_Lady Brute._ Really I find myself something idle, _Belinda_: besides, I doat upon this little odd private Corner. But don't let my lazy Fancy confine you. [_Const. aside._] So, she wou'd be left alone with me; that's well. _Bel._ Well, we'll take one Turn, and come to you again. [_To ~Heart~._] Come, Sir, shall we go pry into the Secrets of the Garden? Who knows what Discoveries we may make? _Heart._ Madam, I'm at your Service. _Const._ [_To ~Heart~. aside._] Don't make too much haste back; for, d'ye hear?----I may be busy. _Heart._ Enough. [_Exeunt ~Belinda~ and ~Heartfree~._ _Lady Brute._ Sure you think me scandalously free, Mr. _Constant_. I'm afraid I shall lose your good Opinion of me. _Const._ My good Opinion, Madam, is like your Cruelty----ne'er to be remov'd. _Lady Brute._ But if I should remove my Cruelty, then there's an end of your good Opinion. _Const._ There is not so strict an Alliance between 'em, neither. 'Tis certain I shou'd love you then better (if that be possible) than I do now; and where I love, I always esteem. _Lady Brute._ Indeed, I doubt you much. Why, suppose you had a Wife, and she should entertain a Gallant? _Const._ If I gave her just Cause, how cou'd I justly condemn her? _Lady Brute._ Ah! but you'd differ widely about just Causes. _Const._ But Blows can bear no Dispute. _Lady Brute._ Nor ill Manners much, truly. _Const._ Then no Woman upon Earth has so just a Cause as you have. _Lady Brute._ O, but a faithful Wife is a beautiful Character. _Const._ To a deserving Husband, I confess it is. _Lady Brute._ But can his Faults release my Duty? _Const._ In Equity, without doubt. And where Laws dispense with Equity, Equity should dispense with Laws. _Lady Brute._ Pray let's leave this Dispute; for you Men have as much Witchcraft in your Arguments, as Women have in their Eyes. _Const._ But whilst you attack me with your Charms, 'tis but reasonable I assault you with mine. _Lady Brute._ The Case is not the same. What Mischief we do, we can't help, and therefore are to be forgiven. _Const._ Beauty soon obtains Pardon for the Pain that it gives, when it applies the Balm of Compassion to the Wound: But a fine Face, and a hard Heart, is almost as bad as an ugly Face and a soft one; both very troublesome to many a poor Gentleman. _Lady Brute._ Yes, and to many a poor Gentlewoman, too, I can assure you. But pray, which of 'em is it that most afflicts you? _Const._ Your Glass and Conscience will inform you, Madam. But for Heaven's sake (for now I must be serious), if Pity, or if Gratitude can move you; [_Taking her Hand._] if Constancy and Truth have power to tempt you; if Love, if Adoration can affect you; give me at least some Hopes, that Time may do what you perhaps mean never to perform; 'twill ease my Sufferings, tho' not quench my Flame. _Lady Brute._ Your Sufferings eas'd, your Flame wou'd soon abate: And that I would preserve, not quench it, Sir.