L. _Gal_. I bring you hither! how can you say it? I suffer’d you indeed to come, but not For the base end you fancy’d, but to take A last Leave of you. Let my Heart break with Love, I cannot be that wretched thing you’d have me; Believe I still shall have a Kindness for you, Always your Friend, your Mistress now no more. _Wild_. Cozen’d, abus’d, she loves some other Man! Dull Blockhead, not to find it out before! [_Aside_. --Well, Madam, may I at last believe This is your fix’d and final Resolution? And does your Tongue now truly speak your Heart, That has so long bely’d it? L. _Gal_. It does. _Wild_. I’m glad on’t. Good Night; and when I visit you again, May you again thus fool me. [_Offers to go_. L. _Gal_. Stay but a Moment. _Wild_. For what? to praise your Night-dress, or make Court to your little Dog? No, no, Madam, send for Mr. Flamfull, and Mr. Flutterbuz, Mr. Lap-fool and Mr. Loveall; they’ll do it better, and are more at leisure. L. _Gal_. Hear me a little: You know I both despise, and hate those civil Coxcombs, as much as I esteem and love you. But why will you be gone so soon? and why are ye so cruel to urge me thus to part either with your good Opinion or your Kindness? I wou’d fain keep ‘em both. [_In a soft Tone_. _Wild_. Then keep your Word, Madam. L. _Gal_. My Word! and have I promis’d then to be A Whore? A Whore! Oh, let me think of that! A Man’s Convenience, his leisure Hours, his Bed of Ease, To loll and tumble on at idle times; The Slave, the Hackney of his lawless Lust! A loath’d Extinguisher of filthy Flames, Made use of, and thrown by--Oh, infamous! _Wild_. Come, come, you love me not, I see it plain; That makes your Scruples; that, that’s the Reason You start at Words, and turn away from Shadows. Already some pert Fop, some Ribbon Fool, Some dancing Coxcomb, has supplanted me In that unsteady treacherous Woman’s Heart of yours. L. _Gal_. Believe it if you will. Yes, let me be false, unjust, ungrateful, any thing but a--Whore-- _Wild_. Oh, Sex on purpose form’d to plague Mankind! All that you are, and all you do’s a Lye. False are your Faces, false your floating Hearts; False are your Quarrels, false your Reconcilements: Enemies without Reason, and dear without Kindness; Your Friendship’s false, but much more false your Love; Your damn’d deceitful Love is all o’er false. L. _Gal_. False rather are the Joys you are so fond of. Be wise, and cease, Sir, to pursue ‘em farther. _Wild_. No, them I can never quit, but you most easily: A Woman changeable and false as you. L. _Gal_. Said you most easily? Oh, inhuman! Your cruel Words have wak’d a dismal Thought; I feel ‘em cold and heavy at my Heart, And Weakness steals upon my Soul apace; I find I must be miserable-- I wou’d not be thought false. [_In a soft Tone, coming near him_. _Wild_. Nor wou’d I think you so; give me not Cause.