Lady Brute. That may be; but I'm afraid the Town won't be able to hold out much longer: for to confess the Truth to you, Belinda, the Garrison begins to grow mutinous.
Bel. Then the sooner you capitulate, the better.
Lady Brute. Yet, methinks, I wou'd fain stay a little longer to see you fix'd too, that we might start together, and see who cou'd love longest. What think you, if Heartfree shou'd have a Month's Mind to you?
Bel. Why, 'faith, I cou'd almost be in love with him for despising that foolish, affected Lady Fancyfull; but I'm afraid he's too cold ever to warm himself by my Fire.
Lady Brute. Then he deserves to be froze to death. Wou'd I were a Man for your sake, dear Rogue! [Kissing her.]
Bel. You'd wish yourself a Woman again for your own, or the Men are mistaken. But if I cou'd make a Conquest of this Son of Bacchus, and rival his Bottle, what shou'd I do with him? He has no Fortune, I can't marry him: and sure you wou'd not have me commit Fornication?
Lady Brute. Why, if you did, Child, 'twould be but a good friendly part; if 'twere only to keep me in countenance whilst I commit—you know what.
Bel. Well, if I can't resolve to serve you that way, I may perhaps some other, as much to your Satisfaction. But pray how shall we contrive to see these Blades again quickly?
Lady Brute. We must e'en have recourse to the old way; make 'em an Appointment 'twixt Jest and Earnest; 'twill look like a Frolick, and that you know 's a very good thing to save a Woman's Blushes.