_Mrs. Sul._ Common cant! had my spark called me a Venus directly, I should have believed him a footman in good earnest. _Dor._ But my lover was upon his knees to me. _Mrs. Sul._ And mine was upon his tiptoes to me. _Dor._ Mine vowed to die for me. _Mrs. Sul._ Mine swore to die with me. _Dor._ Mine kissed my hand ten thousand times. _Mrs. Sul._ Mine has all that pleasure to come. _Dor._ Mine spoke the softest moving things. _Mrs. Sul._ Ay, ay, mine had his moving things too. _Dor._ Mine offered marriage. _Mrs. Sul._ O lard! d'ye call that a moving thing? _Dor._ The sharpest arrow in his quiver, my dear sister; Why, my twenty thousand pounds may lie brooding here this seven years, and hatch nothing at last but some illnatured clown, like yours;--Whereas, if I marry my Lord Aimwell, there will be title, place, and precedence, the park, the play, and the drawing-room, splendour, equipage, noise, and flambeaux--Hey, my Lady Aimwell's servants there--lights, lights to the stairs--My Lady Aimwell's coach, put forward--stand by; make room for her ladyship----Are not these things moving? What! melancholy of a sudden? _Mrs. Sul._ Happy, happy sister! your angel has been watchful for your happiness, whilst mine has slept, regardless of his charge----Long smiling years of circling joys for you, but not one hour for me! [_Weeps._ _Dor._ Come, my dear, we'll talk of something else. _Mrs. Sul._ O, Dorinda, I own myself a woman, full of my sex, a gentle, generous soul--easy and yielding to soft desires; a spacious heart, where love and all his train might lodge; and must the fair apartment of my breast be made a stable for a brute to lie in? _Dor._ Meaning your husband, I suppose. _Mrs. Sul._ Husband!--Even husband is too soft a name for him.--But, come, I expect my brother here to-night or to-morrow; he was abroad when my father married me: perhaps he'll find a way to make me easy. _Dor._ Will you promise not to make yourself uneasy in the mean time with my lord's friend? _Mrs. Sul._ You mistake me, sister--It happens with us as among the men, the greatest talkers are the greatest cowards; and there's a reason for it; those spirits evaporate in prattle, which might do more mischief if they took another course----Though, to confess the truth, I do love that fellow;--and if I met him dressed as he should be,----Lookye, sister, I have no supernatural gifts;----I can't swear I could resist the temptation----though I can safely promise to avoid it; and that's as much as the best of us can do. [_Exeunt._ SCENE II. _The Inn._ _Enter_ AIMWELL _and_ ARCHER _laughing_. _Arch._ And the awkward kindness of the good motherly old gentlewoman---- _Aim._ And the coming easiness of the young one--'Sdeath, 'tis pity to deceive her. _Arch._ Nay, if you adhere to those principles, stop where you are. _Aim._ I can't stop; for I love her to distraction. _Arch._ 'Sdeath, if you love her a hair's breadth beyond discretion, you must go no farther.