_Bel._ We ought to do so, indeed; but 'tis a hard matter. For when a Man is really in love, he looks so unsufferably silly, that tho' a Woman lik'd him well enough before, she has then much ado to endure the Sight of him: And this I take to be the Reason why Lovers are so generally ill-us'd. _Lady Brute._ Well, I own, now, I'm well enough pleased to see a Man look like an Ass for me. _Bel._ Ay, I'm pleas'd he should look like an Ass, too;--that is, I'm pleased with myself for making him look so. _Lady Brute._ Nay, truly, I think if he'd find some other way to express his Passion, 'twould be more to his advantage. _Bel._ Yes; for then a Woman might like his Passion and him too. _Lady Brute._ Yet, _Belinda_, after all, a Woman's Life would be but a dull Business, if it were not for Men; and Men that can look like Asses, too. We shou'd never blame Fate for the shortness of our Days; our Time would hang wretchedly upon our Hands. _Bel._ Why, truly, they do help us off with a good share on't: For were there no Men in the World, o'my Conscience, I shou'd be no longer a-dressing than I'm a-saying my Prayers; nay, tho' it were Sunday: For you know that one may go to Church without Stays on. _Lady Brute._ But don't you think Emulation might do something? For every Woman you see desires to be finer than her Neighbour. _Bel._ That's only that the Men may like her better than her Neighbour. No, if there were no Men, adieu fine Petticoats, we should be weary of wearing 'em. _Lady Brute._ And adieu Plays, we should be weary of seeing 'em. _Bel._ Adieu _Hyde Park_, the Dust would choak us. _Lady Brute._ Adieu _St. James_'s, walking would tire us. _Bel._ Adieu _London_, the Smoke would stifle us. _Lady Brute._ And adieu going to Church, for Religion wou'd ne'er prevail with us. _Both._ Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! _Bel._ Our Confession is so very hearty, sure we merit Absolution. _Lady Brute._ Not unless we go thro' with't, and confess all. So, pr'ythee, for the Ease of our Consciences, let's hide nothing. _Bel._ Agreed. _Lady Brute._ Why, then, I confess, that I love to sit in the Fore-front of a Box; for if one sits behind, there's two Acts gone, perhaps, before one's found out. And when I am there, if I perceive the Men whispering and looking upon me, you must know I cannot for my Life forbear thinking they talk to my Advantage; and that sets a thousand little tickling Vanities on foot---- _Bel._ Just my Case, for all the World; but go on. _Lady Brute._ I watch with Impatience for the next Jest in the Play, that I might laugh, and shew my white Teeth. If the Poet has been dull, and the Jest be long a-coming, I pretend to whisper one to my Friend, and from thence fall into a little small Discourse, in which I take occasion to shew my Face in all Humours, brisk, pleas'd, serious, melancholy, languishing----Not that what we say to one another causes any of these alterations. But----