Wom. Madam, 'twas my Lady Bridle, and my Lady Tiptoe.
Aman. My Lady Fiddle, and my Lady Faddle. What dost stand troubling me with the Visits of a parcel of impertinent Women? When they are well seam'd with the Small Pox, they won't be so fond of shewing their Faces——There are more Coquettes about this Town—
Wom. Madam, I suppose, they only came to return your Ladyship's Visit, according to the Custom of the World.
Aman. Wou'd the World were on Fire, and you in the middle on't! Be gone: leave me.
[Exit Wom.
Amanda sola.
At last I am convinc'd. My Eyes are Testimonies of his Falshood.
The base, ungrateful, perjur'd Villain——
Good Gods—What slippery Stuff are Men compos'd of!
Sure the Account of their Creation's false,
And 'twas the Woman's Rib that they were form'd of.
But why am I thus angry?
This poor Relapse shou'd only move my Scorn.
'Tis true, the roving Flights of his unfinish'd Youth
Had strong Excuses from the Plea of Nature:
Reason had thrown the Reins loose on his Neck,
And slipt him to unlimited Desire.
If therefore he went wrong, he had a Claim
To my Forgiveness, and I did him right.
But since the Years of Manhood rein him in,
And Reason, well digested into Thought,
Has pointed out the Course he ought to run;
If now he strays,
'Twou'd be as weak and mean in me to pardon,
As it has been in him t' offend. But hold:
'Tis an ill Cause indeed, where nothing's to be said for't.
My Beauty possibly is in the Wain:
Perhaps Sixteen has greater Charms for him:
Yes, there's the Secret. But let him know,
My Quiver's not entirely empty'd yet,
I still have Darts, and I can shoot 'em too;
They're not so blunt, but they can enter still;
The Want's not in my Power, but in my Will.
Virtue's his Friend; or, thro' another's Heart,
I yet cou'd find the way to make his smart.
[Going off, she meets Worthy.
Ha! He here? Protect me, Heaven, for this looks ominous.
Wor. You seem disorder'd, Madam; I hope there's no Misfortune happen'd to you?