HAR. If otherwise, own your fault, promise amendment—ask pardon.
LADY G. Hey-day!
HAR. And my lord will ask yours, for mistaking you—For being too easily provoked—
LORD G. Too easily, madam—
HAR. What generous man would not smile at the foibles of a woman whose heart is only gay with prosperity and lively youth; but has not the least malice in it? Has not she made choice of your lordship in preference of any other man? She rallies every one; she can't help it: she is to blame.—Indeed, Lady G——, you are. Your brother felt your edge; he once smarted by it, and was angry with you.—But afterwards, observing that it was her way, my lord; that it was a kind of constitutional gaiety of heart, and exercised on those she loved best; he forgave, rallied her again, and turned her own weapons upon her; and every one in company was delighted with the spirit of both.—You love her, my lord.
LORD G. Never man more loved a woman. I am not an ill-natured man—
LADY G. But a captious, a passionate one, Lord G——. Who'd have thought it?
LORD G. Never was there, my dear Miss Byron, such a strangely-aggravating creature! She could not be so, if she did not despise me.
LADY G. Fiddle-faddle, silly man! And so you said before. If you thought so, you take the way, (don't you?) to mend the matter, by dancing and capering about, and putting yourself into all manner of disagreeable attitudes; and even sometimes being ready to foam at the mouth?—I told him, Miss Byron, There he stands, let him deny it, if he can; that I married a man with another face. Would not any other man have taken this for a compliment to his natural undistorted face, and instantly have pulled off the ugly mask of passion, and shewn his own?—
LORD G. You see, you see, the air, Miss Byron!—How ludicrously does she now, even now—