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JULIET: Ay, Sir, there lies my greatest misfortune. Had I only those who are alive to contend with, by assiduity, affection, cares, and caresses, I might secure my conqueft: though that would be diffcult; for I am convinced, were you, Mr. Rust, put up by Christie to auction, the Apollo Belvidere would not draw a greater number of bidders.
RUST. Would that were the case, Madam, so I might be thought a proper companion to the Venus de Medicis,
JULIET. The flower of rhetoric, and pink of politeness. But
my fears are not confined to the living; for every nation and age, even painters and statuaries, conspire against me. Nay, when the Pantheon itself, the very goddesses rise up as my rivals, what chance has a mortal like me.
I shall certainly laugh in his face. [Afide.]
RUST. She is a delicate subject. Goddesses, Madam! zooks, had you been on Mount Ida when Paris decided the contest, the Cyprian queen had pleaded for the pippin in vain.
RUST. The chromatic music of Clio, the blooming graces of Hebè, the empereal port of queen Juno, with the delicate dimples of Venus.
JULIET. I see, Sir, antiquity has not engrofs'd all your attention: you are no novice in the nature of women. Incense, I own, is grateful to most of my fex; but there are times when adoration may be dispensed with
JULIET. I say, Sir, when we women willingly wave our rank in the skies, and wish to be treated as mortals.
RUST. Doubtlefs, Madam : and are you wanting in materials for that? No, Madam; as in dignity you surpass the Heathen divinities, so in the charms of attraction you beggar the queens of the earth. The whole world, at different periods, has contributed it's several beauties to form you.
JULIET. The deuce it has ! [Afide.]
RUST. See, there, the ripe Asiatic perfection, join'd to the delicate softness of Europe! In you, Madam, I burn to pofsefs Cleopatra's alluring glances, the Greek profile of queen Clytemnestra, the Roman nose of the empress Popæa
JULIET. With the majestic march of queen Bess. Mercy on me, what a wonderful creature am I!
RUST In short, Madam, not a feature you have, but recals to my mind some trait in a medal or buft.
JULIET. Indeed! Why, by your account, I must be an absolute olio, a perfect salamongundy of charms.
RUST. Oh, Madam, how can you demean, as I may say, undervalue
JULIET. Value! there is the thing; and to tell you the truth, Mr. Rust, in that word Value lies my greatest objection.
JULIET. Why then I will explain myself. It has been said, and I believe with some shadow of truth, that no man is a hero to his valet de chambre : now, I am afraid, when you and I grow a little more intimate, which I suppose must be the case if you proceed on your plan, you will be horribly disappointed in your high expectations, and soon discover this Juno, this Cleopatra, and princess Popæa, to be as arrant a mortal as madam your mother.
- RUST. Madam, I, I, I
JULIET. Your patience a moment. Being therefore desirous to preserve your devotion, I beg, for the future, you would please to adore at a distance.
JULIET. Ay, but he was another kind of a mortal: you may do very well as a votary; but for a husband
a --mercy upon me!
JULIET. Not serious! Why have you the impudence to think of marrying a goddess ?
JULIET. And what should you hope? I find your devotion resembles that of the world: when the power of finning is over, and the sprightly firstrunnings of life are rack'd off, you offer the vapid dregs to your deity. No, no; you may, if you please, turn monk in my service. One vow, I believe, you will observe better than most of them, chastity.
JULIET. Or, if you must marry, take your Julia, your Portia, or Flora, your Fum-fam from China, or your Egyptian Oliris. You have long paid your addrefles to them.
RUST. Marry! what, marble ?
JULIET. The properest wives in the world; you can't choose amiss; they will supply you with all that you want.
JULIET. That is more than ever his niece will. Consented! and to what? to be swath'd to a mouldering mummy; or be lock'd
your medals, to canker and rust in a cabinet ! No, no; I was made for the world, and the world shall not be robb’d of it's right.
JULIET. To what end? You say, you have Sir Thomas Lofty's consent ; I tell you, you can never have mine. You may screen me from, or expose me to, my uncle's resentment; the choice is your own: if you lay the fault at my door, you will, doubtless, greatly distress me; but take the blame on yourself, and I shall own myself extremely obliged to you.