_Hip._ What! do you mock me too? I know I am but a home-bred simple girl! but I thought you gallants of the town had been better bred than to mock a poor girl in her father's own house. I have heard, indeed, 'tis a part of good breeding to mock people behind their backs, but not to their faces. _Ger._ [_Aside._] Pretty creature! she has not only the beauty, but the innocency of an angel.--[_To_ HIPPOLITA.] Mock you, dear miss! no, I only repeated the words because they were yours, sweet miss; what we like we imitate. _Hip._ "Dear miss! sweet miss!" how came you and I so well acquainted? this is one of your confident tricks, too, as I have been told; you'll be acquainted with a woman in the time you can help her over a bench in the playhouse, or to her coach. But I need not wonder at your confidence, since you could come in at the great gallery window, just now. But, pray, who shall pay for the glass you have broken? _Ger._ Pretty creature! your father might have made the window bigger then, since he has so fine a daughter, and will not allow people to come in at the door to her. _Hip._ A pleasant man!--well, 'tis harder playing the hypocrite with him, I see, than with my aunt or father; and if dissimulation were not very natural to a woman, I'm sure I could not use it at this time: but the mask of simplicity and innocency is as useful to an intriguing woman as the mask of religion to a statesman, they say. [_Aside._ _Ger._ Why do you look away, dearest miss? _Hip._ Because you quarrelled with me just now for frowning upon you, and I cannot help it, if I look upon you. _Ger._ O! let me see that face at any rate. _Hip._ Would you have me frown upon you? for I shall be sure to do't. _Ger._ Come, I'll stand fair: you have done your worst to my heart already. _Hip._ Now I dare not look upon him, lest I should not be able to keep my word. [_Aside._ _Ger._ Come, I am ready:--[_Aside._] and yet I am afraid of her frowns.--[_To_ HIPPOLITA.] Come, look, Ih--am ready, Ih--am ready. _Hip._ But I am not ready. [_Aside._ _Ger._ Turn, dear miss, come, Ih--am ready. _Hip._ Are you ready then? I'll look. [_Turns upon him._]--No, faith, I cannot frown upon him, if I should be hanged. [_Aside._ _Ger._ Dear miss, I thank you, that look has no terror in't. _Hip._ No, I cannot frown for my heart for blushing, I don't use to look upon men, you must know. _Ger._ If it were possible anything could, those blushes would add to her beauty: well, bashfulness is the only out-of-fashioned thing that is agreeable. [_Aside._