[_Exeunt._
+SCENE+, _Spring-Garden_.
_~Constant~ and ~Heartfree~ cross the Stage. As they go off,
enter Lady ~Fancyfull~ and ~Madamoiselle~ mask'd, and
dogging 'em._
_Const._ So; I think we are about the time appointed: let us walk up
this way.
[_Exeunt._
_Lady Fan._ Good: Thus far I have dogg'd 'em without being discover'd.
'Tis infallibly some Intrigue that brings them to _Spring-Garden_. How
my poor Heart is torn and rackt with Fear and Jealousy! Yet let it be
any thing but that Flirt _Belinda_, and I'll try to bear it. But if it
prove her, all that's Woman in me shall be employ'd to destroy her.
[_Exeunt after ~Constant~ and ~Heartfree~._
_Re-enter ~Constant~ and ~Heartfree~, Lady ~Fancyfull~ and
~Madamoiselle~ still following at a Distance_.
_Const._ I see no Females yet, that have any thing to say to us. I'm
afraid we are banter'd.
_Heart._ I wish we were; for I'm in no Humour to make either them or
myself merry.
_Const._ Nay, I'm sure you'll make them merry enough, if I tell 'em why
you are dull. But pr'ythee why so heavy and sad before you begin to be
ill us'd?
_Heart._ For the same Reason, perhaps, that you are so brisk and
well pleas'd; because both Pains and Pleasures are generally more
considerable in Prospect, than when they come to pass.
_Enter Lady ~Brute~ and ~Belinda~, mask'd and poorly dress'd._
_Const._ How now! who are these? Not our Game, I hope.
_Heart._ If they are, we are e'en well enough serv'd, to come a-hunting
here, when we had so much better Game in Chase elsewhere.
_Lady Fan._ [_To Madamoiselle._] So, those are their Ladies, without
doubt. But I'm afraid that _Doily_ Stuff is not worn for want of better
Clothes. They are the very Shape and Size of _Belinda_ and her Aunt.
_Madam._ So dey be inteed, Matam.
_Lady Fan._ We'll slip into this close Arbour, where we may hear all
they say.
[_Exeunt Lady ~Fancyfull~ and ~Madamoiselle~._
_Lady Brute._ What, are you afraid of us, Gentlemen?
_Heart._ Why, truly, I think we may, if Appearance don't lye.
_Bel._ Do you always find Women what they appear to be, Sir?
_Heart._ No, forsooth; but I seldom find 'em better than they appear to
be.
_Bel._ Then the Outside's best, you think?
_Heart._ 'Tis the honestest.
_Const._ Have a care, _Heartfree_; you are relapsing again.
_Lady Brute._ Why, does the Gentleman use to rail at Women?
_Const._ He has done formerly.
_Bel._ I suppose he had very good Cause for't. They did not use you so
well as you thought you deserv'd, Sir.
_Lady Brute._ They made themselves merry at your Expence, Sir.
_Bel._ Laugh'd when you sigh'd--
_Lady Brute._ Slept while you were waking--
_Bel._ Had your Porter beat--
_Lady Brute._ And threw your Billet-doux in the Fire.
_Heart._ Hey-day, I shall do more than rail presently.
_Bel._ Why, you won't beat us, will you?
_Heart._ I don't know but I may.
_Const._ What the Devil's coming here? Sir _John_ in a Gown----And
drunk, i'faith.
_Enter Sir ~John~._
_Sir John._ What a Pox----here's _Constant_, _Heartfree_--and two
Whores, I'gad----O you covetous Rogues! what, have you never a spare
Punk for your Friend?----But I'll share with you.
[_He seizes both the Women._
_Heart._ Why, what the plague have you been doing, Knight?
_Sir John._ Why, I have been beating the Watch, and scandalizing the
Clergy.
_Heart._ A very good Account, truly.
_Sir John._ And what do you think I'll do next?
_Const._. Nay, that no Man can guess.
_Sir John._ Why, if you'll let me sup with you, I'll treat both your
Strumpets.
_Lady Brute._ [_Aside._] O Lord, we're undone!
_Heart._ No, we can't sup together, because we have some Affairs
elsewhere. But if you'll accept of these two Ladies, we'll be so
complaisant to you, to resign our Right in 'em.
_Bel._ [_Aside._] Lord, what shall we do?
_Sir John._ Let me see; their Clothes are such damn'd Clothes, they
won't pawn for the Reckoning.
_Heart._ _Sir John_, your Servant. Rapture attend you!
