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 degree; but have you, Cousin, seen any Object so amiable to merit that ridiculous Condescension.

Mrs. Lov.  I have seen a great many young Fellows, Madam, and do ev’ry Day see more young Fellows that I cou’d like very well to play at Piquet with; and if your Ladiship has sworn to die a Maid, recommend one of your Admirers to me, and it shan’t be my Fault, if in a few Months I don’t produce you a very pretty Bantling to inherit your Estate.

    Enter Major Bramble.

Bram. (Aside.) Now must I screw my self into more submissive Forms than a hungry Poet at the lower end of a Lord’s Table, when he has more Wit than all the Company; muster up more Lies than are told behind a Cheapside-Counter, and talk to her of Agues, Agonies and Agitations, when I have no more Notion of Love, than a Lawyer has of the next World:  Her Estate indeed wou’d put a Man into a Conflagration, but a fine Woman is to me like a fine Race-Horse, admir’d only by Fools, very costly, very wanton, and very apt to run away—­Madam, your Ladiship’s incomparable Perfections, which are as much talk’d of, as if they had been publish’d in the Flying-Post, Post-Boy, and Post-Man, have stirr’d up all my Faculties to admire, ev’ry Part about you, and to tell you the Ambition I have of being your Ladiship’s most devoted, humble Servant at Bed and Board.

La. Rod.  A Man of your Character, Major, is seldom touch’d with a Lady’s Perfections; our trifling Beauties soften weaker Mortals, you Men that bustle about publick Matters, whose fiery Souls are charm’d with Broils of State, retain no mighty Transports for our Sex.

Bram.  True, Madam, Love’s but an insipid Business; but I wou’d marry to keep up that fiery Breed; and your Ladyship having a more sublime Genius than the rest of your Sex, I thought you the properest Person to apply to, that with equal Pains-taking we may produce a Race of Alexanders, that shall rattle thro’ the World like a Peal of Thunder, wage Wars, destroy Cities, and send old Women headlong to the Devil.