nk thou hadst her but a Month, prithee how dy'd she?

_Will._ Faith, e'en with a fit of Kindness, poor Soul-- she would to Sea
with me, and in a Storm-- far from Land, she gave up the Ghost-- 'twas a
Loss, but I must bear it with a Christian Fortitude.

_Beau._ Short Happinesses vanish like to Dreams.

_Will._ Ay faith, and nothing remains with me but the sad Remembrance--
not so much as the least Part of her hundred thousand Crowns; _Brussels_
that inchanted Court has eas'd me of that Grief, where our Heroes act
_Tantalus_ better than ever _Ovid_ describ'd him, condemn'd daily to see
an Apparition of Meat, Food in Vision only. Faith, I had Bowels, was
good-natur'd, and lent upon the publick Faith as far as 'twill go--
But come, let's leave this mortifying Discourse, and tell me how the
price of Pleasure goes.

_Beau._ At the old Rates still; he that gives most is happiest, some few
there are for Love!

_Will._ Ah, one of the last, dear _Beaumond_; and if a Heart or Sword
can purchase her, I'll bid as fair as the best. Damn it, I hate a Whore
that asks me Mony.

_Beau._ Yet I have known thee venture all thy Stock for a new Woman.

_Will._ Ay, such a Fool I was in my dull Days of Constancy, but I am now
for Change, (and should I pay as often,'twould undo me)-- for Change,
my Dear, of Place, Clothes, Wine, and Women. Variety is the Soul of
Pleasure, a Good unknown; and we want Faith to find it.

_Beau._ Thou wouldst renounce that fond Opinion, _Willmore_, didst thou
see a Beauty here in Town, whose Charms have Power to fix inconstant
Nature or Fortune were she tottering on her Wheel.

_Will._ Her Name, my Dear, her Name?

_Beau._ I would not breathe it even in my Complaints, lest amorous Winds
should bear it o'er the World, and make Mankind her Slaves;
But that it is a Name too cheaply known,
And she that owns it may be as cheaply purchas'd.

_Will._ Hah! cheaply purchas'd too! I languish for her.

_Beau._ Ay, there's the Devil on't, she is-- a Whore.

_Will._ Ah, what a charming Sound that mighty Word bears!

_Beau._ Damn her, she'll be thine or any body's.

_Will._ I die for her--

_Beau._ Then for her Qualities--

_Will._ No more-- ye Gods, I ask no more, Be she but fair and much a
Whore-- Come let's to her.

_Beau._ Perhaps to morrow you may see this Woman.

_Will._ Death,'tis an Age.

_Feth._ Oh, Captain, the strangest News, Captain.

_Will._ Prithee what?

_Feth._ Why, Lieutenant _Shi