Lord Love. 'Tis with such fond young fools as you and I were then.
Sir Charles. And with such it will ever be.
Lord Love. Ever. The pleasure is so great, in believing women to be what we wish them, that nothing but a long and sharp experience can ever make us think them otherwise. That experience, friend, both you and I have had, but yours has been at other mens expence; mine——at my own.
Sir Charles. Perhaps you'd wonder, shou'd you find me dispos'd to run the risque of that experience too.
Lord Love. I shou'd, indeed.
Sir Charles. And yet 'tis possible I may; I know at least, I still have so much of my early folly left, to think, there's yet one woman fit to make a wife of: How far such a one can answer the charms of a mistress, marry'd men are silent in, so pass——for that I'd take my chance; but cou'd she make a home easy to her partner, by letting him find there a chearful companion, an agreeable intimate, a useful assistant, a faithful friend, and (in its time perhaps) a tender mother, such change of life, from what I lead, seems not unwise to think of.
Lord Love. Nor unwise to purchase, if to be had for millions, but——
Sir Charles. But what?
Lord Love. If the reverse of this shou'd chance to be the bitter disappointment, what wou'd the life be then?