SIR PETER. Ah! my dear Friend—the goodness of your own Heart misleads you—you judge of others by yourself.
SURFACE. Certainly Sir Peter—the Heart that is conscious of its own integrity is ever slowest to credit another's Treachery.—
SIR PETER. True—but your Brother has no sentiment[—]you never hear him talk so.—
SURFACE. Well there certainly is no knowing what men are capable of—no—there is no knowing—yet I can't but think Lady Teazle herself has too much Principle——
SIR PETER. Aye but what's Principle against the Flattery of a handsome—lively young Fellow—
SURFACE. That's very true—
SIR PETER. And then you know the difference of our ages makes it very improbable that she should have any great affection for me—and if she were to be frail and I were to make it Public—why the Town would only laugh at the foolish old Batchelor, who had married a girl——
SURFACE. That's true—to be sure People would laugh.
SIR PETER. Laugh—aye and make Ballads—and Paragraphs and the Devil knows what of me—
SURFACE. No—you must never make it public—