Hast thou no Stratagem to get him absent?
For I can think of nothing but my Sister. [Sighs.
Franc. I know of one, nor other Remedy for you than loving less.
Silv. Oh, ’tis impossible:
Thou know’st I’ve tried all ways, made my Addresses
To all the fairest Virgins in Madrid;
Nay, and at last fell to the worst Debauchery,
That of frequenting every common House:
But Souls that feed so high on Love as mine,
Must nauseate coarser Diet.