Aria. I scorn to flinch for a bare Wound or two; nor is he routed that has lost the day, he may again rally, renew the Fight, and vanquish. La Nu. You have a good opinion of that Beauty, which I find not so forcible, nor that fond Prattle uttered with such Confidence. Aria. But I have Quality and Fortune too. La Nu. So had you need. I should have guest the first by your pertness; for your saucy thing of Quality acts the Man as impudently at fourteen, as another at thirty: nor is there any thing so hateful as to hear it talk of Love, Women and Drinking; nay, to see it marry too at that Age, and get itself a Play-fellow in its Son and Heir. Aria. This Satyr on my Youth shall never put me out of countenance, or make me think you wish me one day older; and egad, I’ll warrant them that tries me, shall find me ne’er an hour too young. La Nu. You mistake my Humour, I hate the Person of a fair conceited Boy. Enter _Willmore_ drest, singing. Will. Vole, vole dans cette Cage, Petite Oyseau dans cet bocage. —How now, Fool, where’s the Doctor? Shift. A little busy, Sir. 164 Will. Call him, I am in haste, and come to cheapen the Price of Monster. Shift. As how, Sir? Will. In an honourable way, I will lawfully marry one of ’em, and have pitcht upon the Giant; I’ll bid as fair as any Man. Shift. No doubt but you will speed, Sir: please you, Sir, to walk in. Will. I’ll follow—_Vole, vole dans cette Cage_, &c. Luc. Why,’tis the Captain, Madam— [Aside to _Aria._ La Nu. Hah—marry—harkye, Sir,—a word, pray. [As he is going out she pulls him. Will. Your Servant, Madam, your Servant—_Vole, vole_, &c. [Puts his Hat off carelesly, and walks by, going out. Luc. And to be marry’d, mark that. Aria. Then there’s one doubt over, I’m glad he is not married. La Nu. Come back—Death, I shall burst with Anger—this Coldness blows my Flame, which if once visible, makes him a Tyrant— Will. Fool, what’s a Clock, fool? this noise hinders me from hearing it strike. [Shakes his Pockets, and walks up and down. La Nu. A blessed sound, if no Hue and Cry pursue it.—what—you are resolv’d then upon this notable Exploit? Will. What Exploit, good Madam? La Nu. Why, marrying of a Monster, and an ugly Monster. Will. Yes faith, Child, here stands the bold Knight, that singly, and unarm’d, designs to enter the List with _Thogogandiga_ the Giant; a good Sword will defend a worse cause than an ugly Wife. I know no danger worse than fighting for my Living, and I have don’t this dozen years for Bread. La Nu. This is the common trick of all Rogues, when they have done an ill thing to face it out. 165 Will. An ill thing—your Pardon, Sweet-heart, compare it but to Banishment, a frozen Sentry with brown George and _Spanish_ Pay; and if it be not better to be Master of a Monster, than Slave to a damn’d Commonwealth—I submit—and since my Fortune has thrown this good in my way—