Bet. I know not that, Madam; but I verily believe the way to keep your young Lover, is to marry this old one: for what Youth and Beauty cannot purchase, oney and Quality may.
Dia. Ay, but to be oblig’d to lie with such a Beast; ay, there’s the
Devil,
Betty. Ah, when I find the difference of their Embraces,
The soft dear Arms of Wilding round my Neck.
From those cold feeble ones of this old Dotard;
When I shall meet, instead of Tom’s warm kisses,
A hollow Pair of thin blue wither’d Lips,
Trembling with Palsy, stinking with Disease,
By Age and Nature barricado’d up
With a kind Nose and Chin;
What Fancy or what Thought can make my Hours supportable?
Bet. What? why six thousand Pounds a Year, Mistress. He’ll quickly die, and leave you rich, and then do what you please.
Dia. Die! no, he’s too temperate—Sure these Whigs, Betty, believe there’s no Heaven, they take such care to live so long in this World—No, he’ll out-live me. [Sighs.
Bet. In Grace a God he may be hang’d first, Mistress—Ha, one knocks, and I believe ‘tis he. [She goes to open the Door.
Dia. I cannot bring my Heart to like this Business; One sight of my dear Tom wou’d turn the Scale.
Bet. Who’s there?
Enter Sir Tim. joyful; Dian. walks away.
Sir Tim. ‘Tis I, impatient I, who with the Sun have welcom’d in the
Day;
This happy Day to be inroll’d
In Rubrick Letters and in Gold.
—Hum, I am profoundly eloquent this Morning. [Aside.
—Fair Excellence, I approach—
[Going toward her.
Dia. Like Physick in a Morning next one’s Heart; [Aside. Which, though it be necessary, is most filthy loathsom. [Going from him.