Sir _Tim_. How, my _Betty_!
_Flaunt_. This is the Trade you drive, you eternal Fop, when I sit at home expecting you Night after Night.
Sir _Tim_. Nay, dear Betty!
_Flaunt_. 'Tis here you spend that which shou'd buy me Points and Petticoats, whilst I go like no body's Mistress; I'd as live be your Wife at this rate, so I had: and I'm in no small danger of getting the foul Disease by your Leudness.
Sir _Tim_. Victorious _Betty_, be merciful, and do not ruin my Reputation amongst my Friends.
_Flaunt_. Your Whores you mean, you Sot you.
Sir _Tim_. Nay, triumphant _Betty_, hear thy poor _Timmy_.
_Flaunt_. My poor _Ninny_, I'm us'd barbarously, and won't endure it.
Sir _Tim_. I've won Money to Night, _Betty_, to buy thee Clothes--hum --hum--Well said, _Frank_, towse the little Jilts, they came for that purpose.
_Flaunt_. The Devil confound him, what a Prize have I lost by his being here--my Comfort is, he has not found me out though, but thinks I came to look for him, and accordingly I must dissemble.
_Bel_. What's here? A Lady all in Tears!
Sir _Tim_. An old Acquaintance of mine, that takes it unkindly that I am for Change--_Betty_, say so too, you know I can settle nothing till I'm marry'd; and he can do it swingingly, if we can but draw him in.
_Flaunt_. This mollifies something, do this, and you'll make your Peace; if not, you Rascal, your Ears shall pay for this Night's Transgression.
Sir _Tim_. Come hither, _Frank_, is not this a fine Creature?
_Bel_. By Heaven, a very Devil!
Sir _Tim_. Come, come, approach her; for if you'll have a Miss, this has all the good Qualities of one--go, go Court her, thou art so bashful--
_Bel_. I cannot frame my Tongue to so much Blasphemy, as 'tis to say kind things to her--I'll try my Heart though--Fair Lady--Damn her, she is not fair--nor sweet--nor good--nor--something I must say for a beginning.
Come, Lady--dry your Eyes: This Man deserves not all the Tears you shed.
--So--at last the Devil has got the better of me, And I am enter'd.
_Flaunt_. You see, Sir, how miserable we Women are that love you Men.
_Bel_. How, did you love him? Love him against his Will?
_Flaunt_. So it seems, Sir.
_Bel_. Oh, thou art wretched then indeed; no wonder if he hate thee-- Does he not curse thee?
Curse thee till thou art damn'd, as I do lost _Diana_. [_Aside_.
_Flaunt_. Curse me! He were not best in my hearing; Let him do what he will behind my Back.
What ails the Gentleman?
_Bel_. Gods! what an odious thing mere Coupling is!
A thing which every sensual Animal Can do as well as we--but prithee tell me, Is there nought else between the nobler Creatures?
_Flaunt_. Not that I know of, Sir-- Lord, he's very silly, or very innocent, I hope he has his Maidenhead; if so, and rich too. Oh, what a booty were this for me! [_Aside_.
_Bel_. 'Tis wondrous strange; Why was not I created like the rest, Wild, and insensible, to fancy all?
_Flaunt_. Come, Sir, you must learn to be gay, to sing, to dance, and talk of any thing, and fancy any thing that's in your way too.
_Bel_. Oh, I can towse, and ruffle, like any Leviathan, when I begin-- Come, prove my Vigor. [_Towses her_.
_Flaunt_. Oh, Lord, Sir! You tumble all my Garniture.
_Bel_. There's Gold to buy thee more--
_Flaunt_. Oh, sweet Sir--wou'd my Knight were hang'd, so I were well rid of him now--Well, Sir, I swear you are the most agreeable Person--
_Bel_. Am I?--let us be more familiar then--I'll kiss thy Hand, thy Breast, thy Lips--and--
_Flaunt_. All--you please, Sir--
_Bel_. A tractable Sinner! [_Offers to kiss her_.
Faugh--how she smells--had I approach'd so near divine _Celinda_, what A natural Fragrancy had sent it self through all my ravisht Senses!
[_Aside_.
_Flaunt_. The Man's extasy'd, sure, I shall take him.
Come, Sir, you're sad.
_Bel_. As Angels fall'n from the Divine Abode, And now am lighted on a very Hell!
--But this is not the way to thrive in Wickedness; I must rush on to Ruin--Come, fair Mistress, Will you not shew me some of your Arts of Love?
For I am very apt to learn of Beauty--Gods-- What is't I negotiate for?--a Woman!
Making a Bargain to possess a Woman!
Oh, never, never!
_Flaunt_. The Man is in love, that's certain--as I was saying, Sir--
_Bel_. Be gone, Repentance! Thou needless Goodness, Which if I follow, canst lead me to no Joys.
Come, tell me the Price of all your Pleasures.
Sir _Tim_. Look you, Mistress, I am but a Country Knight.
Yet I shou'd be glad of your farther Acquaintance.
--Pray, who may that Lady be--
_Driv_. Who, Mrs. Flauntit, Sir?
Sir _Tim_. Ay, she: she's tearing fine, by Fortune.
_Driv_. I'll assure you, Sir, she's kept, and is a great Rarity, but to a Friend, or so--
Sir _Tim_. Hum--kept--pray, by whom?
_Driv_. Why, a silly Knight, Sir, that--