Hell. Madam,
In your fair Eyes I read too much concern
To tell my farther Business.
Ang. Prithee, sweet Youth, talk on, thou may’st perhaps
Raise here a Storm that may undo my Passion,
And then I’ll grant thee any thing.
Hell. Madam,’tis to intreat you, (oh unreasonable!)
You wou’d not see this Stranger;
For if you do, she vows you are undone,
Tho Nature never made a Man so excellent;