I now dare
stand your Scorn, and your Denial. Moret. Sure she's bewitcht, that
she can stand thus tamely, and hear his saucy railing.- Sirrah, will
you be gone? Ang. How dare you take this liberty?- Withdraw. [To Moret
-Pray, tell me, Sir, are not you guilty of the same mercenary Crime?
When a Lady is proposed to you for a Wife, you never ask, how fair,
discreet, or virtuous she is; but what's her Fortune- which if but
small, you cry- She will not do my business- and basely leave her, tho
she languish for you.- Say, is not this as poor? Will. It is a
barbarous Custom, which I will scorn to defend in our Sex, and do
despise in yours. Ang. Thou art a brave Fellow! put up thy Gold, and
know, That were thy Fortune large, as is thy Soul, Thou shouldst not
buy my Love, Couldst thou forget those mean Effects of Vanity, Which
set me out to sale; and as a Lover, prize My yielding Joys. Canst thou
believe they'l be entirely thine, Without considering they were
mercenary? Will. I cannot tell, I must bethink me first- ha, Death,
I'm going to believe her. [Aside. Ang. Prithee, confirm that Faith- or
if thou canst not - flatter me a little, 'twill please me from thy
Mouth. Will. Curse on thy charming Tongue! dost thou return My feign'd
Contempt with so much subtilty? [Aside. Thou'st found the easiest way
into my Heart, Tho I yet know that all thou say'st is false.
Pages:
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51