too, and talk with Pleasure; and yet strange wand'ring Notions teaze your
Fancy, whose vain Allurements tantalize your Reason, and force you from
the Happiness you wish for. He that loves truly, loves without reserve;
the Object is the Centre of his Wishes, but your wild Sex that hurry after
Pleasure, whose headstrong Passions kindle ev'ry moment, admire each
Nymph, and eager to possess, you burn, you rage, and talk in tragick
Strains: But when the easy Maid believes, and blesses, when once you ha'
rifl'd, ravish'd and enjoy'd, ungratefully you slight the yielding
Charmer; your Love boil'd o'er descends to cold Indifference, and a
regardless Look rewards her Favours; were I inclin'd to wave my
Resolutions, and yield my self a Victim to Love's Pow'r, were I to chuse a
Man by Fortune slighted, and raise him to a more than common Affluence;
such is the Temper of your graceless Sex, there's not a Cottage Swain that
proves sincere.

_Coll_. Cou'd you then, Madam, condescend to love, and cou'd a Lover
manifest his Passion, by constant waiting, vigilant Observance, by
sacerdotal Plights, and Faith inviolate, wou'd you prove kind, and take
him to your Arms.

L. _Rod_. Of things impossible we lightly talk; if such a Man were found,
perhaps, I might.

_Coll_. Cherish that Thought; believe there is that Man; believe you see
him now; observe him well.

L. _Rod_. Ha!

_Coll_. Read from his Eyes his passionate Concern, his flattering Hopes,
his anxious killing Fears; examine ev'ry Symptom, feel his Tremblings,