At last I am convinc'd. My Eyes are Testimonies of his Falshood. The base, ungrateful, perjur'd Villain---- Good Gods--What slippery Stuff are Men compos'd of! Sure the Account of their Creation's false, And 'twas the Woman's Rib that they were form'd of. But why am I thus angry? This poor Relapse shou'd only move my Scorn. 'Tis true, the roving Flights of his unfinish'd Youth Had strong Excuses from the Plea of Nature: Reason had thrown the Reins loose on his Neck, And slipt him to unlimited Desire. If therefore he went wrong, he had a Claim To my Forgiveness, and I did him right. But since the Years of Manhood rein him in, And Reason, well digested into Thought, Has pointed out the Course he ought to run; If now he strays, 'Twou'd be as weak and mean in me to pardon, As it has been in him t' offend. But hold: 'Tis an ill Cause indeed, where nothing's to be said for't. My Beauty possibly is in the Wain: Perhaps Sixteen has greater Charms for him: Yes, there's the Secret. But let him know, My Quiver's not entirely empty'd yet, I still have Darts, and I can shoot 'em too; They're not so blunt, but they can enter still; The Want's not in my Power, but in my Will. Virtue's his Friend; or, thro' another's Heart, I yet cou'd find the way to make his smart. [_Going off, she meets ~Worthy~._ Ha! He here? Protect me, Heaven, for this looks ominous. _Wor._ You seem disorder'd, Madam; I hope there's no Misfortune happen'd to you? _Aman._ None that will long disorder me, I hope. _Wor._ Whate'er it be disturbs you, I wou'd to Heaven 'twere in my Power to bear the Pain, till I were able to remove the Cause. _Aman._ I hope ere long it will remove itself. At least, I have given it warning to be gone. _Wor._ Wou'd I durst ask, Where 'tis the Thorn torments you? Forgive me, if I grow inquisitive; 'Tis only with desire to give you Ease. _Aman._ Alas! 'tis in a tender Part. It can't be drawn without a World of Pain: Yet out it must; for it begins to fester in my Heart. _Wor._ If 'tis the Sting of unrequited Love, remove it instantly: I have a Balm will quickly heal the Wound. _Aman._ You'll find the Undertaking difficult: The Surgeon who already has attempted it, has much tormented me. _Wor._ I'll aid him with a gentler Hand--if you will give me leave. _Aman._ How soft soe'er the Hand may be, there still is Terror in the Operation.