La Nu. But he was rich, good Captain, was he not? Will. Oh most
damnably, and a confounded Blockhead, two certain Remedies against
your Pride and Scorn. La Nu. Have you done, Sir? Will. With thee and
all thy Sex, of which I've try'd an hundred, and found none true or
honest. La Nu. Oh, I doubt not the number: for you are one of those
healthy-stomacht Lovers, that can digest a Mistress in a Night, and
hunger again next Morning: a Pox of your whining consumptive
Constitution, who are only constant for want of Appetite: you have a
swinging Stomach to Variety, and Want having set an edge upon your
Invention, (with which you cut thro all Difficulties) you grow more
impudent by Success. Will. I am not always scorn'd then. La Nu. I have
known you as confidently put your Hands into your Pockets for Money in
a Morning, as if the Devil had been your Banker, when you knew you put
'em off at Night as empty as your Gloves. Will. And it may be found
Money there too. La Nu. Then with this Poverty so proud you are, you
will not give the Wall to the Catholick King, unless his Picture hung
upon't. No Servants, no Money, no Meat, always on foot, and yet
undaunted still. Will. Allow me that, Child. La Nu. I wonder what the
Devil makes you so termagant on our Sex, 'tis not your high feeding,
for your Grandees only dine, and that but when Fortune pleases- For
your parts, who are the poor dependent, brown Bread and old Adam's Ale
is only current amongst ye; yet if little Eve walk in the Garden, the
starv'd lean Rogues neigh after her, as if they were in Paradise.
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