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A monologue from the play by David Garrick
O woman, woman, foolish woman! she’ll certainly have this Gayless: nay, were she as well convinced of his poverty as I am, she’d have him.
A strong dose of love is worse than one of ratafia; when it once gets into our heads, it trips up our heels, and then good night to discretion.
Here is she going to throw away fifteen thousand pounds; upon what? faith, little better than nothing—he’s a man, and that’s all—and heaven knows mere man is but small consolation.
Be this advice pursued by each fond maid, Ne’er slight the substance for an empty shade: Rich, weighty sparks alone should please and charm ye: For should spouse cool, his gold will always warm ye.