_Const._ Adieu, Ladies, make much of the Gentleman.
_Lady Brute._ Why, sure, you won't leave us in the Hands of a drunken
Fellow to abuse us.
_Sir John._ Who do you call a drunken Fellow, you Slut you? I'm a Man
of Quality; the King has made me a Knight.
[_~Heart.~ runs off._
_Heart._ Ay, ay, you are in good Hands! Adieu, Adieu!
_Lady Brute._ The Devil's Hands: Let me go, or I'll--For Heaven's sake,
protect us!
[_She breaks from him, runs to ~Constant~, twitching off
her Mask, and clapping it on again._
_Sir John._ I'll Devil you, you Jade you. I'll demolish your ugly Face.
_Const._ Hold a little, Knight, she swoons.
_Sir John._ I'll swoon her.
_Const._ Hey, _Heartfree_.
_Re-enter ~Heartfree~. ~Belinda~ runs to him, and shews her
Face._
_Heart._ O Heavens! My dear Creature, stand there a little.
_Const._ Pull him off, _Jack_.
_Heart._ Hold, mighty Man; look ye, Sir, we did but jest with you.
These are Ladies of our Acquaintance that we had a mind to frighten a
little, but now you must leave us.
_Sir John._ Oons, I won't leave you, not I.
_Heart._ Nay, but you must, though; and therefore make no Words on't.
_Sir John._ Then you are a couple of damned uncivil Fellows. And I hope
your Punks will give you Sauce to your Mutton.
[_Exit Sir ~John~._
_Lady Brute._ Oh, I shall never come to myself again, I'm so frightened.
_Const._ 'Twas a narrow 'Scape, indeed.
_Bel._ Women must have Frolicks, you see, whatever they cost them.
_Heart._ This might have proved a dear one, though.
_Lady Brute._ You are the more obliged to us for the Risk we run upon
your Accounts.
_Const._ And I hope you'll acknowledge something due to our
Knight-Errantry, Ladies. This is the second time we have delivered you.
_Lady Brute._ 'Tis true; and since we see Fate has designed you for our
Guardians, 'twill make us the more willing to trust ourselves in your
Hands. But you must not have the worse Opinion of us for our innocent
Frolick.
_Heart._ Ladies, you may command our Opinions in every thing that is to
your Advantage.
_Bel._ Then, Sir, I command you to be of Opinion, That Women are
sometimes better than they appear to be.
[_Lady ~Brute~ and ~Constant~ talk apart._
_Heart._ Madam, you have made a Convert of me in every thing. I'm grown
a Fool: I cou'd be fond of a Woman.
_Bel._ I thank you, Sir, in the Name of the whole Sex.
_Heart._ Which Sex nothing but yourself cou'd ever have aton'd for.
_Bel._ Now has my Vanity a devilish Itch, to know in what my Merit
consists.
_Heart._ In your Humility, Madam, that keeps you ignorant it consists
at all.
_Bel._ One other Compliment, with that serious Face, and I hate you for
ever after.
_Heart._ Some Women love to be abus'd: Is that it you wou'd be at?
_Bel._ No, not that, neither: But I'd have Men talk plainly what's fit
for Women to hear; without putting 'em either to a real or an affected
Blush.
_Heart._ Why, then, in as plain Terms as I can find to express myself,
I could love you even to--Matrimony itself a'most, I'gad.
_Bel._ Just as Sir _John_ did her Ladyship there.----What think you?
Don't you believe one Month's time might bring you down to the same
Indifference, only clad in a little better Manners, perhaps? Well, you
Men are unaccountable things, mad till you have your Mistresses, and
then stark mad till you are rid of 'em again. Tell me honestly, Is not
your Patience put to a much severer Trial after Possession than before?
_Heart._ With a great many I must confess it is, to our eternal
Scandal; but I----dear Creature, do but try me.
_Bel._ That's the surest way, indeed, to know, but not the safest. [_To
Lady ~Brute~._] Madam, are not you for taking a Turn in the Great Walk?
It's almost dark, no body will know us.
_Lady Brute._ Really I find myself something idle, _Belinda_: besides,
I doat upon this little odd private Corner. But don't let my lazy Fancy
confine you. [_Const. aside._] So, she wou'd be left alone with me;
that's well.
_Bel._ Well, we'll take one Turn, and come to you again. [_To
~Heart~._] Come, Sir, shall we go pry into the Secrets of the Garden?
Who knows what Discoveries we may make?
_Heart._ Madam, I'm at your Service.
