Bel. O, you need not fear him; he's in for all Night. The Servants say he's gone to drink with my Lord Rake.
Lady Brute. Nay, 'tis not very likely, indeed, such suitable Company should part presently. What Hogs Men turn, Belinda, when they grow weary of Women!
Bel. And what Owls they are, whilst they are fond of 'em!
Lady Brute. But That we may forgive well enough, because they are so upon our accounts.
Bel. We ought to do so, indeed; but 'tis a hard matter. For when a Man is really in love, he looks so unsufferably silly, that tho' a Woman lik'd him well enough before, she has then much ado to endure the Sight of him: And this I take to be the Reason why Lovers are so generally ill-us'd.
Lady Brute. Well, I own, now, I'm well enough pleased to see a Man look like an Ass for me.
Bel. Ay, I'm pleas'd he should look like an Ass, too;—that is, I'm pleased with myself for making him look so.
Lady Brute. Nay, truly, I think if he'd find some other way to express his Passion, 'twould be more to his advantage.
Bel. Yes; for then a Woman might like his Passion and him too.
Lady Brute. Yet, Belinda, after all, a Woman's Life would be but a dull Business, if it were not for Men; and Men that can look like Asses, too. We shou'd never blame Fate for the shortness of our Days; our Time would hang wretchedly upon our Hands.