Alscrip. Don't be afraid, my dear, enchanting diffident (zounds, what a flutter am I in!) don't be afraid—my disposition, to be sure, is too susceptible; but then it is likewise so dove-like, so tender, and so innocent. Come, play me that tune, and enchant my ear, as you have done my eye.
Miss Alton. Sir, I wish to be excused, indeed it does not deserve your attention.
Alscrip. Not deserve it! I had rather hear you, than all the signoritininies together.—These are the strings to which my senses shall dance.
[Sets the Harp.
Miss Alton. Sir, it is to avoid the affectation of refusing what is so little worth asking for.
[Takes the Harp and plays a Few Bars of a lively Air.
Alscrip kisses her Fingers with rapture.
Alscrip. Oh! the sweet little twiddle-diddles!
Miss Alton. For shame, sir, what do you mean?
[Alscrip gets hold of both her Hands and continues kissing her Fingers.
Miss Alton. [Struggling.] Help!