L. Gal. Please you sit, Sir.
Sir Char. Madam, I beg your Pardon for my Rudeness.
L. Gal. Still whining?—
[Dressing her self carelesly.
Sir Anth. D’ye hear that, Sirrah? oh, damn it, beg Pardon! the Rogue’s quite out of’s part.
Sir Char. Madam, I fear my Visit is unseasonable.
Sir Anth. Unseasonable! damn’d Rogue, unseasonable to a Widow?—Quite out.
L. Gal. There are indeed some Ladies that wou’d be angry at an untimely Visit, before they’ve put on their best Faces, but I am none of those that wou’d be fair in spite of Nature, Sir—Put on this Jewel here. [To Clos.
Sir Char. That Beauty needs no Ornament, Heaven has been too bountiful.
Sir Anth. Heaven! Oh Lord, Heaven! a puritanical Rogue, he courts her like her Chaplain. [Aside, vext.
L. Gal. You are still so full of University Complements—