_Dor_. What, against my own brother? _Mrs. Sul_. He's but half a brother, and I 'm your entire friend. If I go a step beyond the bounds of honour, leave me; till then, I expect you should go along with me in everything; while I trust my honour in your hands, you may trust your brother's in mine. The count is to dine here to-day. _Dor_. 'Tis a strange thing, sister, that I can't like that man. {181} _Mrs. Sul_. You like nothing; your time is not come; Love and Death have their fatalities, and strike home one time or other: you 'll pay for all one day, I warrant ye. But come, my lady's tea is ready, and 'tis almost church time. [_Exeunt_. ACT II., SCENE II. _A Room in Boniface's Inn_. _Enter Aimwell dressed, and Archer_. _Aim_. And was she the daughter of the house? _Arch_. The landlord is so blind as to think so; but I dare swear she has better blood in her veins. _Aim_. Why dost think so? _Arch_. Because the baggage has a pert _je ne sais quoi_; she reads plays, keeps a monkey, and is troubled with vapours. _Aim_. By which discoveries I guess that you know more of _Cher_. _Arch_. Not yet, faith; the lady gives herself airs; forsooth, nothing under a gentleman! _Aim_. Let me take her in hand. _Arch_. Say one word more of that, and I'll declare myself, spoil your sport there, and everywhere else; look ye, Aim well, every man in his own sphere. _Aim_. Right; and therefore you must pimp for your master. _Arch_. In the usual forms, good sir, after I have served myself.--But to our business. You are so well dressed, Tom, and make so handsome a figure, that I fancy you may do execution in a country church; the exterior part strikes first, and you're in the right to make that impression favourable. {23} _Aim_. There's something in that which may turn to advantage. The appearance of a stranger in a country church draws as many gazers as a blazing-star; no sooner he comes into the cathedral, but a train of whispers runs buzzing round the congregation in a moment: _Who is he? Whence comes he? Do you know him?_Then I, sir, tips me the verger with half-a-crown; he pockets the simony, and inducts me into the best pew in the church; I pull out my snuff-box, turn myself round, bow to the bishop, or the dean, if he be the commanding-officer; single out a beauty, rivet both my eyes to hers, set my nose a-bleeding by the strength of imagination, and show the whole church my concern, by my endeavouring to hide it; after the sermon, the whole town gives me to her for a lover, and by persuading the lady that I am a-dying for her, the tables are turned, and she in good earnest falls in love with me. {42} _Arch_. There's nothing in this, Tom, without a precedent; but instead of riveting your eyes to a beauty, try to fix 'em upon a fortune; that's our business at present.