Aria. All this frights me not: 'tis still much better than a
keeping Husband, whom neither Beauty nor Honour in a Wife can oblige.
Beau. Oh, you know not the good-nature of a Man of Wit, at least I
shall bear a Conscience, and do thee reason, which Heaven denies to
old Carlo, were he willing. Aria. Oh, he talks as high, and thinks as
well of himself as any young Coxcomb of ye all. Beau. He has reason,
for if his Faith were no better than his Works, he'd be damn'd. Aria.
Death, who wou'd marry, who wou'd be chaffer'd thus, and sold to
Slavery? I'd rather buy a Friend at any Price that I could love and
trust. Beau. Ay, could we but drive on such a Bargain. Aria. You
should not be the Man; You have a Mistress, Sir, that has your Heart,
and all your softer Hours: I know't, and if I were so wretched as to
marry thee, must see my Fortune lavisht out on her; her Coaches,
Dress, and Equipage exceed mine by far: Possess she all the day thy
Hours of Mirth, good Humour and Expence, thy Smiles, thy Kisses, and
thy Charms of Wit. Oh how you talk and look when in her Presence! but
when with me, A Pox of Love and Woman-kind, [Sings. And all the Fops
adore 'em. How it's, Cuz- then slap, on goes the Beaver, which being
cock'd, you bear up briskly, with the second Part to the same Tune-
Harkye, Sir, let me advise you to pack up your Trumpery and be gone,
your honourable Love, your matrimonial Foppery, with your other
Trinkets thereunto belonging; or I shall talk aloud, and let your
Uncle hear you.
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