Will. A virtuous Mistress! Death,
what a thing thou hast found out for me! why what the Devil should I
do with a virtuous Woman?- a fort of ill-natur'd Creatures, that take
a Pride to torment a Lover. Virtue is but an Infirmity in Women, a
Disease that renders even the handsom ungrateful; whilst the
ill-favour'd, for want of Sollicitations and Address, only fancy
themselves so.- I have lain with a Woman of Quality, who has all the
while been railing at Whores. Ang.I will not answer for your
Mistress's Virtue, Tho she be young enough to know no Guilt: And I
could wish you would persuade my Heart, 'Twas the two hundred thousand
Crowns you courted. Will. Two hundred thousand Crowns! what Story's
this?- what Trick?- what Woman?- ha. Ang. How strange you make it!
have you forgot the Creature you entertain'd on the Piazza last night?
Will. Ha, my Gipsy worth two hundred thousand Crowns!- oh how I long
to be with her- pox, I knew she was of Quality. [Aside. Ang. False
Man, I see my Ruin in thy Face. How many vows you breath'd upon my
Bosom, Never to be unjust- have you forgot so soon? Will. Faith no, I
was just coming to repeat 'em- but here's a Humour indeed- would make
a Man a Saint- Wou'd she'd be angry enough to leave me, and command me
not to wait on her. [Aside. Enter Hellena, drest in Man's Clothes.
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