A Trip to Scarborough; and, The Critic

by Richard Brinsley Sheridan

Enter LOVELESS.

LOVELESS.
Now, does she mean to make a fool of me, or not! I shan’t wait much longer, for my wife will soon be inquiring for me to set out on our supping party. Suspense is at all times the devil, but of all modes of suspense, the watching for a loitering mistress is the worst.—But let me accuse her no longer; she approaches with one smile to o’erpay the anxieties of a year.

Enter BERINTHIA. O Berinthia, what a world of kindness are you in my debt! had you stayed five minutes longer—

BERINTHIA.
You would have gone, I suppose?

LOVELESS.
Egad, she’s right enough. [Aside.]

BERINTHIA.
And I assure you ’twas ten to one that I came at all. In short, I begin to think you are too dangerous a being to trifle with; and as I shall probably only make a fool of you at last, I believe we had better let matters rest as they are.

LOVELESS.
You cannot mean it, sure?

BERINTHIA.
What more would you have me give to a married man?

LOVELESS.
How doubly cruel to remind me of my misfortunes!

BERINTHIA.
A misfortune to be married to so charming a woman as Amanda?