Will. Egad, she has reason— [Aside.
Beau. Forgive me—for I took ye—for another. [Sighing.
La Nu. Oh did you so? it seems you keep fine Company the while—Death, that I should e’er be seen with such a vile Dissembler, with one so vain, so dull and so impertinent, as can be entertain’d by honest Women!
Will. A Heavenly Soul, and to my Wish, were I but sure of her.
Beau. Oh you do wondrous well t’accuse me first! yes, I am a Coxcomb—a confounded one, to doat upon so false a Prostitute; nay to love seriously, and tell it too: yet such an amorous Coxcomb I was born, to hate the Enjoyment of the loveliest Woman, without I have the Heart: the fond soft Prattle, and the lolling Dalliance, the Frowns, the little Quarrels, and the kind Degrees of making Peace again, are Joys which I prefer to all the sensual, whilst I endeavour to forget the Whore, and pay my Vows to Wit, to Youth and Beauty.
Aria. Now hang me, if it be not Beaumond.
Beau. Would any Devil less than common Woman have serv’d me as thou didst? say, was not this my Night? my paid for Night? my own by right of Bargain, and by Love? and hast not thou deceiv’d me for a Stranger?
Will. So—make me thankful, then she will be kind. [Hugs himself.
Beau. —[Was this don]e like a Whore of Honour think ye? and would not such an Injury make me forswear all Joys of Womankind, and marry in mere spite?
La Nu. Why where had been the Crime had I been kind?