Harl. No, Seignior, un vieule Femme.
Feth. How, born an old Woman?
Blunt. Good Lord! born an old Woman! And so by transformation became invulnerable.
Feth. Ay—in—invulnerable—what would I give to be invulnerable? and egad, I am almost weary of being a Man, and subject to beating: wou’d I were a Woman, a Man has but an ill time on’t: if he has a mind to a Wench, the making Love is so plaguy tedious—then paying is to my Soul insupportable. But to be a Woman, to be courted with Presents, and have both the Pleasure and the Profit—to be without a Beard, and sing a fine Treble—and squeak if the Men but kiss me—’twere fine—and what’s better, I am sure never to be beaten again.
Blunt. Pox on’t, do not use an old Friend so scurvily; consider the Misery thou’lt indure to have the Heart and Mind of a jilting Whore possess thee: What a Fit of the Devil must he suffer who acts her Part from fourteen to fourscore! No,’tis resolv’d thou remain Nicholas Fetherfool still, shalt marry the Monster, and laugh at Fortune.
Feth. ’Tis true, should I turn Whore to the Disgrace of my Family—what would the World say? who wou’d have thought it, cries one? I cou’d never have believ’d it, cries another. No, as thou say’st, I’ll remain as I am—marry and live honestly.
Blunt. Well resolv’d, I’ll leave you, for I was just going to serenade my Fairy Queen, when I met thee at the Door—some Deeds of Gallantry must be perform’d, Seignior, Bonus Nochus. [Ex. Blunt./
Enter Shift with Light.
Feth. Hah, a Light, undone!
Harl. Patientia, Patientia, Seignior.