I know it by their sudden bold intrusion.
The Fire’s impatient and betrays, ’tis false—
For had it been the purer Flame of Love,
I should have pin’d and languished at your Feet,
E’er found the Impudence to have discover’d it.
I now dare stand your Scorn, and your Denial.
Moret. Sure she’s bewitcht, that she can stand thus tamely, and hear his saucy railing.—Sirrah, will you be gone?
Ang. How dare you take this liberty?—Withdraw. [To Moret.] —Pray, tell me, Sir, are not you guilty of the same mercenary Crime? When a Lady is proposed to you for a Wife, you never ask, how fair, discreet, or virtuous she is; but what’s her Fortune—which if but small, you cry—She will not do my business—and basely leave her, tho she languish for you.—Say, is not this as poor?
Will. It is a barbarous Custom, which I will scorn to defend in our Sex, and do despise in yours.
Ang. [Thou art a brave Fellow!] put up thy Gold, and know,