Mrs. Lov.  Perhaps, Madam, the Collonel may have had some strange misfortune in the Army, Cannon Bullets fly at such an ugly random rate.

L. Rod.  Ha, ha, ha, how I laugh at such thin Disguises, as if a ratling Officer in this fortune-hunting Age, cou’d have Philosophy to slight my Person and Estate; but I’ll applaud his happy choice of Liberty; say, ’tis a generous Thought, so like my self, I’ll settle a Platonick Friendship with him, then faulter in my Speech, and seem confus’d, as if my Sexes weakness must discover a Passion which my haughty Soul wou’d hide.  The greedy Collonel catches at the Bait, deep Sighs, and sheepish Looks confess the Lover; then with what sparkling Pride I’ll boast my Power, bravely assert my wonted Resolutions, rally the blustering Heroe, and pursue new Conquests.

As the Sun’s early Beams attract and warm, So Ladies with their easie glances Charm; Vain Coxcombs cringe with transport and surprize, Feel kindling Fire, and feed upon their Eyes; ’Till like the Sun, the dazling Nymphs display Meridian heat, and scorch the Fools away.

End of the Third ACT.

ACT IV.  SCENE continues.

    Lady Rodomont, and Mrs.  Lovejoy.

Mrs. Lov.  Why, Madam, shou’d your Ladyship keep so many Fellows in suspence, is it only to mortifie other Women, and maintain the Vanity of being universally admir’d; you won’t marry, and yet love to be courted:  In other matters your Ladiship’s gen’rous enough, but as for parting with your Lovers, you are as stingy as the Widow Scrape-all, that lets out her Mourning-Coach to Funerals.

La. Rod.  Cozen, we’re alone, and I’ll discover t’ you the Soul of ev’ry Woman:  Vanity is the predominant Passion in our Sex, what Lady that has Beauty, Wit and Fortune, does not excel in Dress, brighten in Talk, and dazle in her Equipage; and Lovers are but Servants out o’ Liveries:  Who then that has Attractions to command, to sooth, to frown, to manage as we please, wou’d raise those crawling Wretches that adore us, that fawn and sigh, and catch at ev’ry Glance, but once embolden’d, as our Courage fails us, the flatt’ring Knaves exert their Sovereign Sway, and crush the darling Pow’r we possess.

Mrs. Lov.  ’Tis their Prerogative to rule at last, our Reign is short, because ’tis too Tyrannical; we’re pleas’d to have Admirers gaze upon us, they’re pleas’d with gazing, ’cause they cannot help it; but yet they think us strange fantastick Creatures, and curse themselves for loving such vain Toys; for my part, I’m for ballancing the pow’r of both Sexes, if a fine Gentleman addresses a fine Lady, his Reception ought to be suitable to his Merit, and when two fine People get together—­

La. Rod.  What then?

Mrs. Lov.  They ought to lay aside Affectation and Impertinence, and come to a right understanding i’ th’ matter.