Dor. Married! The chains of Matrimony are too heavy and vulgar for such a spirit as yours.——The flowery wreaths of Cupid are the only bands you should wear.
Let. They are the lightest, I believe: but 'tis possible to wear those of Marriage gracefully.——Throw 'em loosely round, and twist 'em in a True-Lover's Knot for the Bosom.
Dor. An Angel! But what will you be when a Wife?
Let. A Woman.—If my Husband should prove a Churl, a Fool, or a Tyrant, I'd break his heart, ruin his fortune, elope with the first pretty Fellow that ask'd me—and return the contempt of the world with scorn, whilst my feelings prey'd upon my life.
Dor. Amazing! [Aside] What if you lov'd him, and he were worthy of your love?
Let. Why, then I'd be any thing—and all!—Grave, gay, capricious—the soul of whim, the spirit of variety—live with him in the eye of fashion, or in the shade of retirement——change my country, my sex,—feast with him in an Esquimaux hut, or a Persian pavilion—join him in the victorious war-dance on the borders of Lake Ontario, or sleep to the soft breathings of the flute in the cinnamon groves of Ceylon—dig with him in the mines of Golconda, or enter the dangerous precincts of the Mogul's Seraglo——cheat him of his wishes, and overturn his empire to restore the Husband of my Heart to the blessings of Liberty and Love.
Dor. Delightful wildness! Oh, to catch thee, and hold thee for ever in this little cage!
[Attempting to clasp her.
Let. Hold, Sir! Though Cupid must give the bait that tempts me to the snare, 'tis Hymen must spread the net to catch me.
Dor. 'Tis in vain to assume airs of coldness——Fate has ordain'd you mine.