Mar. Together! ‘tis a Mass wou’d ransom Kings: Was all this Beauty given for one poor petty Conquest? —I might have made a hundred Hearts my slaves, In this lost time of bringing one to Reason.— Farewel, thou dull Philosopher in Love; When Age has made me wise, I’ll send for you again. [Offers to go, Gal. holds her.
Gal. By this good Light, a noble glorious Whore.
Fil. Oh, stay, I must not let such Beauty fall,
—A Whore—consider yet the Charms of Reputation,
The Ease, the Quiet, and Content of Innocence,
The awful Reverence all good Men will pay thee,
Who, as thou art, will gaze without respect,
—And cry—what pity ‘tis she is—a Whore—
Mar. O, you may give it what coarse name you please, But all this Youth and Beauty ne’er was given, Like Gold to Misers, to be kept from use. [Going out.
Fil. Lost, lost—past all Redemption.
Gal. Nay, Gad, thou shalt not lose her so—I’ll fetch her back, and thou shalt ask her pardon. [Runs out after her.
Fil. By Heaven, it was all a Dream! an airy Dream! The visionary Pleasure disappears,—and I’m myself again, —I’ll fly before the drousy Fit o’ertake me. [Going out, Enter Gal. and then Marcella.
Gal. Turn back—she yields, she yields to pardon thee. Gone! nay, hang me if ye part. [Runs after him, still his Pistol in his hand.
Mar. Gone! I have no leisure now for more dissembling. [Takes the Candle, and goes in.
Enter Petro, leading in Mr. Tickletext, as by dark.