_Const._ [_To ~Heart~. aside._] Don't make too much haste back; for,
d'ye hear?----I may be busy.
_Heart._ Enough.
[_Exeunt ~Belinda~ and ~Heartfree~._
_Lady Brute._ Sure you think me scandalously free, Mr. _Constant_. I'm
afraid I shall lose your good Opinion of me.
_Const._ My good Opinion, Madam, is like your Cruelty----ne'er to be
remov'd.
_Lady Brute._ But if I should remove my Cruelty, then there's an end of
your good Opinion.
_Const._ There is not so strict an Alliance between 'em, neither. 'Tis
certain I shou'd love you then better (if that be possible) than I do
now; and where I love, I always esteem.
_Lady Brute._ Indeed, I doubt you much. Why, suppose you had a Wife,
and she should entertain a Gallant?
_Const._ If I gave her just Cause, how cou'd I justly condemn her?
_Lady Brute._ Ah! but you'd differ widely about just Causes.
_Const._ But Blows can bear no Dispute.
_Lady Brute._ Nor ill Manners much, truly.
_Const._ Then no Woman upon Earth has so just a Cause as you have.
_Lady Brute._ O, but a faithful Wife is a beautiful Character.
_Const._ To a deserving Husband, I confess it is.
_Lady Brute._ But can his Faults release my Duty?
_Const._ In Equity, without doubt. And where Laws dispense with Equity,
Equity should dispense with Laws.
_Lady Brute._ Pray let's leave this Dispute; for you Men have as much
Witchcraft in your Arguments, as Women have in their Eyes.
_Const._ But whilst you attack me with your Charms, 'tis but reasonable
I assault you with mine.
_Lady Brute._ The Case is not the same. What Mischief we do, we can't
help, and therefore are to be forgiven.
_Const._ Beauty soon obtains Pardon for the Pain that it gives, when
it applies the Balm of Compassion to the Wound: But a fine Face, and a
hard Heart, is almost as bad as an ugly Face and a soft one; both very
troublesome to many a poor Gentleman.
_Lady Brute._ Yes, and to many a poor Gentlewoman, too, I can assure
you. But pray, which of 'em is it that most afflicts you?
_Const._ Your Glass and Conscience will inform you, Madam. But for
Heaven's sake (for now I must be serious), if Pity, or if Gratitude can
move you; [_Taking her Hand._] if Constancy and Truth have power to
tempt you; if Love, if Adoration can affect you; give me at least some
Hopes, that Time may do what you perhaps mean never to perform; 'twill
ease my Sufferings, tho' not quench my Flame.
_Lady Brute._ Your Sufferings eas'd, your Flame wou'd soon abate: And
that I would preserve, not quench it, Sir.
_Const._ Wou'd you preserve it, nourish it with Favours; for that's the
Food it naturally requires.
_Lady Brute._ Yet on that natural Food 'twould surfeit soon, shou'd I
resolve to grant all you wou'd ask.
_Const._ And in refusing all, you starve it. Forgive me, therefore,
since my Hunger rages, if I at last grow wild, and in my frenzy force
at least this from you. [_Kissing her Hand._] Or if you'd have my Flame
soar higher still, then grant me this, and this, and Thousands more;
[_Kissing first her Hand, then her Neck._] [_Aside._] For now's the
time she melts into Compassion.
_Lady Brute._ [_Aside._] Poor Coward Virtue, how it shuns the Battle! O
Heavens! let me go.
_Const._ Ay, go, ay: Where shall we go, my charming Angel----into this
private Arbour----Nay, let's lose no time----Moments are precious.
_Lady Brute._ And Lovers wild. Pray let us stop here; at least for this
time.
_Const._ 'Tis impossible; he that has power over you, can have none
over himself.
_As he is forcing her into the Arbour, Lady ~Fancyfull~ and
~Madamoiselle~ bolt out upon them, and run over the
Stage._
_Lady Brute._ Ah! I'm lost!
_Lady Fan._ Fe, fe, fe, fe, fe.
_Madam._ Fe, fe, fe, fe, fe.
_Const._ Death and Furies, who are these?
_Lady Brute._ O Heavens! I'm out of my Wits; if they knew me, I am
ruin'd.
_Const._ Don't be frightened: Ten thousand to one they are Strangers to
you.
_Lady Brute._ Whatever they are, I won't stay here a Moment longer.
_Const._ Whither will you go?
_Lady Brute._ Home, as if the Devil were in me. Lord, where's this
_Belinda_ now?
