Dor. You shall be nothing but yourself—nothing can be captivating that you are not. I will not wrong your penetration, by pretending that you won my heart at the first interview; but you have now my whole soul—your person, your face, your mind, I would not exchange for those of any other Woman breathing.
Har. A Dog! how well he makes up for past slights! Cousin Racket, I wish you a good Husband with all my heart. Mr. Flutter, I'll believe every word you say this fortnight. Mr. Villers, you and I have manag'd this to a T. I never was so merry in my life—'Gad, I believe I can dance. (Footing.)
Doric. Charming, charming creature!
Let. Congratulate me, my dear friends! Can you conceive my happiness?
Har. No, congratulate me; for mine is the greatest.
Flut. No, congratulate me, that I have escaped with life, and give me some sticking plaster—this wild cat has torn the skin from my throat.
Sir Geo. I expect to be among the first who are congratulated—for I have recovered one Angel, while Doricourt has gained another.
Har. Pho! pho! Don't talk of Angels, we shall be happier by half as Mortals. Come into the next room; I have order'd out every drop of my Forty-eight, and I'll invite the whole parish of St. George's, but what we'll drink it out—except one dozen, which I shall keep under three double locks, for a certain Christening, that I foresee will happen within this twelvemonth.
Dor. My charming Bride! It was a strange perversion of Taste, that led me to consider the delicate timidity of your deportment, as the mark of an uninform'd mind, or inelegant manners. I feel now it is to that innate modesty, English Husbands owe a felicity the Married Men of other nations are strangers to: it is a sacred veil to your own charms; it is the surest bulwark to your Husband's honour; and cursed be the hour—should it ever arrive—in which British Ladies shall sacrifice to foreign Graces the Grace of Modesty!
FINIS.