Ah!
thou art a dear artful Hypocrite.----Mrs. Slammekin! as careless and
genteel as ever! all you fine Ladies, who know your own Beauty, affect an
Undress.----But see, here's Suky Tawdry come to contradict what I am
saying. Everything she gets one way she lays out upon her Back. Why, Suky,
you must keep at least a Dozen Talleymen. Molly Brazen! [She kisses
him.] That's well done. I love a free-hearted Wench. Thou hast a most
agreeable Assurance, Girl, and art as willing as a Turtle.---But hark! I
hear Music. The Harper is at the Door. If Music be the Food of Love, play
on. Ere you seat yourselves, Ladies, what think you of a Dance? Come in.
[Enter Harper.] Play the French Tune, that Mrs. Slammekin was so fond of.
[A dance a la ronde in the French manner; near the end of it this Song
and Chorus.
Air XXII.--Cotillon.
Youth's the Season made for Joys,
Love is then our Duty,
She alone who that employs,
Well deserves her Beauty.
Let's be gay,
While we may,
Beauty's a Flower, despis'd in Decay,
Youth's the Season &c.
Let us drink and sport to-day,
Ours is not to-morrow.
Love with youth flies swift away,
Age is nought but Sorrow.
Dance and sing,
Time's on the Wing.
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