Aria. We are not all so cruel- but the Devil on't is, your
good- natur'd Heart is likely accompanied with an ill Face and worse
Wit. Will. Faith, Child, a ready Dish when a Man's Stomach is up, is
better than a tedious Feast. I never saw any Man yet cut my piece;
some are for Beauty, some are for Wit, and some for the Secret, but I
for all, so it be in a kind Girl: and for Wit in Woman, so she say
pretty fond things, we understand; tho true or false, no matter. Aria.
Give the Devil his due, you are a very conscientious Lover: I love a
Man that scorns to impose dull Truth and Constancy on a Mistress.
Will. Constancy, that current Coin with Fools! No, Child, Heaven keep
that Curse from our Doors. Aria. Hang it, it loses Time and Profit,
new Lovers have new Vows and new Presents, whilst the old feed upon a
dull repetition of what they did when they were Lovers; 'tis like
eating the cold Meat ones self, after having given a Friend a Feast.
Will. Yes, that's the thrifty Food for the Family when the Guests are
gone. Faith, Child, thou hast made a neat and a hearty Speech: But
prithee, my Dear, for the future, leave out that same Profit and
Present, for I have a natural Aversion to hard words; and for matter
of quick Dispatch in the Business- give me thy Hand, Child- let us but
start fair, and if thou outstripst me, thou'rt a nimble Racer.
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