A Trip to Scarborough; and, The Critic

by Richard Brinsley Sheridan

Re-enter SERVANT.

SERVANT.
Sir, my lady’s come home, and desires to speak with you.

LOVELESS.
Tell her I’m coming.—[Exit SERVANT.] But before I go, one glass of nectar to drink her health. [To BERINTHIA.]

BERINTHIA.
Stand off, or I shall hate you, by Heavens!

LOVELESS.
[Kissing her.] In matters of love, a woman’s oath is no more to be minded than a man’s. [Exit.]

BERINTHIA.
Um!

Enter COLONEL TOWNLY.

COLONEL TOWNLY.
[Aside.] So? what’s here—Berinthia and Loveless—and in such close conversation!—I cannot now wonder at her indifference in excusing herself to me!—O rare woman!—Well then, let Loveless look to his wife, ’twill be but the retort courteous on both sides.—[Aloud.] Your servant, madam; I need not ask you how you do, you have got so good a colour.

BERINTHIA.
No better than I used to have, I suppose.

COLONEL TOWNLY.
A little more blood in your cheeks.