La Nu. You’ll not be so ungrateful to refuse it; besides then you may hope to sleep again, without dreaming of Famine, or the Sword, two Plagues a Soldier of Fortune is subject to. Will. Besides Cashiering, a third Plague. La Nu. Still unconcern’d!—you call me mercenary, but I would starve e’er suffer my self to be possest by a thing of Horror. Will. You lye, you would by any thing of Horror: yet these things of Horror have Beauties too, Beauties thou canst not boast of, Beauties that will not fade; Diamonds to supply the lustre of their Eyes, and Gold the brightness of their Hair, a well-got Million to atone for Shape, and Orient Pearls, more white, more plump and smooth, than that fair Body Men so languish for, and thou hast set such Price on. Aria. I like not this so well, ’tis a trick to make her jealous. Will. Their Hands too have their Beauties, whose very mark finds credit and respect, their Bills are current o’er the Universe; besides these, you shall see waiting at my Door, four Footmen, a Velvet Coach, with Six _Flanders_ Beauties more: And are not these most comely Virtues in a Soldier’s Wife, in this most wicked peaceable Age? Luc. He’s poor too, there’s another comfort. [Aside. Aria. The most incouraging one I have met with yet. Will. Pox on’t, I grow weary of this virtuous Poverty. There goes a gallant Fellow, says one, but gives him not an Onion; the Women too, faith, ’tis a handsom Gentleman, but the Devil a Kiss he gets _gratis_. 166 Aria. Oh, how I long to undeceive him of that Error. La Nu. He speaks not of me; sure he knows me not. [Aside. Will. —No, Child, Money speaks sense in a Language all Nations understand, ’tis Beauty, Wit, Courage, Honour, and undisputable Reason—see the virtue of a Wager, that new philosophical way lately found out of deciding all hard Questions—_Socrates_, without ready Money to lay down, must yield. Aria. Well, I must have this gallant Fellow. [Aside. La Nu. Sure he has forgot this trival thing. Will. —Even thou—who seest me dying unregarded, wou’d then be fond and kind, and flatter me. [Soft tone. By Heaven, I’ll hate thee then; nay, I will marry to be rich to hate thee: the worst of that, is but to suffer nine Days Wonderment. Is not that better than an Age of Scorn from a proud faithless Beauty? La Nu. Oh, there’s Resentment left—why, yes faith, such a Wedding would give the Town diversion: we should have a lamentable Ditty made on it, entitled, The Captain’s Wedding, with the doleful Relation of his being over-laid by an o’er-grown Monster. Will. I’ll warrant ye I escape that as sure as cuckolding; for I would fain see that hardy Wight that dares attempt my Lady Bright, either by Force or Flattery. La Nu. So, then you intend to bed her? Will. Yes faith, and beget a Race of Heroes, the Mother’s Form with all the Father’s Qualities.