Bel. 'Tis true; but then a Woman must abandon one of the supreme Blessings of her Life. For I am fully convinc'd, no Man has half that Pleasure in possessing a Mistress, as a Woman has in jilting a Gallant.
Lady Brute. The happiest Woman then on Earth must be our Neighbour.
Bel. O the impertinent Composition! She has Vanity and Affectation enough to make her a ridiculous Original, in spite of all that Art and Nature ever furnish'd to any of her Sex before her.
Lady Brute. She concludes all Men her Captives; and whatever Course they take, it serves to confirm her in that Opinion.
Bel. If they shun her, she thinks 'tis Modesty, and takes it for a Proof of their Passion.
Lady Brute. And if they are rude to her, 'tis Conduct, and done to prevent Town-talk.
Bel. When her Folly makes 'em laugh; she thinks they are pleased with her Wit.
Lady Brute. And when her Impertinence makes 'em dull, concludes they are jealous of her Favours.
Bel. All their Actions and their Words, she takes for granted, aim at her.
Lady Brute. And pities all other Women, because she thinks they envy her.