Page. Agnes is very kind, Susan.
Susan. Well, well, I’ll tell the Countess what you say—But you are a little more circumspect in her presence.
Page. Ah Susan, she is a Divinity! How noble is her manner! Her very smiles are awful!
Susan. That is to say, you can take what liberties you please with such people as me.
Page. Oh how do I envy thy happiness, Susan! Always near her! Dressing her every morning! Undressing her every evening! Putting her to bed! Touching her! Looking at her! Speaking to—What is it thou hast got there, Susan?
Susan. (Counterfeiting the amorous air, and animated tone of the Page.) It is the fortunate riband of the happy cap, which at night enfolds the auburn ringlets of the beauteous Countess.
Page. Give it me—Nay, give it me—I will have it.
Susan. But I say you shan’t (the Page snatches it, and runs round the great chair, dodging Susan) Oh my riband!
Page. Be as angry as thou wilt, but thou shalt never have it again, thou shouldst have one of my eyes rather.
Susan. I can venture to predict, young gentleman, that three or four years hence, thou wilt be one of the most deceitful veriest Knaves—