Flip. I must own I did take an unseasonable time to talk of love-matters to her.
Mon. Why, what's the matter?
Flip. Nothing.
Mon. Nay, pr'ythee tell me.
Flip. I dare not.
Mon. You must indeed.
Flip. Why, when women are in difficulties, how can they think of pleasure?
Mon. Why, what difficulties can she be in?
Flip. Nay, I do but guess after all; for she has that grandeur of soul, she'd die before she'd tell.