Lov. Why are you so timorous?
Aman. Because you are so bold.
Lov. My Courage should disperse your Apprehensions.
Aman. My Apprehensions should alarm your Courage.
Lov. Fy, fy, Amanda, it is not kind thus to distrust me.
Aman. And yet my Fears are founded on my Love.
Lov. For if you can believe 'tis possible
I shou'd again relapse to my past Follies,
I must appear to you a thing
Of such an undigested Composition,
That but to think of me with Inclination,
Wou'd be a Weakness in your Taste,
Your Virtue scarce cou'd answer.
Aman. 'Twou'd be a Weakness in my Tongue,
My Prudence cou'd not answer,
If I shou'd press you farther with my Fears;
I'll therefore trouble you no longer with 'em.
Lov. Nor shall they trouble you much longer,
A little time shall shew you they were groundless;
This Winter shall be the fiery Trial of my Virtue;
Which, when it once has past,
You'll be convinc'd 'twas of no false Allay,
There all your Cares will end—
Aman. Pray Heaven they may!