady _Youthley_, Mrs. _Harris_. _Diana_.
Constable and Watch, Pages, Footmen, Masqueraders, Servants, Rakehells, &c.
Enter _George Marteen_, in a rich Riding Habit, with his Valet _Britton_.
_Geo._ Were you with Mrs. _Manage_, _Britton_?
_Britt._ Yes, Sir; and she cries as much for her wanting room for you in her House, as she would have done some forty Years ago for a Disappointment of her Lover. But she assures me, the Lodging she has taken for you, is the best in all _Lincolns-Inn-Fields_.
_Geo._ And did you charge her to send _Mirtilla’s_ Page to me?
_Britt._ I did, Sir; and he’ll be with you instantly.
_Geo._ ‘Tis well--Then shall I hear some News of my _Mirtilla_. [Aside. _Britton_, haste thee, and get my Equipage in order; a handsome Coach, rich Liveries, and more Footmen: for ‘tis Appearance only passes in the World--And d’ye hear, take care none know me by any other Name than that of _Lejere_.
_Geo._ I came not from _Paris_ into _England_, as my old Father thinks, to reform into a dull wretched Life in _Wales._ No, I’ll rather trust my kind Mistress Fortune, that has still kept me like her Darling, than purchase a younger Brother’s narrow Stipend, at the expence of my Pleasure and Happiness.
Enter _Olivia_ in a Page’s Habit. She runs and embraces _George_.
_Oliv._ The same lovely Man still! Thy Gallantry and Beauty’s all thy own; _Paris_ could add no Graces to thy Air; nor yet pervert it into Affectation.
_Geo._ Spare me, and tell me how _Mirtilla_ fares.
_Oliv._ I think, Brother, I writ you word to Paris, of a Marriage concluded betwixt me and _Welborn_?
_Geo._ That Letter I receiv’d: but from the dear _Mirtilla_, not one soft word; not one tender Line has blest my Eyes, has eas’d my panting Heart this tedious three Months space; and thou with whom I left the weighty Charge of her dear Heart, to watch her lovely Eyes, to give me notice when my Rivals press’d, and when she waver’d in her Faith to me, even thou wert silent to me, cruel Sister.