_La Nu._ So had you need. I should have guest the first by your pertness; for your saucy thing of Quality acts the Man as impudently at fourteen, as another at thirty: nor is there any thing so hateful as to hear it talk of Love, Women and Drinking; nay, to see it marry too at that Age, and get itself a Play-fellow in its Son and Heir.
_Aria._ This Satyr on my Youth shall never put me out of countenance, or make me think you wish me one day older; and egad, I'll warrant them that tries me, shall find me ne'er an hour too young.
_La Nu._ You mistake my Humour, I hate the Person of a fair conceited Boy.
Enter _Willmore_ drest, singing.
_Will._ _Vole, vole dans cette Cage, Petite Oyseau dans cet bocage._ --How now, Fool, where's the Doctor?
_Shift._ A little busy, Sir.
_Will._ Call him, I am in haste, and come to cheapen the Price of Monster.
_Shift._ As how, Sir?
_Will._ In an honourable way, I will lawfully marry one of 'em, and have pitcht upon the Giant; I'll bid as fair as any Man.
_Shift._ No doubt but you will speed, Sir: please you, Sir, to walk in.
_Will._ I'll follow-- _Vole, vole dans cette Cage_, &c.
_Luc._ Why,'tis the Captain, Madam-- [Aside to _Aria._
_La Nu._ Hah-- marry-- harkye, Sir,-- a word, pray.
[As he is going out she pulls him.
_Will._ Your Servant, Madam, your Servant-- _Vole, vole_, &c.
[Puts his Hat off carelesly, and walks by, going out.
_Luc._ And to be marry'd, mark that.
_Aria._ Then there's one doubt over, I'm glad he is not married.
_La Nu._ Come back-- Death, I shall burst with Anger-- this Coldness blows my Flame, which if once visible, makes him a Tyrant--
_Will._ Fool, what's a Clock, fool? this noise hinders me from hearing it strike.
[Shakes his Pockets, and walks up and down.
_La Nu. _ A blessed sound, if no Hue and Cry pursue it.-- what-- you are resolv'd then upon this notable Exploit?
_Will._ What Exploit, good Madam?
_La Nu._ Why, marrying of a Monster, and an ugly Monster.
_Will._ Yes faith, Child, here stands the bold Knight, that singly, and unarm'd, designs to enter the List with _Thogogandiga_ the Giant; a good Sword will defend a worse cause than an ugly Wife. I know no danger worse than fighting for my Living, and I have don't this dozen years for Bread.
_La Nu._ This is the common trick of all Rogues, when they have done an ill thing to face it out.
_Will._ An ill thing-- your Pardon, Sweet-heart, compare it but to Banishment, a frozen Sentry with brown George and _Spanish_ Pay; and if it be not better to be Master of a Monster, than Slave to a damn'd Commonwealth-- I submit-- and since my Fortune has thrown this good in my way--
_La Nu._ You'll not be so ungrateful to refuse it; besides then you may hope to sleep again, without dreaming of Famine, or the Sword, two Plagues a Soldier of Fortune is subject to.
_Will._ Besides Cashiering, a third Plague.
_La Nu._ Still unconcern'd!-- you call me mercenary, but I would starve e'er suffer my self to be possest by a thing of Horror.
_Will._ You lye, you would by any thing of Horror: yet these things of Horror have Beauties too, Beauties thou canst not boast of, Beauties that will not fade; Diamonds to supply the lustre of their Eyes, and Gold the brightness of their Hair, a well-got Million to atone for Shape, and Orient Pearls, more white, more plump and smooth, than that fair Body Men so languish for, and thou hast set such Price on.
_Aria._ I like not this so well, 'tis a trick to make her jealous.
_Will._ Their Hands too have their Beauties, whose very mark finds credit and respect, their Bills are current o'er the Universe; besides these, you shall see waiting at my Door, four Footmen, a Velvet Coach, with Six _Flanders_ Beauties more: And are not these most comely Virtues in a Soldier's Wife, in this most wicked peaceable Age?
_Luc._ He's poor too, there's another comfort. [Aside.
_Aria._ The most incouraging one I have met with yet.
_Will._ Pox on't, I grow weary of this virtuous Poverty. There goes a gallant Fellow, says one, but gives him not an Onion; the Women too, faith, 'tis a handsom Gentleman, but the Devil a Kiss he gets _gratis_.
_Aria._ Oh, how I long to undeceive him of that Error.
_La Nu._ He speaks not of me; sure he knows me not. [Aside.
_Will._ --No, Child, Money speaks sense in a Language all Nations understand, 'tis Beauty, Wit, Courage, Honour, and undisputable Reason-- see the virtue of a Wager, that new philosophical way lately found out of deciding all hard Questions-- _Socrates_, without ready Money to lay down, must yield.
_Aria._ Well, I must have this gallant Fellow. [Aside.
_La Nu._ Sure he has forgot this trival thing.
_Will._ --Even thou-- who seest me dying unregarded, wou'd then be fond and kind, and flatter me.
[_Soft tone._ By Heaven, I'll hate thee then; nay, I will marry to be rich to hate thee: the worst of that, is but to suffer nine Days Wonderment. Is not that better than an Age of Scorn from a proud faithless Beauty?
_La Nu._ Oh, there's Resentment left-- why, yes faith, such a Wedding would give the Town diversion: we should have a lamentable Ditty made on it, entitled, The Captain's Wedding, with the doleful Relation of his being over-laid by an o'er-grown Monster.
_Will._ I'll warrant ye I escape that as sure as cuckolding; for I would fain see that hardy Wight that dares attempt my Lady Bright, either by Force or Flattery.
_La Nu._ So, then you intend to bed her?
_Will._ Yes faith, and beget a Race of Heroes, the Mother's Form with all the Father's Qualities.
_La Nu._ Faith, such a Brood may prove a pretty Livelihood for a poor decay'd Officer; you may chance to get a Patent to shew 'em in _England_, that Nation of Change and Novelty.
_Will._ A provision old _Carlo_ cannot make for you against the abandon'd day.
_La Nu._ He can supply the want of Issue a better way; and tho he be not so fine a fellow as your self, he's a better Friend, he can keep a Mistress: give me a Man can feed and clothe me, as well as hug and all to bekiss me, and tho his Sword be not so good as yours, his Bond's worth a thousand Captains. This will not do, I'll try what Jealousy will do. [Aside.] Your Servant, Captain-- your Hand, Sir.
[Takes _Ariadne_ by the Hand.
_Will._ Hah, what new Coxcomb's that-- hold, Sir-- [Takes her from him.