_Enter ~Belinda~ and ~Heartfree~._
O! 'tis well you are come: I'm so frightened, my Hair stands an end.
Let's be gone, for Heaven's sake!
_Bel._ Lord, what's the matter?
_Lady Brute._ The Devil's the Matter; we are discovered. Here's a
couple of Women have done the most impertinent thing. Away, away, away,
away, away.
[_Exit running._
_Re-enter Lady ~Fancyfull~ and ~Madamoiselle~._
_Lady Fan._ Well, _Madamoiselle_, 'tis a prodigious thing how Women can
suffer filthy Fellows to grow so familiar with 'em.
Madam. _Ah Madame, il n'y a rien de si naturel._
_Lady Fan._ Fe, fe, fe! But, oh my Heart! O Jealousy! O Torture! I'm
upon the rack. What shall I do? My Lover's lost, I ne'er shall see
him mine. [_Pausing._]----But I may be reveng'd; and that's the same
thing. Ah sweet Revenge! Thou welcome Thought, thou healing Balsam to
my wounded Soul! Be but propitious on this one Occasion, I'll place my
Heaven in thee, for all my Life to come.
To Woman how indulgent Nature's kind!
No Blast of Fortune long disturbs her Mind:
Compliance to her Fate supports her still;
If Love won't make her happy--Mischief will.
[_Exeunt._
+ACT+ V.
+SCENE+, _Lady_ Fancyfull's _House_.
_Enter Lady ~Fancyfull~ and ~Madamoiselle~._
_Lady Fan._ Well, _Madamoiselle_, did you dog the filthy Things?
Madam. _O que ouy, Madame._
_Lady Fan._ And where are they?
Madam. _Au Logis._
_Lady Fan._ What, Men and all?
Madam. _Tous ensemble._
_Lady Fan._ O Confidence! What, carry their Fellows to their own House?
Madam. _C'est que le Mari n'y est pas._
_Lady Fan._ No; so I believe, truly. But he shall be there, and quickly
too, if I can find him out. Well, 'tis a prodigious thing, to see when
Men and Women get together, how they fortify one another in their
Impudence. But if that drunken Fool, her Husband, he to be found in
e'er a Tavern in Town, I'll send him amongst 'em: I'll spoil their
sport.
Madam. _En verité, Madame, ce seroit domage._
_Lady Fan._ 'Tis in vain to oppose it, _Madamoiselle_; therefore never
go about it. For I am the steadiest Creature in the World--when I have
determin'd to do Mischief. So, come along.
[_Exeunt._
+SCENE+, _Sir ~John Brute~'s House_.
_Enter ~Constant~, ~Heartfree~, Lady ~Brute~, ~Belinda~, and
~Lovewell~._
_Lady Brute._ But are you sure you don't mistake, _Lovewell_?
_Lov._ Madam, I saw 'em all go into the Tavern together, and my Master
was so drunk he cou'd scarce stand.
_Lady Brute._ Then, Gentlemen, I believe we may venture to let you
stay, and play at Cards with us, an Hour or two: For they'll scarce
part till Morning.
_Bel._ I think 'tis pity they should ever part.
_Const._ The Company that's here, Madam.
_Lady Brute._ Then, Sir, the Company that's here must remember to part
itself in time.
_Const._ Madam, we don't intend to forfeit your future Favours by an
indiscreet Usage of this. The Moment you give us the Signal, we shan't
fail to make our Retreat.
_Lady Brute._ Upon those Conditions, then, let us sit down to Cards.
_Enter ~Lovewell~._
_Lov._ O Lord, Madam, here's my Master just staggering in upon you;
he has been quarrelsome yonder, and they have kick'd him out of the
Company.
_Lady Brute._ Into the Closet, Gentlemen, for Heaven's sake; I'll
wheedle him to Bed, if possible.
[_~Const.~ and ~Heart.~ run into the Closet._
_Enter Sir ~John~, all dirt and bloody._
_Lady Brute._ Ah----Ah----he's all over Blood!
_Sir John._ What the plague does the Woman--squall for? Did you never
see a Man in Pickle before?
_Lady Brute._ Lord, where have you been?
_Sir John._ I have been at----Cuffs.
_Lady Brute._ I fear that is not all. I hope you are not wounded.
_Sir John._ Sound as a Roach, Wife.
_Lady Brute._ I'm mighty glad to hear it.
_Sir John._ You know--I think you lye.
