Lord. What, dost start? Nay, I’ll warrant thee she’ll please; A Lady rich, and fair, and nobly born, and thou shalt marry her, Frank.
Bel. Marry her, my Lord—
Lord. Why, yes, marry her—I hope you are none of the fashionable Fops, that are always in Mutiny against Marriage, who never think themselves very witty, but when they rail against Heaven and a Wife— But, Frank, I have found better Principles in thee, and thou hast the Reputation of a sober young Gentleman; thou art, besides, a Man of great Fortune, Frank.
Bel. And therefore, Sir, ought the less to be a Slave.
Lord. But, Frank, we are made for one another; and ought, by the Laws of God, to communicate our Blessings.
Bel. Sir, there are Men enough, fitter much than I, to obey those Laws; nor do I think them made for every one.
Lord. But, Frank, you do not know what a Wife I have provided for you.
Bel. ‘Tis enough I know she’s a Woman, Sir.
Lord. A Woman! why, what should she be else?
Bel. An Angel, Sir, e’er she can be my Wife.