_Bel._ Some Risk, I do confess, there always is: But if a Man has the least Spark either of Honour or Good-nature, he can never use a Woman ill, that loves him, and makes his Fortune both. Yet I must own to you, some little struggling I still have with this teazing Ambition of ours; for Pride, you know, is as natural to a Woman, as 'tis to a Saint. I can't help being fond of this Rogue; and yet it goes to my Heart, to think I must never whisk to _Hyde-Park_ with above a Pair of Horses; have no Coronet upon my Coach, nor a Page to carry up my Train. But above all--that Business of Place--Well, taking place is a noble Prerogative-- _Lady Brute._ Especially after a Quarrel-- _Bel._ Or of a Rival. But pray say no more on't, for fear I change my Mind; for, o' my Conscience, wer't not for your Affair in the Balance, I should go near to pick up some odious Man of Quality yet, and only take poor _Heartfree_ for a Gallant. _Lady Brute._ Then him you must have, however things go? _Bel._ Yes. _Lady Brute._ Why, we may pretend what we will: but 'tis a hard matter to live without the Man we love. _Bel._ Especially when we are married to the Man we hate. Pray tell me: Do the Men of the Town ever believe us virtuous, when they see us do so? _Lady Brute._ O, no: Nor indeed, hardly, let us do what we will. The most of them think, there is no such thing as Virtue, consider'd in the strictest Notions of it; and therefore when you hear 'em say, such a one is a Woman of Reputation, they only mean she's a Woman of Discretion. For they consider we have no more Religion than they have, nor so much Morality; and between you and I, _Belinda_, I'm afraid the want of Inclination seldom protects any of us. _Bel._ But what think you of the Fear of being found out? _Lady Brute._ I think That never kept any Woman virtuous long. We are not such Cowards, neither. No: Let us once pass Fifteen, and we have too good an Opinion of our own Cunning, to believe the World can penetrate into what we would keep a Secret. And so, in short, we cannot reasonably blame the Men for judging of us by themselves. _Bel._ But sure we are not so wicked as they are, after all? _Lady Brute._ We are as wicked, Child, but our Vice lies another way: Men have more Courage than we, so they commit more bold, impudent Sins. They quarrel, fight, swear, drink, blaspheme, and the like: Whereas we, being Cowards, only backbite, tell Lyes, cheat at Cards, and so forth. But 'tis late: Let's end our Discourse for to-night, and, out of an excess of Charity, take a small Care of that nasty, drunken Thing there----Do but look at him, _Belinda_! _Bel._ Ah----'tis a savoury Dish. _Lady Brute._ As savoury as 'tis, I'm cloy'd with't. Pr'ythee call the Butler to take it away. _Bel._ Call the Butler!----Call the Scavenger! [_To a Servant within._] Who's there? Call _Rasor_! Let him take away his Master, scour him clean with a little Sope and Sand, and so put him to Bed.