Val. Know it!
why there's nothing so easy; thou wilt love this wandring Inconstant
till thou find'st thy self hanged about his Neck, and then be as mad
to get free again. Flor. Yes, Valeria; we shall see her bestride his
Baggage-horse, and follow him to the Campaign. Hell. So, so; now you
are provided for, there's no care taken of poor me- But since you have
set my Heart a wishing, I am resolv'd to know for what. I will not die
of the Pip, so I will not. Flor. Art thou mad to talk so? Who will
like thee well enough to have thee, that hears what a mad Wench thou
art? Hell. Like me! I don't intend every he that likes me shall have
me, but he that I like: I shou'd have staid in the Nunnery still, if I
had lik'd my Lady Abbess as well as she lik'd me. No, I came thence,
not (as my wise Brother imagines) to take an eternal Farewel of the
World, but to love and to be belov'd; and I will be belov'd, or I'll
get one of your Men, so I will. Val. Am I put into the Number of
Lovers? Hell. You! my Couz, I know thou art too good natur'd to leave
us in any Design: Thou wou't venture a Cast, tho thou comest off a
Loser, especially with such a Gamester- I observ'd your Man, and your
willing Ears incline that way; and if you are not a Lover, 'tis an Art
soon learnt- that I find. [Sighs. Flor.
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