_Fain._ Why, madam, I knew you a woman of breeding, and above the senseless niceties of an English wife. The French way is, you are to go so far, whether you are agreeable or not. If you are so happy as to please, nobody that is not of a constrained behaviour is at a loss to let you know it--Besides, if the humble servant makes the first approaches, he has the impudence of making a request, but not the honour of obeying a command. _Mrs. Cler._ Right; a woman's man should conceal passion in a familiar air of indifference. Now there's Mr. Clerimont; I can't allow him the least freedom, but the unfashionable fool grows so fond of me he cannot hide it in public. _Fain._ Ay, madam, I have often wondered at your ladyship's choice of one that seems to have so little of the beau monde in his carriage, but just what you force him to, while there were so many pretty gentlemen----[_Dancing._ _Mrs. Cler._ Oh, young gentleman, you are mightily mistaken, if you think such animals as you, and pretty Beau Titmouse, and pert Billy Butterfly, though I suffer you to come in, and play about my rooms, are any ways in competition with a man whose name one would wear. _Fain._ O madam! then I find we are---- _Mrs. Cler._ A woman of sense must have respect for a man of that character; but alas! respect--what is respect? Respect is not the thing. Respect has something too solemn for soft moments--you things are more proper for hours of dalliance. _Cler. Sen._ [_Peeping._] How have I wronged this fine lady! I find I am to be a cuckold out of her pure esteem for me. _Mrs. Cler._ Besides, those fellows for whom we have respect have none for us. I warrant on such an occasion Clerimont would have ruffled a woman out of all form, while you---- _Cler. Sen._ A good hint--now my cause comes on. [_Aside._ _Fain._ Since then you allow us fitter for soft moments, why do we misemploy 'em? Let me kiss that beauteous hand and clasp that graceful frame. _Mrs. Cler._ How, Fainlove! What, you don't design to be impertinent--But my lips have a certain roughness on 'em to-day, han't they? _Fain._ [_Kissing._] No, they are all softness; their delicious sweetness is inexpressible. Here language fails; let me applaud thy lips, not by the utterance, but by the touch of mine. _Enter_ CLERIMONT, SEN., _drawing his sword._ _Cler. Sen._ Ha, villain! Ravisher! Invader of my bed and honour! draw. _Mrs. Cler._ What means this insolence--this intrusion into my privacy? What, do you come into my very closet without knocking? Who put this into your head? _Cler. Sen._ My injuries have alarmed me, and I'll bear no longer, but sacrifice your bravado, the author of 'em. _Mrs. Cler._ Oh! poor Mr. Fainlove! Must he die for his complaisance and innocent freedoms with me? How could you, if you might? Oh! the sweet youth! What, fight Mr. Fainlove? What will the ladies say?