Re-enter Aimwell, leading Dorinda, and making love in dumb show; Mrs. Sullen and Archer following.
Mrs. Sul. [To Archer.] Pray, sir, how d'ye like that piece? [313]
Arch. Oh, 'tis Leda! You find, madam, how Jupiter comes disguised to make love—
Mrs. Sul. But what think you there of Alexander's battles?
Arch. We only want a Le Brun, madam, to draw greater battles, and a greater general of our own. The Danube, madam, would make a greater figure in a picture than the Granicus; and we have our Ramillies to match their Arbela. [322]
Mrs. Sul. Pray, sir, what head is that in the corner there?
Arch. O madam, 'tis poor Ovid in his exile.
Mrs. Sul. What was he banished for?
Arch. His ambitious love, madam.—[Bowing.] His misfortune touches me.
