A Trip to Scarborough; and, The Critic

by Richard Brinsley Sheridan

LOVELESS.
And they’d be in the right on’t, too; but I dare trust mine.

BERINTHIA.
Indeed! and she, I doubt not, has the same confidence in you. Yet, do you think she’d be content to come and find you here?

LOVELESS.
Egad, as you say, that’s true!—Then for fear she should come, hadn’t we better go into the next room, out of her way?

BERINTHIA.
What, in the dark?

LOVELESS.
Ay, or with a light, which you please.

BERINTHIA.
You are certainly very impudent.

LOVELESS.
Nay, then—let me conduct you, my angel!

BERINTHIA.
Hold, hold! you are mistaken in your angel, I assure you.

LOVELESS.
I hope not; for by this hand I swear—

BERINTHIA.
Come, come, let go my hand, or I shall hate you!—I’ll cry out, as I live!