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. BELL. Faith, madam, I dare not speak to her, but I’ll make signs. [_Addresses Belinda in dumb show_.] BELIN. Oh, foh, your dumb rhetoric is more ridiculous than your talking impertinence, as an ape is a much more troublesome animal than a parrot. ARAM. Ay, cousin, and ’tis a sign the creatures mimic nature well; for there are few men but do more silly things than they say. BELL. Well, I find my apishness has paid the ransom for my speech, and set it at liberty—though, I confess, I could be well enough pleased to drive on a love-bargain in that silent manner—’twould save a man a world of lying and swearing at the year’s end. Besides, I have had a little experience, that brings to mind— When wit and reason both have failed to move; Kind looks and actions (from success) do prove, Ev’n silence may be eloquent in love. ACT III. SCENE I. SCENE: _The Street_. SILVIA _and_ LUCY. SILV. Will he not come, then? LUCY. Yes, yes; come, I warrant him, if you will go in and be ready to receive him. SILV. Why did you not tell me? Whom mean you? LUCY. Whom you should mean, Heartwell. SILV. Senseless creature, I meant my Vainlove. LUCY. You may as soon hope to recover your own maiden-head as his love. Therefore, e’en set your heart at rest, and in the name of opportunity mind your own business. Strike Heartwell home before the bait’s worn off the hook. Age will come. He nibbled fairly yesterday, and no doubt will be eager enough to-day to swallow the temptation. SILV. Well, since there’s no remedy—yet tell me—for I would know, though to the anguish of my soul, how did he refuse? Tell me, how did he receive my letter—in anger or in scorn? LUCY. Neither; but what was ten times worse, with damned senseless indifference. By this light I could have spit in his face. Receive it! Why, he received it as I would one of your lovers that should come empty-handed; as a court lord does his mercer’s bill or a begging dedication—he received it as if ’t had been a letter from his wife. SILV. What! did he not read it? LUCY. Hummed it over, gave you his respects, and said he would take time to peruse it—but then he was in haste.