Blunt. Not all, good Captain.
Will. All, for I hate ’em all—
Aria. Heavens! if he should indeed! [Aside.
Blunt. But, Robert, I have found you most inclined to a Damsel when you had a Bottle in your Head.
Will. Give me thy Hand, Ned—Curse me, despise me, point me out for Cowardice if e’er thou see’st me court a Woman more: Nay, when thou knowest I ask any of the Sex a civil Question again—a Plague upon ’em, how they’ve handled me—come, let’s go drink, I say—Confusion to the Race—A Woman!—no, I will be burnt with my own Fire to Cinders e’er any of the Brood shall lay my Flame—
Aria. He cannot be so wicked to keep this Resolution sure— [She passes by.
Faith, I must be resolv’d—you’ve made a pious Resolution, Sir, had you the Grace to keep it— [Passing on he pauses, and looks on her.
Will. Hum—What’s that?
Blunt. That—O—nothing—but a Woman—come away.
Will. A Woman! Damn her, what Mischief made her cross my way just on the Point of Reformation!