Must yet more certain Cures than Smiles impart:
—And you on Laura have the same design.
Cur. Yes, Sir, when justify’d by Laws Divine.
Fred. Divine! a pleasant Warrant for your Sin,
Which being not made, we ne’er had guilty been.
But now we speak of Laura,
Prithee, when is’t that I shall see that Beauty?
Cur. Never, I hope. Aside. I know not, Sir,
Her Father still is cruel, and denies me,
What she and I have long made suit in vain for: