Beau. Now you are silent; but you could talk to day loudly of Virtue, and upbraid my Vice: oh how you hated a young keeping Husband, whom neither Beauty nor Honour in a Wife cou’d oblige to reason—oh, damn your Honour, ’tis that’s the sly pretence of all your domineering insolent Wives—Death—what didst thou see in me, should make thee think that I would be a tame contented Cuckold? [Going, she holds him.
La Nu. I must not lose this lavish loving Fool— [Aside.
Will. So, I hope he will be civil and withdraw, and leave me in possession—
Beau. No, tho my Fortune should depend on thee; nay, all [my hope] of future happiness—by Heaven, I scorn to marry thee, unless thou couldst convince me thou wer’t honest—a Whore!—Death, how it cools my Blood—
Will. And fires mine extremely—
La Nu. Nay, then I am provok’d tho I spoil all— [Aside.
And is a Whore a thing so much despis’d?
Turn back, thou false forsworn—turn back, and blush at thy mistaken folly. [He stands amaz’d.
Beau. La Nuche!
Enter Aria. peeping, advancing cautiously undrest, Luc. following.
Aria. Oh, he is here—Lucia, attend me in the [Orange-grove]— [Ex. Lucia.