_Mar_. I hope he will not yield--[_Aside_. --He stands unmov’d-- Surely I was mistaken in this Face, And I believe in Charms that have no power. _Gal_. ‘Sdeath, thou deservest not such a noble Creature,-- I’ll have ‘em both my self.--[_Aside_. _Fil_.--Yes, thou hast wondrous power, And I have felt it long. [_Pausingly_. _Mar_. How! _Fil_.--I’ve often seen that Face--but ‘twas in Dreams: And sleeping lov’d extremely! And waking;--sigh’d to find it but a Dream: The lovely Phantom vanish’d with my Slumbers, But left a strong Idea on my heart Of what I find in perfect Beauty here, --But with this difference, she was virtuous too. _Mar_. What silly she was that? _Fil_. She whom I dream’d I lov’d. _Mar_. You only dreamt that she was virtuous too; Virtue it self’s a Dream of so slight force, The very fluttering of Love’s Wings destroys it; Ambition, or the meaner hope of Interest, wakes it to nothing; In Men a feeble Beauty shakes the dull slumber off.-- _Gal_. Egad, she argues like an Angel, _Harry_. _Fil_.--What haste thou’st made to damn thy self so young! Hast thou been long thus wicked? hast thou sinn’d past Repentance? Heaven may do much to save so fair a Criminal; Turn yet, and be forgiven. _Gal_. What a Pox dost thou mean by all this Canting? _Mar_. A very pretty Sermon, and from a Priest so gay, It cannot chuse but edify. Do Holy men of your Religion, Signior, wear all this Habit? Are they thus young and lovely? Sure if they are, Your Congregation’s all compos’d of Ladies; The Laity must come abroad for Mistresses. _Fil_. Oh, that this charming Woman were but honest! _Gal_. ‘Twere better thou wert damn’d; honest! Pox, thou dost come out with things so mal a propo-- _Mar_. Come leave this Mask of foolish Modesty, And let us haste where Love and Musick calls; Musick, that heightens Love, and makes the Soul Ready for soft Impressions. _Gal_. So, she will do his business with a Vengeance. _Fil_. Plague of this tempting Woman, she will ruin me: I find weak Virtue melt from round my Heart, To give her Tyrant Image a Possession: So the warm Sun thaws Rivers icy Tops. Till in the stream he sees his own bright Face. _Gal_. Now he comes on apace,--how is’t, my Friend? Thou stand’st as thou’dst forgot thy business here, --The Woman, _Harry_, the fair Curtezan; Canst thou withstand her Charms? I’ve business of my own, Prithee fall to--and talk of Love to her. _Fil_. Oh, I cou’d talk Eternity away, In nothing else but Love;--cou’dst thou be honest? _Mar_. Honest! was it for that you sent two thousand Crowns, Or did believe that trifling Sum sufficient To buy me to the slavery of Honesty? _Gal_. Hold there, my brave Virago. _Fil_. No, I wou’d sacrifice a nobler Fortune, To buy thy Virtue home. _Mar_. What shou’d it idling there? _Fil_. Why--make thee constant to some happy Man, That wou’d adore thee for’t.