Ang. Ha, ha, ha, alas, good Captain, what pity ’tis your edifying Doctrine will do no good upon me—_Moretta_, fetch the Gentleman a Glass, and let him survey himself, to see what Charms he has,—and guess my Business. [Aside in a soft tone. Moret. He knows himself of old, I believe those Breeches and he have been acquainted ever since he was beaten at _Worcester_. 38 Ang. Nay, do not abuse the poor Creature.— Moret. Good Weather-beaten Corporal, will you march off? we have no need of your Doctrine, tho you have of our Charity; but at present we have no Scraps, we can afford no kindness for God’s sake; in fine, Sirrah, the Price is too high i’th’ Mouth for you, therefore troop, I say. Will. Here, good Fore-Woman of the Shop, serve me, and I’ll be gone. Moret. Keep it to pay your Landress, your Linen stinks of the Gun-Room; for here’s no selling by Retail. Will. Thou hast sold plenty of thy stale Ware at a cheap Rate. Moret. Ay, the more silly kind Heart I, but this is an Age wherein Beauty is at higher Rates.—In fine, you know the price of this. Will. I grant you ’tis here set down a thousand Crowns a Month—Baud, take your black Lead and sum it up, that I may have a Pistole-worth of these vain gay things, and I’ll trouble you no more. Moret. Pox on him, he’ll fret me to Death:—abominable Fellow, I tell thee, we only sell by the whole Piece. Will. ’Tis very hard, the whole Cargo or nothing—Faith, Madam, my Stock will not reach it, I cannot be your Chapman.—Yet I have Countrymen, in Town, Merchants of Love, like me; I’ll see if they’l put for a share, we cannot lose much by it, and what we have no use for, we’ll sell upon the _Friday’s_ Mart, at—_Who gives more?_ I am studying, Madam, how to purchase you, tho at present I am unprovided of Money. Ang. Sure, this from any other Man would anger me—nor shall he know the Conquest he has made—Poor angry Man, how I despise this railing. Will. Yes, I am poor—but I’m a Gentleman, And one that scorns this Baseness which you practise. Poor as I am, I would not sell my self, No, not to gain your charming high-priz’d Person. 39 Tho I admire you strangely for your Beauty, Yet I contemn your Mind. —And yet I wou’d at any rate enjoy you; At your own rate—but cannot—See here The only Sum I can command on Earth; I know not where to eat when this is gone: Yet such a Slave I am to Love and Beauty, This last reserve I’ll sacrifice to enjoy you. —Nay, do not frown, I know you are to be bought, And wou’d be bought by me, by me, For a mean trifling Sum, if I could pay it down. Which happy knowledge I will still repeat, And lay it to my Heart, it has a Virtue in’t, And soon will cure those Wounds your Eyes have made. —And yet—there’s something so divinely powerful there— Nay, I will gaze—to let you see my Strength. [Holds her, looks on her, and pauses and sighs. By Heaven, bright Creature—I would not for the World Thy Fame were half so fair as is thy Face. [Turns her away from him.