_Wild_. Married to her! Do I know her, you shou’d rather ask. What Fool has forg’d this unlikely Lye? but suppose ‘twere true, cou’d you be jealous of a Woman I marry? Do you take me for such an Ass, to suspect I shall love my own Wife? On the other side, I have a great Charge of Vices, as you well observe, and I must not be so barbarous to let ‘em starve. Every body in this Age takes care to provide for their Vices, though they send their Children a begging; I shou’d be worse than an Infidel to neglect them. No, I must marry some stiff aukward thing or other with an ugly Face, and a handsom Estate, that’s certain: but whoever is ordain’d to make my Fortune, ‘tis you only can make me happy-- Come, do it then. L. _Gal_. I never will. _Wild_. Unkindly said, you must. L. _Gal_. Unreasonable Man! because you see I have unusual Regards for you, Pleasure to hear, and Trouble to deny you; A fatal yielding in my Nature toward you, Love bends my Soul that way-- A Weakness I ne’er felt for any other; And wou’d you be so base? and cou’d you have the Heart To take th’ advantage on’t to ruin me, To make me infamous, despis’d, loath’d, pointed at? _Wild_. You reason false, According to the strictest Rules of Honour, Beauty should still be the Reward of Love, Not the vile Merchandize of Fortune, Or the cheap Drug of a Church-Ceremony. She’s only infamous, who to her Bed For Interest takes some nauseous Clown she hates: And though a Jointure or a Vow in publick Be her Price, that makes her but the dearer Whore. L. _Gal_. I understand not these new Morals. _Wild_. Have Patience I say, ‘tis clear: All the Desires of mutual Love are virtuous. Can Heav’n or Man be angry that you please Your self, and me, when it does wrong to none? Why rave you then on things that ne’er can be? Besides, are we not alone, and private? who can know it? L. _Gal_. Heaven will know’t; and I--that, that’s enough: But when you are weary of me, first your Friend, Then his, then all the World. _Wild_. Think not that time will ever come. L. _Gal_. Oh, it must, it will. _Wild_. Or if it should, could I be such a Villain-- Ah cruel! if you love me as you say, You wou’d not thus distrust me. L. _Gal_. You do me wrong, I love you more than e’er my Tongue, Or all the Actions of my Life can tell you--so well-- Your very Faults, how gross soe’er to me, Have something pleasing in ‘em. To me you’re all That Man can praise, or Woman can desire; All Charm without, and all Desert within. But yet my Virtue is more lovely still; That is a Price too high to pay for you; The Love of Angels may be bought too dear, If we bestow on them what’s kept for Heaven. _Wild_. Hell and the Devil! I’ll hear no more Of this religious Stuff, this godly Nonsense. Death, Madam, do you bring me into your Chamber to preach Virtue to me?