Arch. There he has left us in, the dark. He was too much a gentleman to tell. [331]
Mrs. Sul. If he were secret, I pity him.
Arch. And if he were successful, I envy him.
Mrs. Sul. How d 'ye like that Venus over the chimney?
Arch. Venus! I protest, madam, I took it for your picture; but now I look again, 'tis not handsome enough.
Mrs. Sul. Oh, what a charm is flattery! If you would see my picture, there it is over that cabinet. How d' ye like it? [340]
Arch. I must admire anything, madam, that has the least resemblance of you. But, methinks, madam —[He looks at the picture and Mrs. Sullen three or four times, by turns.] Pray, madam, who drew it?
Mrs. Sul. A famous hand, sir.
[Here Aimwell and Dorinda go off.
Arch. A famous hand, madam!—Your eyes, indeed, are featured there; but where's the sparking moisture, shining fluid, in which they swim? The picture, indeed, has your dimples; but where's the swarm of killing Cupids that should ambush there? The lips too are figured out; but where's the carnation dew, the pouting ripeness that tempts the taste in the original? [353]