Frankton. I'll explain.—He imagines she is fond of him, because she does not actually discard him; upon which presumption he titters, capers, vows, bows, talks scraps of French, and sings an amorous lay—with such an irresistibly languishing air, that she cannot do less than compliment him—on the fineness of his voice, for instance; the smartness of his repartees, the brilliancy of his wit, the gaiety and vivacity of his temper, his genteel carriage, his handsome person, his winning address, his——
Loveyet. Hah! you surely cannot be in earnest, Frankton.
Frankton. To be serious then,—the sum total of the affair, I take to be this.—In order to kill a heavy hour, she sometimes suffers the fool to be in her company, because the extravagance of his behaviour, and the emptiness of his upper region furnish her with a good subject for ridicule; but your presence will soon make him dwindle into his primitive insignificance.
Loveyet. If your prediction proves false, Harriet will be false indeed;—but I must see her straightway.
Frankton. I think you go pretty well fraught with the fruits of our united deliberations.
Loveyet. Deliberations!—away with the musty term—
No caution need my willing footsteps guide;—
When Love impels—what evil can betide?
Patriots may fear, their rulers lack more zeal,
And nobly tremble for the public weal;
To front the battle, and to fear no harm,
The shield must glitter on the warrior's arm:
Let such dull prudence their designs attend,
But Love, unaided, shall obtain its end!
[Exeunt.
Scene II. Old Loveyet's House.