Beau. What a Pox do'st keep 'em Company for, who have neither Wit
enough to divert thee, nor Good-nature enough to serve thee? Will.
Faith, Harry, 'tis true, and if there were no more Charity than Profit
in't, a Man would sooner keep a Cough o'th' Lungs than be troubled
with 'em: but the Rascals have a blind side as all conceited Coxcombs
have, which when I've nothing else to do, I shall expose to advance
our Mirth; the Rogues must be cozen'd, because they're so positive
they never can be so: but I am now for softer Joys, for Woman, for
Woman in abundance- dear Hal. inform me where I may safely unlade my
Heart. Beau. The same Man still, wild and wanton! Will. And would not
change to be the Catholick King. Beau. I perceive Marriage has not
tam'd you, nor a Wife who had all the Charms of her Sex. Will. Ay- she
was too good for Mortals. [With a sham Sadness. Belv. I think thou
hadst her but a Month, prithee how dy'd she? Will. Faith, e'en with a
fit of Kindness, poor Soul- she would to Sea with me, and in a Storm-
far from Land, she gave up the Ghost- 'twas a Loss, but I must bear it
with a christian Fortitude. Beau. Short Happinesses vanish like to
Dreams. Will. Ay faith, and nothing remains with me but the sad
Remembrance- not so much as the least Part of her hundred thousand
Crowns; Brussels that inchanted Court has eas'd me of that Grief,
where our Heroes act Tantalus better than ever Ovid describ'd him,
condemn'd daily to see an Apparition of Meat, Food in Vision only.
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