Polly. And when we fly them, they pursue:
Lucy. But leave us when they’ve won us.
Lucy. Love is so very whimsical in both Sexes, that it is impossible to be lasting.—But my Heart is particular, and contradicts my own Observation.
Polly. But really, Mistress Lucy, by his last Behaviour, I think I ought to envy you.—When I was forc’d from him, he did not shew the least Tenderness.—But perhaps, he hath a Heart not capable of it.
AIR XLIX. Would Fate to me Belinda give.
Among the Men, Coquettes we find,
Who court by turns all Woman-kind;
And we grant all their Hearts desir’d,
When they are flatter’d, and admir’d.
The Coquettes of both Sexes are Self-lovers, and that is a Love no other whatever can dispossess. I hear, my dear Lucy, our Husband is one of those.
Lucy. Away with these melancholy Reflections,—indeed, my dear Polly, we are both of us a Cup too low—Let me prevail upon you to accept of my Offer.
AIR L. Come, sweet Lass.
Come, sweet Lass,
Let’s banish Sorrow
’Till To-morrow;
Come, sweet Lass,
Let’s take a chirping Glass.
Wine can clear
The Vapours of Despair
And make us light as Air;
Then drink, and banish Care.