Ter. Let me see—a very handsome Face, inclining to round; fine wanton Eyes, with a plaguy Roguish Lear; plump, round, red Lips; not tall, nor low, and extremely well fashion’d. Reads all this in her Tablets.
—Ay, ay, you are the Man—
Geo. I am glad on’t, and prithee, dear Creature, let me see if thou art not the Woman—
Ter. Heav’n! what Woman, Sir?
Geo. Why, any Woman that’s pretty, witty, young, and good-natur’d.
Ter. I had rather shew anything almost than my Face.
Geo. Faith, and that’s kind; but every thing in its due time: I love to arrive at Happiness by degrees, there’s as much Pleasure in the Journey of Love, as in the Arrival to’t, and the first Stage is a handsom Face.
Ter. Where you bait a while, take a short Survey, and away.
Geo. To Wit, and good Humour; where a Man finds Pleasure enough to engage him a long while.
Ter. Then to all the small Villages, call’d little Freedoms, Kissing, Playing, Fooling, Sighing, Dying—and so on to the last Stage, where Whip and Spur laid by, all tir’d and dull, you lazily lie down and sleep.