Y. Book. Ne'er trouble thyself to know which is which, my heart and my good genius tell me, 'tis she, that pretty she I talked to.
Lat. If, with respect to your worship's opinion, I might presume to be of a contrary one, I should think the other the handsomer now.
Y. Book. What, the dumb thing,[48] the picture?—No, love is the union of minds, and she that engages mine must be very well able to express her own. But I suppose some scolding landlady has made you thus enamoured with silence. But here are two of the dearest of my old comrades—they seem amazed at something by their action.
Enter Lovemore and Frederick.
Fred.[49] How! a collation on the water, and music too?
Love. Yes, music and a collation.
Fred. Last night?
Love. Last night too.
Fred. An handsome treat?
Love. A very noble one.