Wild. Patience, Diana, things will mend in time.
Dia. When, I wonder? Summer’s come, yet I am still in my embroider’d Manteau, when I’m drest, lin’d with Velvet; ‘twould give one a Fever but to look at me: yet still I am flamm’d off with hopes of a rich Wife, whose Fortune I am to lavish.—But I see you have neither Conscience nor Religion in you; I wonder what a Devil will become of your Soul for thus deluding me! [Weeps.
Wild. By Heaven, I love thee!
Dia. Love me! what if you do? how far will that go at the Exchange for Point? Will the Mercer take it for current Coin?—But ‘tis no matter, I must love a Wit with a Pox, when I might have had so many Fools of Fortune: but the Devil take me, if you deceive me any longer. [Weeping.
Wild. You’ll keep your word, no doubt, now you have sworn.
Dia. So I will. I never go abroad, but I gain new Conquests. Happy’s the Man that can approach nearest the Side-box where I sit at a Play, to look at me; but if I deign to smile on him, Lord, how the overjoy’d Creature returns it with a Bow low as the very Benches; Then rising, shakes his Ears, looks round with Pride, to see who took notice how much he was in favour with charming Mrs. Dy.
Wild. No more, come, let’s be Friends, Diana; for you and I must manage an Uncle of mine.
Dia. Damn your Projects, I’ll have none of ‘em.
Wild. Here, here’s the best softner of a Woman’s Heart; ‘tis Gold, two hundred Pieces: Go, lay it out, till you shame Quality into plain Silk and Fringe.
Dia. Lord, you have the strangest power of persuasion! Nay, if you buy my Peace, I can afford a Pennyworth.