Colonel S. I once, madam, hoped the honour of defending you from all injuries, through a title to your lovely person; but now my love must attend my fortune. My commission, madam, was my passport to the fair; adding a nobleness to my passion, it stamped a value on my love; 'twas once the life of honour, but now its winding sheet; and with it must my love be buried.
Parly. What? disbanded, Colonel?
Colonel S. Yes, Mrs. Parly.
Parly. Faugh, the nauseous fellow! he stinks of poverty already. [Aside.
Lady L. His misfortune troubles me, because it may prevent my designs. [Aside.
Colonel S. I'll chuse, madam, rather to destroy my passion by absence abroad, than have it starved at home.
Lady L. I'm sorry, sir, you have so mean an opinion of my affection, as to imagine it founded upon your fortune. And, to convince you of your mistake, here I vow, by all that's sacred, I own the same affection now as before. Let it suffice, my fortune is considerable.
Colonel S. No, madam, no; I'll never be a charge to her I love! The man, that sells himself for gold, is the worst of prostitutes.
Lady L. Now, were he any other creature but a man, I could love him. [Aside.
Colonel S. This only last request I make, that no title recommend a fool, no office introduce a knave, nor red coat a coward, to my place in your affections; so farewell my country, and adieu my love. [Exit.