LOVEYET. Yes, I _am_ happy, very happy, indeed: Moralists disparage this world too much,--there _is_ such a thing as happiness under the sun,--I _feel_ it now most irrefragably,--_here_ it vibrates in a most extatic manner. FRANKTON. Why, you are positively the arrantest love-sick swain that ever had recourse to a philter. LOVEYET. Profane heretic in love! Did not you extol the two Seraphims just now in the same generous language? But you have never experienced the blissful transition from doubt and solicitude to certainty and peace, as I do now. FRANKTON. How do you know that? LOVEYET. I only conjecture so--Did you ever feel the same transports I do? FRANKTON. How, in the name of sense, should I know how you feel? LOVEYET. Feel!--I feel that kind heaven, my friend, my father, and my dearest girl, all conspire to bless me! FRANKTON. There he rides his hobby-horse again. LOVEYET. Aye, and a generous horse he is--he carries me very pleasantly, I assure you. FRANKTON. Yes, and, I dare say, could convey you more agreeably and speedily to Paradise than the Ass did Mahomet. LOVEYET. Ha, ha. I think you have improved my idea. FRANKTON. To improve your reason, and check your strange delirium, I have. LOVEYET. I will talk more dispassionately;--but my heart _will_ palpitate at the thought of meeting the lovely source of its joy, and the ultimatum of all its wishes! FRANKTON. I suppose you know she lives with Mr. Friendly. LOVEYET. With Mr. Friendly! FRANKTON. Yes, she is nearly related to his family, and as the style in which they live, corresponds with her former prosperity better than the present ineligible situation of her father does, he has granted them her valuable company, after their repeated solicitations had prov'd the sincerity of their regard. LOVEYET. But how do you account for Mr. Trueman's poverty, since fortune has lately put it so much in Harriet's power to relieve him from it? I dare not think it arises from her want of filial regard; I do not know anything so likely to abate the ardour of my attachment as a knowledge of that; but it is an ungenerous suggestion, unworthy the benignity and tenderness of the gentle Harriet. FRANKTON. It is so.--Two things, on the part of the old gentleman, are the cause: his pride will not suffer him to be the subject of a daughter's bounty; and his regard for that daughter's welfare, makes him fearful of being instrumental in impairing her fortune. LOVEYET. I thought the angelic girl could not be ungrateful to the parent of her being; but don't let us tarry--I am already on the wing. FRANKTON. You are too sanguine; you must not expect to succeed without a little opposition. LOVEYET. How! what say you? pray be explicit. FRANKTON. I will remove your suspense.--There is a Mr. Worthnought, a thing by some people call'd a man, a beau, a fine gentleman, a smart fellow; and by others a coxcomb, a puppy, a baboon and an ass. LOVEYET. And what of him?