to lie with other men's wives for 'em, but must also
undertake the harder task of obliging their mistresses. I must take up,
or I shall never hold out. Flesh and blood cannot bear it always.

SCENE III.

[_To him_] SHARPER.

SHARP. I'm sorry to see this, Ned. Once a man comes to his soliloquies,
I give him for gone.

BELL. Sharper, I'm glad to see thee.

SHARP. What! is Belinda cruel, that you are so thoughtful?

BELL. No, faith, not for that. But there's a business of consequence
fallen out to-day that requires some consideration.

SHARP. Prithee, what mighty business of consequence canst thou have?

BELL. Why, you must know, 'tis a piece of work toward the finishing of
an alderman. It seems I must put the last hand to it, and dub him
cuckold, that he may be of equal dignity with the rest of his brethren:
so I must beg Belinda's pardon.

SHARP. Faith, e'en give her over for good and all; you can have no hopes
of getting her for a mistress; and she is too proud, too inconstant, too
affected and too witty, and too handsome for a wife.

BELL. But she can't have too much money. There's twelve thousand pound,
Tom. 'Tis true she is excessively foppish and affected; but in my
conscience I believe the baggage loves me: for she never speaks well of
me herself, nor suffers anybody else to rail at me. Then, as I told you,
there's twelve thousand pound. Hum! Why, faith, upon second thoughts,
she does not appear to be so very affected neither.--Give her her due, I
think the woman's a woman, and that's all. As such, I'm sure I shall
like her; for the devil take me if I don't love all the sex.

SHARP. And here comes one who swears as heartily he hates all the sex.

SCENE IV.

[_To them_] HEARTWELL.

BELL. Who? Heartwell? Ay, but he knows better things. How now,
George, where hast thou been snarling odious truths, and entertaining
company, like a physician, with discourse of their diseases and
infirmities? What fine lady hast thou been putting out of conceit with
herself, and persuading that the face she had been making all the morning
was none of her own? For I know thou art as unmannerly and as unwelcome
to a woman as a looking-glass after the smallpox.

HEART. I confess I have not been sneering fulsome lies and nauseous
flattery; fawning upon a little tawdry whore, that will fawn upon me
again, and entertain any puppy that comes, like a tumbler, with the same
tricks over and