Lady L. Two of them had a heavy, pedantic air: but the third——
Parly. Ah, the third, madam—the third of all things, they say, is very critical.
Lady L. He was—but in short, nature formed him for my undoing. His very looks were witty, and his expressive eyes spoke softer, prettier things, than words could frame.
Parly. There will be mischief by and by; I never heard a woman talk so much of eyes, but there were tears presently after.
Lady L. My father was so well pleased with his conversation, that he begged their company next day; they consented, and next night, Parly——
Parly. Ah, next night, madam——next night (I'm afraid) was a night indeed.
Lady L. He bribed my maid, with his gold, out of her modesty; and me, with his rhetoric, out of my honour. [Weeps.] He swore that he would come down from Oxford in a fortnight, and marry me.
Parly. The old bait, the old bait—I was cheated just so myself. [Aside.] But had not you the wit to know his name all this while?
Lady L. He told me that he was under an obligation to his companions, of concealing himself then, but, that he would write to me in two days, and let me know his name and quality. After all the binding oaths of constancy, I gave him a ring with this motto—"Love and Honour"—then we parted, and I never saw the dear deceiver more.
Parly. No, nor never will, I warrant you.