SHARP. Where’s the bride? SET. Shifting clothes for the purpose, at a friend’s house of mine. Here’s company coming; if you’ll walk this way, sir, I’ll tell you. SCENE X. BELLMOUR, BELINDA, ARAMINTA, _and_ VAINLOVE. VAIN. Oh, ’twas frenzy all: cannot you forgive it? Men in madness have a title to your pity. [_To_ ARAMINTA.] ARAM. Which they forfeit, when they are restored to their senses. VAIN. I am not presuming beyond a pardon. ARAM. You who could reproach me with one counterfeit, how insolent would a real pardon make you! But there’s no need to forgive what is not worth my anger. BELIN. O’ my conscience, I could find in my heart to marry thee, purely to be rid of thee—at least thou art so troublesome a lover, there’s hopes thou’lt make a more than ordinary quiet husband. [_To_ BELLMOUR.] BELL. Say you so? Is that a maxim among ye? BELIN. Yes: you fluttering men of the _mode_ have made marriage a mere French dish. BELL. I hope there’s no French sauce. [_Aside_.] BELIN. You are so curious in the preparation, that is, your courtship, one would think you meant a noble entertainment—but when we come to feed, ’tis all froth, and poor, but in show. Nay, often, only remains, which have been I know not how many times warmed for other company, and at last served up cold to the wife. BELL. That were a miserable wretch indeed, who could not afford one warm dish for the wife of his bosom. But you timorous virgins form a dreadful chimæra of a husband, as of a creature contrary to that soft, humble, pliant, easy thing, a lover; so guess at plagues in matrimony, in opposition to the pleasures of courtship. Alas! courtship to marriage, is but as the music in the play-house, until the curtain’s drawn; but that once up, then opens the scene of pleasure. BELIN. Oh, foh,—no: rather courtship to marriage, as a very witty prologue to a very dull play. SCENE XI. [_To them_] SHARPER. SHARP. Hist! Bellmour. If you’ll bring the ladies, make haste to Sylvia’s lodgings, before Heartwell has fretted himself out of breath. BELL. You have an opportunity now, madam, to revenge yourself upon Heartwell, for affronting your squirrel. [_To_ BELINDA.] BELIN. Oh, the filthy rude beast. ARAM. ’Tis a lasting quarrel; I think he has never been at our house since. BELL. But give yourselves the trouble to walk to that corner-house, and I’ll tell you by the way what may divert and surprise you. SCENE XII. SCENE: _Sylvia’s Lodgings_. HEARTWELL _and_ BOY. HEART. Gone forth, say you, with her maid? BOY. There was a man too, that fetched them out—Setter, I think they called him. HEART. So-h—that precious pimp too—damned, damned strumpet! could she not contain herself on her wedding-day? not hold out till night? Oh, cursed state! how wide we err, when apprehensive of the load of life.