Must now be hired and courted to my Arms.
Moret. I told you what wou’d come on’t, but Moretta’s an old doating Fool—Why did you give him five hundred Crowns, but to set himself out for other Lovers? You shou’d have kept him poor, if you had meant to have had any good from him.
Ang. Oh, name not such mean Trifles.—Had I given him all
My Youth has earn’d from Sin,
I had not lost a Thought nor Sigh upon’t.
But I have given him my eternal Rest,
My whole Repose, my future Joys, my Heart;
My Virgin Heart. Moretta! oh ’tis gone!
Moret. Curse on him, here he comes;
How fine she has made him too!