_Love._ What! not though he solicited a glance, with symphonies of charming note, with sumptuous dishes? Not when the flying meteors from the earth made a new day? Not see him? Oh, that was hard; that was unkind! Not one look for all this gallantry?--But love is blind. You can be all night with the son, all day with the father, and never see either. His father was here this morning.--Seek not to excuse: I find your arts, and see their aim too. Go, go, take your Bookwit; forget your lover, as he now must you. [_Going._ _Pen._ Hear but three words. _Love._ What shall they be? _Pen._ Prithee hear me. _Love._ No, no, your father's coming down. _Pen._ He's not coming, nor can he overhear us. There's time and privacy enough to disabuse you. _Love._ I'll hear nothing unless you will be married; unless you give me, as a present earnest of yourself, three kisses, and your word for ever. _Pen._ To give way to my satisfaction, then, and be friends again, you would, Mr. Lovemore, have three kisses---- _Love._ Three kisses, your faith and hand. _Pen._ Nothing else? Will you be so contented? _Love._ I'll expect higher terms if you accept not these--Quickly, then. _Pen._ Well, then--no, my father's coming. Ha! ha! ha! _Love._ Laugh at my sufferings! slight my anger! Is this your base requital of my love?-- Revenge, revenge! I'll print on thy favourite in his heart's blood my revenge. Our swords--our swords shall dispute our pretences, rather than he enjoy what my long services entitle me to, which is to do myself right for what he intends an injury; though perhaps what we shall dispute for is better lost. _Pert._ Mr. Lovemore, you have taken very great liberties. You say I have injured you in my regard to another. Is your opinion, then, of what you say you will dispute for, such as you just now said--better lost? _Love._ Look you, madam--so--therefore--as to that--this is such--for that it--You don't consider what you said to me. _Pen._ Ha! ha! ha! _Love._ You shall by all that's--you shall repent this. [_Flings out._ _Pen._ This is all we have for 't, a little dominion beforehand. These are the creatures that are born to rule us; who creep, who flatter, and servilely beseech our favour; which obtained, they grow sullen, proud, and insolent; pry into the gift, the manner of bestowing, with all the little arts the ungrateful use to hide, or kill their sense and conscience of a benefit. _Lett._ Ay, ay, madam, 'tis so. I had a sweetheart once, a lady's butler, to whom I gave a lock of my hair, and the villain, when we quarrelled, told me half of them were grey. _Pen._ Ha! ha! ha! the ingrate--the faithless, as Lovemore says. _Lett._ And yet, madam, the rogue stole a letter out of a book to ask me for it, as my next suitor found out. _Pen._ However, I am sure 'tis in my fate to be subject to one of them very suddenly. _Lett._ Ah! madam! the gentleman this morning----