Pounce. Shan't we repose ourselves on yonder seat? I love improving company, and to communicate.
Aunt. 'Tis certainly so. He's in love with me, and wants opportunity to tell me so [Aside.]—I don't care if we do—He's a most ingenious man. [Aside. [Exeunt Aunt and Pounce.
Cler. We enjoy here, madam, all the pretty landscapes of the country without the pains of going thither.
Niece. Art and nature are in a rivalry, or rather a confederacy, to adorn this beauteous park with all the agreeable variety of water, shade, walks, and air. What can be more charming than these flowery lawns?
Cler. Or these gloomy shades——
Niece. Or these embroidered valleys——
Cler. Or that transparent stream——
Niece. Or these bowing branches on the banks of it, that seem to admire their own beauty in the crystal mirror?
Cler. I am surprised, madam, at the delicacy of your phrase. Can such expressions come from Lombard Street?
Niece. Alas, sir! what can be expected from an innocent virgin that has been immured almost one-and-twenty years from the conversation of mankind, under the care of an Urganda[87] of an aunt?