_Lady Brute._ You do me wrong to think so. For Heaven's my Witness; I
had rather see my own Blood trickle down, than yours.
_Sir John._ Then will I be crucify'd.
_Lady Brute._ 'Tis a hard Fate, I shou'd not be believ'd.
_Sir John._ 'Tis a damn'd Atheistical Age, Wife.
_Lady Brute._ I am sure I have given you a thousand tender Proofs, how
great my Care is of you. But, spite of all your cruel Thoughts, I'll
still persist, and at this Moment, if I can, persuade you to lie down
and sleep a little.
_Sir John._ Why--do you think I am drunk--you Slut, you?
_Lady Brute._ Heaven forbid I shou'd! But I'm afraid you are feverish.
Pray let me feel your Pulse.
_Sir John._ Stand off, and be damn'd.
_Lady Brute._ Why, I see your Distemper in your very Eyes. You are all
on Fire. Pray, go to Bed; let me intreat you.
_Sir John._----Come, kiss me, then.
_Lady Brute._ [_Kissing him._] There: Now go. [_Aside._] He stinks like
Poison.
_Sir John._ I see it goes damnably against your Stomach--And
therefore--Kiss me again.
_Lady Brute._ Nay, now you fool me.
_Sir John._ Do't, I say.
_Lady Brute._ [_Aside._] Ah, Lord have mercy upon me! Well--there: now
will you go?
_Sir John._ Now, Wife, you shall see my Gratitude. You gave me two
Kisses--I'll give you--two hundred.
[_Kisses, and tumbles her._
_Lady Brute._ O Lord! Pray, Sir John, be quiet. Heavens, what a Pickle
am I in!
_Bel._ [_Aside._] If I were in her Pickle, I'd call my Gallant out of
the Closet, and he shou'd cudgel him soundly.
_Sir John._ So, now you being as dirty and as nasty as myself, we may
go pig together. But first I must have a Cup of your cold Tea, Wife.
[_Going to the Closet._
_Lady Brute._ O I'm ruin'd! There's none there, my Dear.
_Sir John._ I'll warrant you I'll find some, my Dear.
_Lady Brute._ You can't open the Door, the Lock's spoil'd; I have been
turning and turning the Key this half Hour to no purpose. I'll send for
the Smith to-morrow.
_Sir John._ There's ne'er a Smith in _Europe_ can open a Door with
more Expedition than I can do----As for Example--Poh! [_He bursts
open the Door with his Foot._]----How now! What the Devil have we
got here?----_Constant_----_Heartfree_----And two Whores again,
I'gad----This is the worst cold Tea----that ever I met with in my
Life----
_Enter ~Constant~ and ~Heartfree~._
_Lady Brute._ [_Aside._] O Lord, what will become of us?
_Sir John._ Gentlemen----I am your very humble Servant--I give you many
Thanks----I see you take Care of my Family----I shall do all I can to
return the Obligation.
_Const._ Sir, how oddly soever this Business may appear to you, you
would have no cause to be uneasy, if you knew the Truth of all things;
your Lady is the most virtuous Woman in the World, and nothing has past
but an innocent Frolick.
_Heart._ Nothing else, upon my Honour, Sir.
_Sir John._ You are both very civil Gentlemen--And my Wife, there, is a
very civil Gentlewoman; therefore I don't doubt but many civil things
have past between you. Your very humble Servant.
_Lady Brute._ [_Aside to ~Const~._] Pray be gone: He's so drunk he
can't hurt us to-night, and to-morrow Morning you shall hear from us.
_Const._ I'll obey you, Madam. Sir, when you are cool, you'll
understand Reason better. So then I shall take the pains to inform
you. If not----I wear a Sword, Sir, and so good by t'ye. Come along,
_Heartfree_.
[_Exit._
_Sir John._ Wear a Sword, Sir--And what of all that, Sir? He comes to
my House; eats my Meat; lies with my Wife; dishonours my Family; gets
a Bastard to inherit my Estate----And when I ask a civil Account of
all this--Sir, says he, I wear a Sword--Wear a Sword, Sir? Yes, Sir,
says he, I wear a Sword----It may be a good Answer at Cross-purposes;
but 'tis a damn'd one to a Man in my whimsical Circumstance----Sir,
says he, I wear a Sword! [_To Lady ~Brute~._] And what do you wear now?
ha! tell me. [_Sitting down in a great Chair._] What, you are modest,
and can't--Why, then, I'll tell you, you Slut, you. You wear----an
impudent, lewd Face----A damn'd designing Heart----And a Tail----and a
Tail full of----[_He falls fast asleep, snoaring._]
_Lady Brute._ So; thanks to kind Heaven, he's fast for some Hours.
