Lady D. Daughter, since you have to deal with a man of so peculiar a temper, you must not think the general arts of love can secure him; you may therefore allow such a courtier some encouragement extraordinary, without reproach to your modesty.
Ang. I am sensible, madam, that a formal nicety makes our modesty sit awkward, and appears rather a chain to enslave, than a bracelet to adorn us; it should show, when unmolested, easy and innocent as a dove, but strong and vigorous as a falcon, when assaulted.
Lady D. I'm afraid, daughter, you mistake Sir Harry's gaiety for dishonour.
Ang. Though modesty, madam, may wink, it must not sleep, when powerful enemies are abroad. I must confess, that, of all men's, I would not see Sir Harry Wildair's faults.
Lady D. You must certainly be mistaken, Angelica; for I'm satisfied Sir Harry's designs are only to court and marry you.
Ang. His pretence, perhaps, was such. Pray, madam, by what means were you made acquainted with his designs?
Lady D. Means, child! Why, my cousin Vizard, who, I'm sure, is your sincere friend, sent him. He brought me this letter from my cousin.
[Gives her the Letter, which she opens.
Ang. Ha! Vizard!—then I'm abused in earnest—Would Sir Harry, by his instigation, fix a base affront upon me? No, I can't suspect him of so ungenteel a crime—This letter shall trace the truth. [Aside.]—My suspicions, madam, are much cleared; and I hope to satisfy your ladyship in my management, when I next see Sir Harry.
Enter Servant.