( 11 )
if I may compare your former Encouragements, with your indifference to Day.
Lady Dor. But are you sure he is such a one, as a Lady may with safety repose her Honour in his hands?
Sir Toby. Her Honour, ay, adzooks, or any thing else that she has.
[To Ang.] Hark ye, young Gentleman, my Lady desires to know if you are a Gamester; she wants a Man sometimes to pass an Evening, or so, at Piquette.—You understand me.
Ang. You might have answer'd for me; I'll never stick out at any Games my Lady shall propose.
Sir Toby. Look ye, Madam, he will never stick out; and adzooks, I think that's as much as any reasonable Woman can desire.
Lady Dor. Sir Toby, shall I venture my self a turn with you and your Friend alone: Neice, you won't be angry to be left with Mr. Bellamour, your Servant; we shall meet the next turn.
Bell. Yes, Women are unintelligible to the most piercing and quick-sighted: Nothing is sincere in whatever they say or do: They are all Artifice and Disguise; resolving and altering without Sence or Reason; nothing is constant either in their Minds, or in their Bodies. As these are a Prey to Age and Infirmities, so are those to every frivolous Interest and idle Temptation. Their Love is never so firm and well-establish'd, but it is sacrific'd every hour to their Folly, or their Pride.———
Lucin. Enough, enough, Mr. Bellamour,—if these are your Opinions of our Sex, how are you to be believ'd, when you say you love us? For how can any thing so deform'd, as you describe Women, be belov'd?
Bell. There is a secret Enchantment in your Persons, that bewitches us to our own Destruction.—Inconstant Lucinda, after so many obliging Encouragements! Why was this cruel Letter sent me this morning.
