Arch. Ay, but if some women had 'em, they would kill everybody. Prithee, instruct me, I would fain make love to you, but I don't know what to say. [380]
Cher. Why, did you never make love to anybody before?
Arch. Never to a person of your figure I can assure you, madam: my addresses have been always confined to people within my own sphere, I never aspired so high before. [Sings.
But you look so bright,
And are dress'd so tight,
That a man would swear you 're right,
As arm was e'er laid over. [390]
Such an air
You freely wear
To ensnare,
As makes each guest a lover!
Since then, my dear, I 'm your guest,
Prithee give me of the best
Of what is ready drest:
Since then, my dear, etc.
Cher. [Aside.] What can I think of this man?—[Aloud.] Will you give me that song, sir? [400]
Arch. Ay, my dear, take it while 'tis warm.—[Kisses her.] Death and fire! her lips are honeycombs.
Cher. And I wish there had been bees too, to have stung you for your impudence.
Arch. There 's a swarm of Cupids, my little Venus, that has done the business much better.
Cher. [Aside.] This fellow is misbegotten as well as I.— [Aloud.] What's your name, sir?
Arch. [Aside.] Name! egad, I have forgot it.—[Aloud.] Oh! Martin. [410]