Lucy. Sir, Sir, one Word with you. Lud. Your Business-- Lucy. May one ask you a civil Question, and be resolv'd? Lud. Hum-A civil Question, sayst thou? What's it, prithee, a Night's Lodging? If so, pull off thy Mask, and I'll resolve thee instantly--But I never strike Bargains in the Dark. Lucy. I don't know, Sir, but it may tend to that, by way of Proxy, at the long-run: But at present my Commission reaches no further than to know your Lodgings; if any Thing comes on't, I fancy 'twill not displease you. Lud. (Aside.) Hum--This is but a Pettifogger in Intrigues, I find--Egad, I'm like to be pretty well employ'd during the Carnival--Well, considering I am a Stranger here, this Hit may be a lucky one, and the Lady handsome--Egad, I'll fancy her so at least, wer't but for the Pleasure of Expectation. Lucy. What are you studying, Sir? Are you so long resolving whether you shall accept a Lady's Favour, or no? Lud. No, faith, Child: I am not over-scrupulous in those Matters--Let her be but Woman, and we shan't disagree--And so thou mayst tell her--There's a Direction for thee. Tears the Superscription of a Letter and gives it her.