Lovejoy.

Mrs. _Lov_. Why, Madam, shou'd your Ladyship keep so many Fellows in
suspence, is it only to mortifie other Women, and maintain the Vanity of
being universally admir'd; you won't marry, and yet love to be courted:
In other matters your Ladiship's gen'rous enough, but as for parting with
your Lovers, you are as stingy as the Widow _Scrape-all_, that lets out
her Mourning-Coach to Funerals.

La. _Rod_. Cozen, we're alone, and I'll discover t' you the Soul of ev'ry
Woman: Vanity is the predominant Passion in our Sex, what Lady that has
Beauty, Wit and Fortune, does not excel in Dress, brighten in Talk, and
dazle in her Equipage; and Lovers are but Servants out o' Liveries: Who
then that has Attractions to command, to sooth, to frown, to manage as we
please, wou'd raise those crawling Wretches that adore us, that fawn and
sigh, and catch at ev'ry Glance, but once embolden'd, as our Courage fails
us, the flatt'ring Knaves exert their Sovereign Sway, and crush the
darling Pow'r we possess.

Mrs. _Lov_. 'Tis their Prerogative to rule at last, our Reign is short,
because 'tis too Tyrannical; we're pleas'd to have Admirers gaze upon us,
they're pleas'd with gazing, 'cause they cannot help it; but yet they
think us strange fantastick Creatures, and curse themselves for loving
such vain Toys; for my part, I'm for ballancing the pow'r of both Sexes,
if a fine Gentleman addresses a fine Lady, his Reception ought to be
suitable to his Merit, and when two fine People get together--

La. _Rod_. What then?

Mrs. _Lov_. They ought to lay aside Affectation and Impertinence, and come
to a right understanding i' th' matter.

La. _Rod._ But prithee, my Dear, what fine Things d'you conceive there are
in Love?

Mrs. _Lov_. I wou'd conceive what fine Things there are in Love; in short,
Madam, you may dissemble like the _French Hugonots,_ that were starving in
their own Country, and pretended to fly hither for Religion: But I that
have the same Circulations with your Ladiship, know that ev'ry Woman feels
a _Je ne scay quoy_ for an agreeable Fellow; nay more, that Love is
irresistable; how many Fortunes have marry'd Troopers, and Yeomen o'the
Guard? We are all made of the same Mould; nay I heard of a Lady that was
so violently scorcht at the sight of a handsome Waterman, she flung her
self sprawling into the _Thames_, only that he might stretch out his Oar,
and take her up again.

La. _Rod_. There are Women Fools to a strange