Susan. Dear, my Lady, we are not doing any harm—I’ll lock the door, however, for fear—(The Page casts a glance or two at the Countess, Susan returns) Well! Have you nothing to say to my beauteous Lady, and your charming God-mother?
Page (Sighs). Oh, yes! That I am sure I shall love her as long as I live!
Countess. Esteem, you mean, Hannibal.
Page. Ye—ye—yes—Es—teem! I should have said.
Susan (Laughs). Yes, yes, Esteem! The poor Youth overflows with Es—teem and Aff—ection—and—
Page. Um! (Aside to Susan).
Susan. Nia, nia, nia, (Mocking the Page).—Dear Madam, do make him sing those good-for-nothing Verses.
Countess. (Takes the verses Susan gave her, from her pocket) Pray who wrote them?
Susan (Pointing to the Page). Look, Madam, look! His sins rise in his face—Nobody but an Author could look so silly—
Countess. Come, Hannibal, sing.