Con. Virtue! that phantom of honour, which men in every age have so condemned, they have thrown it amongst the women to scramble for.

Lady B. If it be a thing of so very little value, why do you so earnestly recommend it to your wives and daughters?

Con. We recommend it to our wives, madam, because we would keep them to ourselves; and to our daughters because we would dispose of them to others.

Lady B. ’Tis, then, of some importance, it seems, since you can’t dispose of them without it.

Con. I beg you will believe I did but rally, madam. I know you judge too well of right and wrong to be deceived by arguments like those. And I hope you will have so favourable an opinion of my understanding, too, to believe the thing called virtue has worth enough with me to pass for an eternal obligation wherever ’tis sacrificed.

Lady B. It is, I think, so great a one, as nothing can repay.

Con. Yes, the making the man you love your everlasting debtor.

Lady B. When debtors once have borrowed all we have to lend, they are very apt to grow shy of their creditors’ company.

Con. That, madam, is only when they are forced to borrow of usurers, and not of a generous friend. Let us choose our creditors and we are seldom so ungrateful as to shun them.

Lady B. What think you of Sir John, sir? I was his free choice.

Con. I think he’s married, madam.

Lady B. Does marriage, then, exclude men from your rule of constancy?

Con. It does. Constancy’s a brave, free, haughty, generous agent, that cannot buckle to the chains of wedlock. [Following her.] But, madam—

Lady B. But, sir, ’tis my turn to be discreet now, and not suffer too long a visit.

Con. [catching her hand]. By heaven, you shall not stir till you give me hopes that I shall see you again at some more convenient time and place.

Lady B. I give you just hopes enough [breaking from him] to get loose from you; and that’s all I can afford you at this time.

[Exit, running.

Con. Now, by all that’s great and good, she’s a charming, woman! In what ecstacy of joy she has left me! for she gave me hope. Did she not say she gave me hope? Hope! Ay, what hope? Enough to make me let her go! Why, that’s enough in conscience. Or, no matter how t’was spoke, hops was the word, it came from her, and it was said to me.

Enter HEARTFREE. Ah! Heartfree, thou hast done me noble service in prattling to the young gentlewoman without there. Come to my arms, thou venerable bawd, and let me squeeze thee [embracing him eagerly] as a new pair of stays does a fat country girl, when she’s carried to court to stand for a maid of honour.

Heart. Why, what the devil’s all this rapture for?

Con. Rapture! There’s ground for rapture, man! There’s hopes, my Heartfree—hopes, my friend.