| OCR Text |
Show t4 The Beaux Stratagem. thing in London: O'my Confcience, fhe may raife an Army of Forty thoufand Men. Dor. I fancy, Sifter, you have a mind to be trying your Power that way here in Litchfield; you have drawn the French Count to your Colours already. Mrs. Sull. The French are a People that can't live without their Gallantries. Dor. A n d fome Englifh that I know, Sifter, are not averfe to fuch Amufements. Mts.Sull. Well, Sifter, fince the Truth muft out, it m a y do as well now as hereafter; I think, one w a y to roufe m y Le-thargick, fottilh Husband, is, to give him a Rival; Security begets Negligence in all People, and Men muft be alarm'd to make'em alert in theifOuty : W o m e n are like Pictures, of no value in the Hands of a Fool, till he hears M e n of Senfe bid high for the Purchafe. Dor. This might do. Sifter, if m y Brother's Underftanding were to be convinc'd into a Paflion for you; but, I fancy, there's a natural Averfion of his fide; and I fancy, Sifter, that you don't come much behind him, if you dealt fairly. Mrs. Sull. I o w n it, w e are united Contradictions, Fire and Water: But I cou'd be contented, with a great many other Wives, to humour the cenforious M o b , and give the World an Appearance of living well with m y Husband, cou'd I bring him but to diiTemble a little Kindnefs to keep m e im countenance. Dor. But how do you know, Sifter, but that inftead of rou-fmg your Husband by this Artifice, to a counterfeit Kindnefs, he fhould awake in a real Fury. Mrs. Sull, Let him: - - If I can't entice him to the one, I wou'd provoke him to the other. Dor. But how muft I behave m y felf between ye ? Mrs. Sull. You muft aflift me. Dor. What, againft m y o w n Brother? Mrs.Sull. He's but half a Brother, and I'm your entire Friend: If I go a ftep beyond the Bounds of Honour, leave me ; till then, I expect you fhould go along with m e in every thing; while I truft m y Honour in your Hands, you may truft your Brother's in mine. The Count is to dine here to Day. Dor. 'Tis a ftrange thing, Sifter, that I can't like that Man. Mrs. Sull. You like nothing, your time is not come; Love and Death have their Fatalities, and (take home one toitmhee orr: |
