n.
[Sings again.

_La Nuit et le Sombre voiles
Coverie nos desires ardentes;
Et l'Amour et les Etoiles
Sont nos secrets confidents._

_Beau._ Pox on't, how dull am I at an excuse?
[Sets his Wig in the Glass, and sings.
_A Pox of Love and Woman-kind,
And all the Fops adore 'em._
[_Puts on his Hat, cocks it, and goes to her._
How is't, Cuz?

_Aria._ So, here's the saucy freedom of a Husband Lover-- a blest
Invention this of marrying, whoe'er first found it out.

_Beau._ Damn this _English_ Dog of a Perriwig-maker, what an ungainly
Air it gives the Face, and for a Wedding Perriwig too-- how dost thou
like it, _Ariadne_?
[Uneasy.

_Aria._ As ill as the Man-- I perceive you have taken more care for your
Perriwig than your Bride.

_Beau._ And with reason, _Ariadne_, the Bride was never the care of the
Lover, but the business of the Parents; 'tis a serious Affair, and ought
to be manag'd by the grave and wise: Thy Mother and my Uncle have agreed
the Matter, and would it not look very sillily in me now to whine a
tedious Tale of Love in your Ear, when the business is at an end? 'tis
like saying a Grace when a Man should give Thanks.

_Aria._ Why did you not begin sooner then?

_Beau._ Faith, _Ariadne_, because I know nothing of the Design in hand;
had I had civil warning, thou shouldst have had as pretty smart Speeches
from me, as any Coxcomb Lover of 'em all could have made thee.

_Aria._ I shall never marry like a _Jew_ in my own Tribe; I'll rather be
possest by honest old doating Age, than by saucy conceited Youth, whose
Inconstancy never leaves a Woman safe or quiet.

_Beau._ You know the Proverb of the half Loaf, _Ariadne_; a Husband that
will deal thee some Love is better than one who can give thee none: you
would have a blessed time on't with old Father _Carlo_.

_Aria._ No matter, a Woman may with some lawful excuse cuckold him, and
'twould be scarce a Sin.

_Beau._ Not so much as lying with him, whose reverend Age wou'd make it
look like Incest.

_Aria._ But to marry thee-- would be a Tyranny from whence there's no
Appeal: A drinking whoring Husband! 'tis the Devil--

_Beau._ You are deceiv'd, if you think Don _Carlo_ more chaste than I;
only duller, and more a Miser, one that fears his Flesh more, and loves
his Money better.-- Then to be condemn'd to lie with him-- oh, who would
not rejoice to meet a Woollen-Waistcoat, and knit Night-Cap without a
Lining, a Shirt so n