Const. I think he's married, Madam.
Lady Brute. Does Marriage, then, exclude Men from your Rule of Constancy?
Const. It does. Constancy's a brave, free, haughty, generous Agent, that cannot buckle to the Chains of Wedlock. There's a poor sordid Slavery in Marriage, that turns the flowing Tide of Honour, and sinks us to the lowest Ebb of Infamy. 'Tis a corrupted Soil: Ill-Nature, Avarice, Sloth, Cowardice, and Dirt, are all its Product.
Lady Brute. Have you no Exceptions to this general Rule, as well as to t'other?
Const. Yes; I would, after all, be an Exception to it myself, if you were free in Power and Will to make me so.
Lady Brute. Compliments are well plac'd where 'tis impossible to lay hold on 'em.
Const. I wou'd to Heaven 'twere possible for you to lay hold on mine, that you might see it is no Compliment at all. But since you are already dispos'd of, beyond Redemption, to one who does not know the Value of the Jewel you have put into his Hands, I hope you wou'd not think him greatly wrong'd, tho' it should sometimes be look'd on by a Friend, who knows how to esteem it as he ought.
Lady Brute. If looking on't alone wou'd serve his turn, the Wrong, perhaps, might not be very great.
Const. Why, what if he shou'd wear it now and then a Day, so he gave good Security to bring it home again at Night?
Lady Brute. Small Security, I fancy, might serve for that. One might venture to take his Word.