Polly. Strong waters are apt to give me the headache. I hope, madam, you will excuse me.

Lucy. Not the greatest lady in the land could have better in her closet for her own private drinking. You seem mighty low in spirits, my dear.

Polly. I am sorry, madam, my health will not allow me to accept of your offer. I should not have left you in the rude manner I did, when we met last, madam, had not my papa hauled me away so unexpectedly. I was, indeed, somewhat provoked, and perhaps might use some expressions that were disrespectful, but really, madam, the Captain treated me with so much contempt and cruelty that I deserved your pity rather than your resentment.

Lucy. But since his escape, no doubt all matters are made up again. Ah, Polly! Polly! ’tis I am the unhappy wife, and he loves you, as if you were only his mistress.

Polly. Sure, madam, you cannot think me so happy as to be the object of your jealousy? A man is always afraid of a woman who loves him too well, so that I must expect to be neglected and avoided.

Lucy. Then our cases, my dear Polly, are exactly alike. Both of us, indeed, have been too fond.

Air.—O, Bessy Bell, etc.

Polly. A curse attends that woman’s love,
Who always would be pleasing.

Lucy. The pertness of the billing dove,
Like tickling is but teasing.

Polly. What, then, in love can woman do?

Lucy. If we grew fond, they shun us,

Polly. And when we fly them they pursue;

Lucy. But leave us when they’ve won us.

Lucy. Love is so very whimsical in both sexes that it is impossible to be lasting; but my heart is particular and contradicts my own observation.

Polly. But really, mistress Lucy, by his last behaviour I think I ought to envy you. When I was forced from him, he did not show the least tenderness. But perhaps he hath a heart not capable of it.

Air.—Would fate to me Belinda give

The coquettes of both sexes are self-lovers, and that is a love no other whatever can dispossess.—I fear, my dear Lucy, our husband is one of those.

Lucy. Away with these melancholy reflections! Indeed, my dear Polly, we are both of us a cup too low. Let me prevail upon you to accept of my offer.

Air.—Come, sweet lass