_G._ Then he’s no lawyer. I am surprised He took this on himself. _L._ (_aside_). So, well done, Frederick! _D._ ’Tis most provoking. Are you sure, Sir Gregory, ’Tis as you say? _N._ (_to Gregory_). Will you not sign the contract? _G._ (_rising_). I cannot sign it. _D._ There’s a flaw, it seems, In the deed, St. Nicholas: but there’s time enough To have it drawn afresh. Pray come, Sir Gregory, Come to my study. Here we interrupt 1701 These lovers. [_Beckons G. off. Exeunt D. and G._ _N._ Now they are gone, put off this mask. _L._ What mask? _N._ Thou dost respect the Countess’eye and ear, And wilt not love when she is by: but now Give me at least thy hand to kiss. _L._ Why no, sir. _N._ Say then thou lovest me, sweetest Laura.— _L._ Nay, but I do not, sir. I understand That women love their husbands, and I promise To love mine when I am married; yes, as well 1710 As any happy woman on this earth Hath ever loved. Are you content with that? _N._ I should be, Laura; but thou dost not speak As if ’twere true. I could see well enough Thou wert not sorry when Sir Gregory said He would not sign. I know thou wilt not love me. _L._ Then why, in heaven’s name, would you marry me? _N._ Because I love thee. But I think no man Did ever love so cruel and strange a mistress. _L._ And you, sir, do no less appear to me 1720 Distrustful and impatient. Prithee go, Busy yourself to get your clothes in fashion: In two days is my marriage; after that— _N._ Well! _L._ After that all shall seem different. _N._ I made a sonnet of my love for thee, And would have given it. _L._ Why then did you not? _N._ I lost it in the garden. _L._ It can’t be lost. _N._ No. Tristram found it and won’t give it up. He says that Frederick wrote it. _L._ Frederick! nonsense, sir! Some one is coming. Excuse me. [_Exit._ 1730 _N._ O woman, various woman! thus to treat The man she loves! and yet how well becomes thee Thy native wit, when sweetest modesty Is masked thereby in tart indifference, Which spurs far more than doting tenderness The passion it rebuffs. What wit she hath! My Laura! Wit is admirable in woman, It is so rare; and ’tis the salt of marriage. _Frederick and Ricardo have re-entered._ _R._ (_to F._). Here’s our belated bee, let’s go elsewhere. _F._ Nay, drive him to his hole. 1740 _R._ How now, St. Nicholas! Musing, I think, on thy good fortune, eh? _N._ Good morning, Frederick, and, sir, how do you? _R._ Fairly, I thank thee, fairly: but in presence Of happiness like thine, mine goes for nothing. _F._ Thou hast been honey-gathering early, sir.