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Updated: June 23, 2025
There stands the Traitor, with a guilty Look, That Traitor, who the easier to deceive me, Betray'd my Sister; yet till I came and saw The Perjury, I could not give a Faith to't. By Heaven, Diana loves him, nay, dotes on him, I find it in her Eyes; all languishing, They feed the Fire in his: arm'd with a double Rage, I know I shall go through with my Revenge. Sir Tim. Fair Maid Phil.
A Curse upon that faithless Maid, Who first her Sex's Liberty betray'd; Born free as Man to Love and Range, Till nobler Nature did to Custom change, Custom, that dull excuse for Fools, Who think all Virtue to consist in Rules.
I cou'd not tell him this without a tear: When, wiping his face, says he, "Encolpius, I appeal to your memory, whether I left, you, or you betray'd me. I must confess, and hope you can't blame me; when I saw two at daggers-drawing, that I ran to the strongest." I cou'd not but admire his wit, and to convince him of a perfect reconciliation, sealed it with repeated kisses.
Who would not praise Patricio's high desert, His hand unstained, his uncorrupted heart, His comprehensive head! all interests weigh'd, All Europe sav'd, yet Britain not betray'd? He thanks you not, his pride is in piquet, Newmarket fame, and judgment at a bet. But I am dwelling too much on the picturesque side of the Duke and so getting too near the caricature view of the man.
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