VAL. Tattle, I thank you; you would have interposed between me and heaven, but Providence laid purgatory in your way. You have but justice. SCAN. I hear the fiddles that Sir Sampson provided for his own wedding; methinks ’tis pity they should not be employed when the match is so much mended. Valentine, though it be morning, we may have a dance. VAL. Anything, my friend, everything that looks like joy and transport. SCAN. Call ’em, Jeremy. ANG. I have done dissembling now, Valentine; and if that coldness which I have always worn before you should turn to an extreme fondness, you must not suspect it. VAL. I’ll prevent that suspicion: for I intend to dote to that immoderate degree that your fondness shall never distinguish itself enough to be taken notice of. If ever you seem to love too much, it must be only when I can’t love enough. ANG. Have a care of promises; you know you are apt to run more in debt than you are able to pay. VAL. Therefore I yield my body as your prisoner, and make your best on’t. SCAN. The music stays for you. [_Dance_.] SCAN. Well, madam, you have done exemplary justice in punishing an inhuman father and rewarding a faithful lover. But there is a third good work which I, in particular, must thank you for: I was an infidel to your sex, and you have converted me. For now I am convinced that all women are not like fortune, blind in bestowing favours, either on those who do not merit or who do not want ’em. ANG. ’Tis an unreasonable accusation that you lay upon our sex: you tax us with injustice, only to cover your own want of merit. You would all have the reward of love, but few have the constancy to stay till it becomes your due. Men are generally hypocrites and infidels: they pretend to worship, but have neither zeal nor faith. How few, like Valentine, would persevere even to martyrdom, and sacrifice their interest to their constancy! In admiring me, you misplace the novelty. The miracle to-day is, that we find A lover true; not that a woman’s kind.