Mar. Honest! was it for that you sent two thousand Crowns, Or did believe that trifling Sum sufficient To buy me to the slavery of Honesty?
Gal. Hold there, my brave Virago.
Fil. No, I wou’d sacrifice a nobler Fortune, To buy thy Virtue home.
Mar. What shou’d it idling there?
Fil. Why—make thee constant to some happy Man, That wou’d adore thee for’t.
Mar. Unconscionable! constant at my years?
—Oh, ‘twere to cheat a thousand,
Who between this and my dull Age of Constancy.
Expect the distribution of my Beauty.
Gal. ‘Tis a brave Wench— [Aside.
Fil. Yet charming as thou art, the time will come
When all that Beauty, like declining Flowers,
Will wither on the Stalk,—but with this difference,
The next kind Spring brings Youth to Flowers again,
But faded Beauty never more can bloom.
—If Interest make thee wicked, I can supply thy Pride.—
Mar. Curse on your necessary Trash!—which I despise, But as ‘tis useful to advance our Love.
Fil. Is Love thy business? who is there born so high,
But Love and Beauty equals?
And thou mayst chuse from all the wishing World.
This Wealth together wou’d inrich one Man,
Which dealt to all, wou’d scarce be Charity.