Isabel, Beatrice.
Isabel.
A Nunnery! Ha, ha, ha! And is it possible, my dear Beatrice, you can intend to sacrifice your Youth and Beauty, to go out of the World as soon as you come into it!
Bea. No one, my dear Isabel, can sacrifice too much or too soon to Heaven.
Isa. Pshaw! Heaven regards Hearts and not Faces, and an old Woman will be as acceptable a Sacrifice as a young one.
Bea. It is possible you may come to a better Understanding, and value the World as little as I do.
Isa. As you say, it is possible when I can enjoy it no longer, I may; nay, I do not care if I promise you when I grow old and ugly, I'll come and keep you Company: But this I am positive, till the World is weary of me, I never shall be weary of the World.
Bea. What can a Woman of Sense see in it worth her valuing?
Isa. Oh! ten thousand pretty things! Equipage, Cards, Musick, Plays, Balls, Flattery, Visits, and that prettiest thing of all pretty things, a pretty Fellow——I rather wonder what Charms a Woman of any Spirit can fancy in a Nunnery, in watching, working, praying, and sometimes, I am afraid, wishing for other Company than that of an old fusty Friar—Oh! 'tis a delightful State, when every Man one sees, instead of tempting us to Sin, is to rebuke us for them.
Bea. Such Sentiments as these would indeed make you very uneasy—but believe me, Child, you would soon bring yourself to hate Mankind; fasting and praying are the best Cures in the World for these violent Passions.