SCENE Changes to Lady Rodomonts.

    Lady Rodomont and the Collonel discover’d.

L. Rod.  Well, Collonel, now what think you of our Sex?  Is there no Nymph so sovereignly bright, whole matchless Beauty, Virtue, Wit and Fortune you’d charm your rambling.  Thoughts and chain you to her?

Coll.  The Goddess you describe, you too well know her wond’rous Brightness, her commanding Excellence, where ev’ry Star seems glitt’ring in her Person, and ev’ry Science cultivates her Mind; no Swain but kindles at her vast Perfections, Sighs at her Feet, and trembles to approach her; but then a baneful Mischief thwarts our Transports, and while we feast us with luxuriant Gazing, that bug-bear Marriage rises like a Storm, clouds ev’ery Beauty, blackens with approaching, and frights away the gen’rous faithful Lover.

L. Rod.  You talk of Love with an unusual Warmth, you seem to feel it too, and talk with Pleasure; and yet strange wand’ring Notions teaze your Fancy, whose vain Allurements tantalize your Reason, and force you from the Happiness you wish for.  He that loves truly, loves without reserve; the Object is the Centre of his Wishes, but your wild Sex that hurry after Pleasure, whose headstrong Passions kindle ev’ry moment, admire each Nymph, and eager to possess, you burn, you rage, and talk in tragick Strains:  But when the easy Maid believes, and blesses, when once you ha’ rifl’d, ravish’d and enjoy’d, ungratefully you slight the yielding Charmer; your Love boil’d o’er descends to cold Indifference, and a regardless Look rewards her Favours; were I inclin’d to wave my Resolutions, and yield my self a Victim to Love’s Pow’r, were I to chuse a Man by Fortune slighted, and raise him to a more than common Affluence; such is the Temper of your graceless Sex, there’s not a Cottage Swain that proves sincere.

Coll.  Cou’d you then, Madam, condescend to love, and cou’d a Lover manifest his Passion, by constant waiting, vigilant Observance, by sacerdotal Plights, and Faith inviolate, wou’d you prove kind, and take him to your Arms.

L. Rod.  Of things impossible we lightly talk; if such a Man were found, perhaps, I might.

Coll.  Cherish that Thought; believe there is that Man; believe you see him now; observe him well.

L. Rod.  Ha!

Coll.  Read from his Eyes his passionate Concern, his flattering Hopes, his anxious killing Fears; examine ev’ry Symptom, feel his Tremblings, search to his Heart, and there find Truth unblemish’d; approve his Flame, and nourish it with Favours.

L. Rod.  Have I caught you, Collonel; is this the Sum of all your Self-sufficiency, your Matrimonial Hate, and boasted Liberty. [Aside.] His Merits probably may vie with any, but sure he last shou’d hope a Lady’s Graces, who saucily arraigns her Sex’s Pow’r.

    Enter Nicknack.