Will. You are deceived, I came to rail at you, and talk such Truths, too, as shall let you see the Vanity of that Pride, which taught you how to set such a Price on Sin. For such it is, whilst that which is Love’s due is meanly barter’d for.
Ang. Ha, ha, ha, alas, good Captain, what pity ’tis your edifying Doctrine will do no good upon me—Moretta, fetch the Gentleman a Glass, and let him survey himself, to see what Charms he has,—and guess my Business. [Aside in a soft tone.
Moret. He knows himself of old, I believe those Breeches and he have been acquainted ever since he was beaten at Worcester.
Ang. Nay, do not abuse the poor Creature.—
Moret. Good Weather-beaten Corporal, will you march off? we have no need of your Doctrine, tho you have of our Charity; but at present we have no Scraps, we can afford no kindness for God’s sake; in fine, Sirrah, the Price is too [high i’th’ Mouth] for you, therefore troop, I say.
Will. Here, good Fore-Woman of the Shop, serve me, and I’ll be gone.
Moret. Keep it to pay your Landress, your Linen stinks of the Gun-Room; for here’s no selling by Retail.
Will. Thou hast sold plenty of thy stale Ware at a cheap Rate.
Moret. Ay, the more silly kind Heart I, but this is an Age wherein Beauty is at higher Rates.—In fine, you know the price of this.
Will. I grant you ’tis here set down a thousand Crowns a Month—Baud, take your black Lead and sum it up, that I may have of these vain gay things, and I’ll trouble you no more.