_Enter_ _Lord_ Plotwell, _and_ Bellmour.

_Lord_. And well, _Frank_, how dost thou find thy self inclin'd? thou
should'st begin to think of something more than Books. Do'st thou not
wish to know the Joys that are to be found in a Woman, _Frank_? I well
remember at thy Age I fancy'd a thousand fine things of that kind.

_Bel_. Ay, my Lord, a thousand more perhaps than are to be found.

_Lord_. Not so; but I confess, _Frank_, unless the Lady be fair, and
there be some Love too, 'tis not altogether so well; therefore I, who
am still busy for thy good, have fix'd upon a Lady--

_Bel_. Ha!--

_Lord_. What, dost start? Nay, I'll warrant thee she'll please; A Lady
rich, and fair, and nobly born, and thou shalt marry her, _Frank_.

_Bel_. Marry her, my Lord--

_Lord_. Why, yes, marry her--I hope you are none of the fashionable
Fops, that are always in Mutiny against Marriage, who never think
themselves very witty, but when they rail against Heaven and a Wife--
But, _Frank_, I have found better Principles in thee, and thou hast the
Reputation of a sober young Gentleman; thou art, besides, a Man of great
Fortune, _Frank_.

_Bel_. And therefore, Sir, ought the less to be a Slave.

_Lord_. But, _Frank_, we are made for one another; and ought, by the