_Mar_. Unconscionable! constant at my years? --Oh, ‘twere to cheat a thousand, Who between this and my dull Age of Constancy. Expect the distribution of my Beauty. _Gal_. ‘Tis a brave Wench-- [_Aside_. _Fil_. Yet charming as thou art, the time will come When all that Beauty, like declining Flowers, Will wither on the Stalk,--but with this difference, The next kind Spring brings Youth to Flowers again, But faded Beauty never more can bloom. --If Interest make thee wicked, I can supply thy Pride.-- _Mar_. Curse on your necessary Trash!--which I despise, But as ‘tis useful to advance our Love. _Fil_. Is Love thy business? who is there born so high, But Love and Beauty equals? And thou mayst chuse from all the wishing World. This Wealth together wou’d inrich one Man, Which dealt to all, wou’d scarce be Charity. _Mar_. Together! ‘tis a Mass wou’d ransom Kings: Was all this Beauty given for one poor petty Conquest? --I might have made a hundred Hearts my slaves, In this lost time of bringing one to Reason.-- Farewel, thou dull Philosopher in Love; When Age has made me wise, I’ll send for you again. [_Offers to go_, Gal. _holds her_. _Gal_. By this good Light, a noble glorious Whore. _Fil_. Oh, stay, I must not let such Beauty fall, --A Whore--consider yet the Charms of Reputation, The Ease, the Quiet, and Content of Innocence, The awful Reverence all good Men will pay thee, Who, as thou art, will gaze without respect, --And cry--what pity ‘tis she is--a Whore-- _Mar_. O, you may give it what coarse name you please, But all this Youth and Beauty ne’er was given, Like Gold to Misers, to be kept from use. [_Going out_. _Fil_. Lost, lost--past all Redemption. _Gal_. Nay, Gad, thou shalt not lose her so--I’ll fetch her back, and thou shalt ask her pardon. [_Runs out after her_. _Fil_. By Heaven, it was all a Dream! an airy Dream! The visionary Pleasure disappears,--and I’m myself again, --I’ll fly before the drousy Fit o’ertake me. [_Going out, Enter_ Gal. _and then_ Marcella. _Gal_. Turn back--she yields, she yields to pardon thee. Gone! nay, hang me if ye part. [_Runs after him, still his Pistol in his hand_. _Mar_. Gone! I have no leisure now for more dissembling. [_Takes the Candle, and goes in_. _Enter_ Petro, _leading in Mr_. Tickletext, _as by dark_. _Pet_. Remain here, Signior, whilst I step and fetch a light. _Tick_. Do so, do so, honest _Barberacho_.--Well, my escape even now from Sir _Signal_ was miraculous, thanks to my Prudence and Prowess; had he discover’d me, my Dominion had ended, and my Authority been of none effect, _certo_. [Philippa _at the door puts in Sir_ Signal. _Phil_. Now, Signior, you’re out of danger, I’ll fetch a Candle, and let my Lady know of your being here. [_Exit_ Phil. _Sir_ Sig. _advances a little_.