Cour. At that sad word let's part.
Sylv. Let's wish all men decrepit, dull, and silly.
Cour. And every woman old and ugly.
Sylv. Adieu!
Cour. Farewell!
Enter Frisk, a young fellow affectedly dressed, several others with him.
Sylv. Ah me, Mr. Frisk!
Frisk. Mademoiselle Sylvia! sincerely as I hope to be saved, the devil take me—damme, madam, who's that?
Sylv. Ha, ha, ha, hea! [Exit with Frisk.
Cour. True to thy failings always, woman! how naturally is the sex fond of a rogue! What a monster was that for a woman to delight in! Now must I love her still, though I know I'm a blockhead for't, and she'll use me like a blockhead too, if I don't prevent her. What's to be done? I'll have three whores a day, to keep love out of my head.