_Lop._ Nay, if I must lose my Money; then let me claim another Right: Losers have leave to speak. Therefore, advance, my Tongue, and say thy Pleausure; tell this Master of mine, he shou'd die with shame at the Life he leads: So much unworthy of a Man of Honour: Tell him---- Don _John._ I'll hear no more. _Lop._ You shall indeed, Sir. Don _John._ Here, take thy Money, and begone. _Lop._ Counters all; adieu, you glistring Spangles of the World; farewel, ye Tempters of the Great, not me. Tell him---- Don _John._ Stay. _Lop._ Go on; tell him he's worse among the Women than a Ferret among the Rabbits; at one and all, from the Princess to the Tripe-Woman; handsome, ugly, old Women and Children, all go down. Don _John._ Very well. _Lop._ It is, indeed, Sir, and so are the Stories you tell them to bring them to your Matters. The Handsome, she's all Divinity, to be sure; the Ugly, she's so agreeable, were it not for her Virtue, she'd be over-run with Lovers; the light, airy, Flipflap, she kills him with her Motions; the dull, heavy-tail'd Maukin melts him down with her Modesty; the scragged, lean, pale Face has a Shape for Destruction; the fat over-grown Sow has an Air of Importance; the tall aukward Trapes with her Majesty wounds; the little, short Trundle-tail shoots a _Je-ne-sçay-quoy_: In a Word, they have all something for him----and he has something for them all. Don _John._ And thus, you Fool, by a general Attack, I keep my Heart my own; lie with them that like me, and care not Sixpence for them that don't. _Lop._ Well said, well said; a very pretty Amusement, truly! But, pray, Sir, by your leave (Ceremony aside) since you are pleas'd to clear up into Conversation, what mighty Matters do you expect from boarding a Woman, you know, is already Heart and Soul engag'd to another? Don _John._ Why, I expect her Heart and Soul shou'd disengage in a Week. If you live a little longer with me, Sirrah, you'll know how to instruct your next Master to the purpose; and therefore, that I may charitably equip you for a new Service, now I'm turning you out of my own, I'll let you know, that when a Woman loves a Man best, she's in the most hopeful way of betraying him; for Love, like Fortune, turns upon a Wheel, and is very much given to rising and falling. _Lop._ Like enough: But as much upon the Weathercock as the Ladies are; there are some the Wind must blow hard to fetch them about: When such a sturdy Hussy falls in your Honour's way, what account may Things turn to then, an't please ye? Don _John._ They turn to a Bottle, you Puppy. _Lop._ I find they'll always turn to something; but when you pursue a poor Woman, only to make her Lover jealous, what Pleasure can you take in that? Don _John._ That Pleasure. _Lop._ Look you there, again. Don _John._ Why, Sirrah, d'ye think there's no Pleasure in spoiling their Sport, when I can't make my own?