True. How well she plays the harpsichord and harp!
How well she sings to them! Whoe’er would prove
The power of song, should hear thy neighbour sing,
Especially a love-song!
Wild. Does she sing
Such songs to thee?
True. Oh, yes, and constantly.
For such I ever ask her.
Wild. Forward minx! [Aside.]
Maids should not sing love-songs to gentlemen!
Think’st neighbour Constance is a girl to love?
True. A girl to love?—Ay, and with all her soul!
Wild. How know you that?
True. I have studied close the sex.
Wild. You town-rakes are the devil for the sex! [Aside.]
True. Not your most sensitive and serious maid
I’d always take for deep impressions. Mind
The adage of the bow. The pensive brow
I have oft seen bright in wedlock, and anon
O’ercast in widowhood; then, bright again,
Ere half the season of the weeds was out;
While, in the airy one, I have known one cloud
Forerunner of a gloom that ne’er cleared up—
So would it prove with neighbour Constance. Not
On superficial grounds she’ll ever love;
But once she does, the odds are ten to one
Her first love is her last!
Wild. I wish I ne’er
Had come to town! I was a happy man
Among my dogs and horses. [Aside.] Hast thou broke
Thy passion to her?