VAIN. I should rather think favours, so gained, to be due rewards to indefatigable devotion. For as love is a deity, he must be served by prayer. BELIN. O Gad, would you would all pray to love, then, and let us alone. VAIN. You are the temples of love, and 'tis through you, our devotion must be conveyed. ARAM. Rather poor silly idols of your own making, which upon the least displeasure you forsake and set up new. Every man now changes his mistress and his religion as his humour varies, or his interest. VAIN. O madam-- ARAM. Nay, come, I find we are growing serious, and then we are in great danger of being dull. If my music-master be not gone, I'll entertain you with a new song, which comes pretty near my own opinion of love and your sex. Who's there? Is Mr. Gavot gone? [_Calls_.] FOOT. Only to the next door, madam. I'll call him. SCENE VIII. ARAMINTA, BELINDA, VAINLOVE, _and_ BELLMOUR. BELL. Why, you won't hear me with patience. ARAM. What's the matter, cousin? BELL. Nothing, madam, only-- BELIN. Prithee hold thy tongue. Lard, he has so pestered me with flames and stuff, I think I sha'n't endure the sight of a fire this twelvemonth. BELL. Yet all can't melt that cruel frozen heart. BELIN. O Gad, I hate your hideous fancy--you said that once before--if you must talk impertinently, for Heaven's sake let it be with variety; don't come always, like the devil, wrapt in flames. I'll not hear a sentence more, that begins with an 'I burn'--or an 'I beseech you, madam.' BELL. But tell me how you would be adored. I am very tractable. BELIN. Then know, I would be adored in silence. BELL. Humph, I thought so, that you might have all the talk to yourself. You had better let me speak; for if my thoughts fly to any pitch, I shall make villainous signs. BELIN. What will you get by that; to make such signs as I won't understand? BELL. Ay, but if I'm tongue-tied, I must have all my actions free to--quicken your apprehension--and I--gad let me tell you, my most prevailing argument is expressed in dumb show. SCENE IX. [_To them_] MUSIC-MASTER. ARAM. Oh, I am glad we shall have a song to divert the discourse. Pray oblige us with the last new song. SONG. I. Thus to a ripe, consenting maid, Poor, old, repenting Delia said, Would you long preserve your lover? Would you still his goddess reign? Never let him all discover, Never let him much obtain. II. Men will admire, adore and die, While wishing at your feet they lie: But admitting their embraces, Wakes 'em from the golden dream; Nothing's new besides our faces, Every woman is the same. ARAM. So, how de'e like the song, gentlemen? BELL. Oh, very well performed; but I don't much admire the words. ARAM. I expected it; there's too much truth in 'em. If Mr. Gavot will walk with us in the garden, we'll have it once again; you may like it better at second hearing. You'll bring my cousin.