always in Action-- one who is as free of her Favours as I am sparing of
mine-- Well, Captain, I have known the time when _La Nuche_ was such a
Wit, such a Humour, such a Shape, and such a Voice, (tho to say Truth I
sing but scurvily) 'twas Comedy to see and hear me.

_Will._ Why, yes Faith for once thou wert, and for once mayst be again,
till thou know'st thy Man, and knowest him to be poor. At first you
lik'd me too, you saw me gay, no marks of Poverty dwelt in my Face or
Dress, and then I was the dearest loveliest Man-- all this was to my
outside; Death, you made love to my Breeches, caress'd my Garniture and
Feather, an _English_ Fool of Quality you thought me-- 'Sheart, I have
known a Woman doat on Quality, tho he has stunk thro all his Perfumes;
one who never went all to Bed to her, but left his Teeth, an Eye, false
Back and Breast, sometimes his Palate too upon her Toilet, whilst her
fair Arms hug'd the dismember'd Carcase, and swore him all Perfection,
because of Quality.

_La Nu._ But he was rich, good Captain, was he not?

_Will._ Oh most damnably, and a confounded Blockhead, two certain
Remedies against your Pride and Scorn.

_La Nu._ Have you done, Sir?

_Will._ With thee and all thy Sex, of which I've try'd an hundred, and
found none true or honest.

_La Nu._ Oh, I doubt not the number: for you are one of those
healthy-stomacht Lovers, that can digest a Mistress in a Night, and
hunger again next Morning: a Pox of your whining consumptive
Constitution, who are only constant for want of Appetite: you have a
swinging Stomach to Variety, and Want having set an edge upon your
Invention, (with which you cut thro all Difficulties) you grow more
impudent by Success.

_Will._ I am not always scorn'd then.

_La Nu._ I have known you as confidently put your Hands into your
Pockets for Money in a Morning, as if the Devil had been your Banker,
when you knew you put 'em off at Night as empty as your Gloves.

_Will._ And it may be found Money there too.

_La Nu._ Then with this Poverty so proud you are, you will not give the
Wall to the Catholick King, unless his Picture hung upon't. No Servants,
no Money, no Meat, always on foot, and yet undaunted still.

_Will._ Allow me that, Child.

_La Nu._ I wonder what the Devil makes you so termagant on our Sex, 'tis
not your high feeding, for your Grandees only dine, and that but when
Fortune pleases-- For your parts, who are the poor dependent, brown
Bread and ol