Cor. I rather fear you wou’d debauch me into that dull slave call’d a Wife.
Gal. A Wife! have I no Conscience, no Honour in me?
Prithee believe I wou’d not be so wicked—
No,—my Desires are generous, and noble,
To set thee up, that glorious insolent thing,
That makes Mankind such Slaves, almighty Curtezan!
—Come, to thy private Chamber let us haste,
The sacred Temple of the God of Love;
And consecrate thy Power.
[Offers to bear her off.
Cor. Stay, do you take me then for what I seem?
Gal. I am sure I do, and wou’d not be mistaken for a Kingdom: But if thou art not, I can soon mend that fault, And make thee so.—Come, I’m impatient to begin the Experiment. [Offers again to carry her off.
Cor. Nay, then I am in earnest,—hold, mistaken Stranger—I am of noble Birth; and shou’d I in one hapless loving Minute destroy the Honour of my House, ruin my Youth and Beauty, and all that virtuous Education my hoping Parents gave me?
Gal. Pretty dissembled Pride and Innocence! And wounds no less than smiles!—Come, let us in,—where I will give thee leave to frown and jilt; such pretty Frauds advance the Appetite. [Offers again.
Cor. By all that’s good, I am a Maid of Quality, Blest with a Fortune equal to my Birth.
Gal. I do not credit thee; or if I did, For once I wou’d dispense with Quality, And to express my Love, take thee with all these Faults.
Cor. And being so, can you expect I’ll yield?
Gal. The sooner for that reason, if thou’rt wise; The Quality will take away the Scandal. Do not torment me longer— [Offers to lead her again.