L. Ful. I am not us’d to flatter much; if forty Years were taken from your Age, ‘twou’d render you something more agreeable to my Bed, I must confess.
Sir Cau. Ay, ay, no doubt on’t.
L. Ful. Yet you may take my word without an Oath,
Were you as old as Time, and I were young and gay
As April Flowers, which all are fond to gather;
My Beauties all should wither in the Shade,
E’er I’d be worn in a dishonest Bosom.
Sir Cau. Ay, but you’re wondrous free methinks, sometimes, which gives shreud suspicions.
L. Ful. What, because I cannot simper, look demure,
and justify my Honour, when none questions it?
—Cry fie, and out upon the naughty Women,
Because they please themselves—and so wou’d I.
Sir Cau. How, wou’d, what cuckold me?
L. Ful. Yes, if it pleas’d me better than Vertue, Sir.
But I’ll not change my Freedom and my Humour,
To purchase the dull Fame of being honest.
Sir Cau. Ay, but the World, the World—
L. Ful. I value not the Censures of the Croud.
Sir Cau. But I am old.