Sir _Tim_. Pox on formal Fops; we have high-born and generous Souls, and scorn the common Road--Come, let’s enjoy, whilst Youth and Beauty lasts. _Phil_. What means this Rudeness? I’ll tell my Brother. Sir _Tim_. Your Brother! by Fortune, he’s so leud, that should I he so unconscionable to leave thee a Virgin but this Night, he wou’d ravish thee himself, and that at cheaper Rates than I design to do it. _Phil_. How dare you talk to me at this rate? Sir _Tim_. Talk to thee--by Fortune, I’ll play the _Tarquin_ with thee, if thou yieldest not quickly--for thou hast set me all on fire. _Phil_. Defend me, Heaven, from such a Man. Sir _Tim_. Then it must defend you from all the Sex; for all Mankind are like me, nay, and all Womankind are, or wou’d be, what I must make thee. _Phil_. What’s that, a Wench? Sir _Tim_. Fie, fie, that’s a gross Name; no, a Miss, that’s the Word-- a Lady of Delight, a Person of Pleasure and the rest; I’ll keep thee, not a Woman of Quality shall be half so fine--Come, dear _Phillis_, yield. Oh, I am mad for the happy hour--come, say the word, ‘tis but inclining thy Head a little thus, thy pretty Eyes down, and thy Cheeks all Blushes, and fetching a long Sigh--thus--with--do--what you please --at the end on’t--and I shall take it for granted. _Phil_. That, Sir, you’ll never hear me say to any thing but a Husband, if I must say it then. Sir _Tim_. A Husband! it is enough to spoil a Man’s Appetite, the very naming on’t--By Fortune, thou hast been bred with thy great Grand-mother, some old Queen _Elizabeth_ Lady, that us’d to preach Warnings to young Maidens; but had she liv’d in this Age, she wou’d have repented her Error, especially had she seen the Sum that I offer thee--Come, let’s in, by Fortune, I’m so vigorous, I shall ravish else. _Phil_. Unhand me, or I’ll call out. I assure you, this is not the way to gain me. Sir _Tim_. I know there is a way to gain all mortal Womankind; but how to hit the critical Minute of the Berjere-- _Phil_. It is past your Politicks at this time, Sir. Sir _Tim_. I’ll try all ways, and the Devil’s in it, if I don’t hit upon the right at last. [_Aside_. All the soft things I’ve said-- _Phil_. That a Knight of your Parts ought to say. Sir _Tim_. Then I have kneel’d--and cry’d, and swore--and-- _Phil_. And damn’d your self five hundred times. Sir _Tim_. Yet still y’are impregnable--I’ll make another Proposition to you, which is both reasonable and modish--if it prove a Boy--I’ll marry you--the Devil’s in’t, if that be not fair. _Phil_. You get no earnest of me, Sir, and so farewel to you. [_Ex_. Phillis. _Enter_ Sham. Sir _Tim_. Oh, _Sham_, I am all over fire, mad to enjoy. I have done what Man can do (without doing what I wou’d do) and still she’s Flint; nothing will down with her but Matrimony--what shall I do? for thou know’st I cannot marry a Wife without a Fortune.