Ang. Oh, name not such mean Trifles.- Had I given
him all My Youth has earn'd from Sin, I had not lost a Thought nor
Sigh upon't. But I have give him my eternal Rest, My whole Repose, my
future Joys, my Heart; My Virgin Heart. Moretta! oh 'tis gone! Moret.
Curse on him, here he comes; How fine she has made him too! Enter
Willmore and Sebast. Ang. turns and walks away. Will. How now, turn'd
Shadow? Fly when I pursue, and follow when I fly! Stay gentle Shadow
of my Dove, [Sings. And tell me e'er I go, Whether the Substance may
not prove A fleeting Thing like you. There's a soft kind Look
remaining yet. [As she turns she looks on him. Ang. Well, Sir, you may
be gay; all Happiness, all Joys pursue you still, Fortune's your
Slave, and gives you every hour choice of new Hearts and Beauties,
till you are cloy'd with the repeated Bliss, which others vainly
languish for- But know, false Man, that I shall be reveng'd. [Turns
away in a Rage. Will. So, 'gad, there are of those faint-hearted
Lovers, whom such a sharp Lesson next their Hearts would make as
impotent as Fourscore- pox o' this whining- my Bus'ness is to laugh
and love- a pox on't; I hate your sullen Lover, a Man shall lose as
much time to put you in Humour now, as would serve to gain a new
Woman. Ang. I scorn to cool that Fire I cannot raise, Or do the
Drudgery of your virtuous Mistress.
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