There needs not time true passion to discover;
The most believing is the most a lover.
SCENE II.—Niece's Lodgings.
Enter Niece.
Niece. Oh, Clerimont! Clerimont! To be struck at first sight! I'm ashamed of my weakness; I find in myself all the symptoms of a raging amour. I love solitude, I grow pale, I sigh frequently, I call upon the name of Clerimont when I don't think of it—His person is ever in my eyes, and his voice in my ears—Methinks I long to lose myself in some pensive grove, or to hang over the head of some warbling fountain, with a lute in my hand, softening the murmurs of the water.
Enter Aunt.
Aunt. Biddy, Biddy; where's Biddy Tipkin?
Niece. Whom do you inquire for?
Aunt. Come, come; he's just a-coming at the Park door.
Niece. Who is coming?