Simon. Why, whither should we go?
Sir W. You to the court, where now your brother John
Commits a rape on Fortune.
Simon. Luck to John!
A light-heel'd strumpet when the sport is done.
Sir W. You to the sweet society of your equals,
Where the world's fashion smiles on youth and beauty.
Marg. Where young men's flatteries cozen young maids' beauty.
There pride oft gets the vantage hand of duty,
There sweet humility withers.