Faith, I had Bowels, was good-natur'd, and lent upon the publick Faith
as far as 'twill go- But come, let's leave this mortifying Discourse,
and tell me how the price of Pleasure goes. Beau. At the old Rates
still; he that gives most is happiest, some few there are for Love!
Will. Ah, one of the last, dear Beaumond; and if a Heart or Sword can
purchase her, I'll bid as fair as the best. Damn it, I hate a Whore
that asks me Mony. Beau. Yet I have known thee venture all thy Stock
for a new Woman. Will. Ay, such a Fool I was in my dull Days of
Constancy, but I am now for Change, (and should I pay as often,
'twould undo me)- for Change, my Dear, of Place, Clothes, Wine, and
Women. Variety is the Soul of Pleasure, a Good unknown; and we want
Faith to find it. Beau. Thou wouldst renounce that fond Opinion,
Willmore, didst thou see a Beauty here in Town, whose Charms have
Power to fix inconstant Nature or Fortune were she tottering on her
Wheel. Will. Her Name, my Dear, her Name? Beau. I would not breathe it
even in my Complaints, lest amorous Winds should bear it o'er the
World, and make Mankind her Slaves; But that it is a Name too cheaply
known, And she that owns it may be as cheaply purchas'd. Will. Hah!
cheaply purchas'd too! I languish for her. Beau. Ay, there's the Devil
on't, she is- a Whore.
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