_Bel._ 'Tis well he is so, that we may have time to lay our Story
handsomely; for we must lye like the Devil, to bring ourselves off.
_Lady Brute._ What shall we say, _Belinda_?
_Bel._ [_Musing._]----I'll tell you: It must all light upon _Heartfree_
and I. We'll say he has courted me some time, but, for Reasons unknown
to us, has ever been very earnest the thing might be kept from Sir
_John_. That therefore hearing him upon the Stairs, he ran into the
Closet, tho' against our Will, and _Constant_ with him, to prevent
Jealousy. And to give this a good impudent Face of Truth, (that I may
deliver you from the trouble you are in) I'll e'en, if he pleases,
marry him.
_Lady Brute._ I'm beholden to you, Cousin; but that wou'd be carrying
the Jest a little too far for your own sake: You know he's a younger
Brother, and has nothing.
_Bel._ 'Tis true: But I like him, and have Fortune enough to keep above
Extremity: I can't say I would live with him in a Cell, upon Love and
Bread and Butter: But I had rather have the Man I love, and a middle
State of Life, than that Gentleman in the Chair there, and twice your
Ladyship's Splendour.
_Lady Brute._ In truth, Niece, you are in the right on't; for I am
very uneasy with my Ambition. But, perhaps, had I married as you'll do,
I might have been as ill us'd.
_Bel._ Some Risk, I do confess, there always is: But if a Man has the
least Spark either of Honour or Good-nature, he can never use a Woman
ill, that loves him, and makes his Fortune both. Yet I must own to
you, some little struggling I still have with this teazing Ambition
of ours; for Pride, you know, is as natural to a Woman, as 'tis to a
Saint. I can't help being fond of this Rogue; and yet it goes to my
Heart, to think I must never whisk to _Hyde-Park_ with above a Pair of
Horses; have no Coronet upon my Coach, nor a Page to carry up my Train.
But above all--that Business of Place--Well, taking place is a noble
Prerogative--
_Lady Brute._ Especially after a Quarrel--
_Bel._ Or of a Rival. But pray say no more on't, for fear I change my
Mind; for, o' my Conscience, wer't not for your Affair in the Balance,
I should go near to pick up some odious Man of Quality yet, and only
take poor _Heartfree_ for a Gallant.
_Lady Brute._ Then him you must have, however things go?
_Bel._ Yes.
_Lady Brute._ Why, we may pretend what we will: but 'tis a hard matter
to live without the Man we love.
_Bel._ Especially when we are married to the Man we hate. Pray tell me:
Do the Men of the Town ever believe us virtuous, when they see us do so?
_Lady Brute._ O, no: Nor indeed, hardly, let us do what we will. The
most of them think, there is no such thing as Virtue, consider'd in
the strictest Notions of it; and therefore when you hear 'em say,
such a one is a Woman of Reputation, they only mean she's a Woman of
Discretion. For they consider we have no more Religion than they have,
nor so much Morality; and between you and I, _Belinda_, I'm afraid the
want of Inclination seldom protects any of us.
_Bel._ But what think you of the Fear of being found out?
_Lady Brute._ I think That never kept any Woman virtuous long. We
are not such Cowards, neither. No: Let us once pass Fifteen, and we
have too good an Opinion of our own Cunning, to believe the World can
penetrate into what we would keep a Secret. And so, in short, we cannot
reasonably blame the Men for judging of us by themselves.
_Bel._ But sure we are not so wicked as they are, after all?
_Lady Brute._ We are as wicked, Child, but our Vice lies another way:
Men have more Courage than we, so they commit more bold, impudent Sins.
They quarrel, fight, swear, drink, blaspheme, and the like: Whereas
we, being Cowards, only backbite, tell Lyes, cheat at Cards, and so
forth. But 'tis late: Let's end our Discourse for to-night, and, out of
an excess of Charity, take a small Care of that nasty, drunken Thing
there----Do but look at him, _Belinda_!
_Bel._ Ah----'tis a savoury Dish.
_Lady Brute._ As savoury as 'tis, I'm cloy'd with't. Pr'ythee call the
Butler to take it away.
_Bel._ Call the Butler!----Call the Scavenger! [_To a Servant within._]
Who's there? Call _Rasor_! Let him take away his Master, scour him
clean with a little Sope and Sand, and so put him to Bed.