Fain. Be sure you come time enough to save my reputation.
Cler. Sen. Remember your orders, "distance becomes no man but a husband."
Fain. I am glad you are in so good humour on the occasion; but you know me to be but a bully in love, that can bluster only till the minute of engagement—but I'll top my part, and form my conduct by my own sentiments. If she grows coy, I'll grow more saucy—'twas so I was won myself.
Cler. Sen. Well, my dear rival, your assignation draws nigh; you are to put on your transport, your impatient throbbing heart won't let you wait her arrival. Let the dull family-thing and husband, who reckons his moments by his cares, be content to wait; but you are a gallant, and measure time by ecstasies.
Fain. I hear her coming—To your post—good husband, know your duty, and don't be in the way when your wife has a mind to be in private—To your post, into the coal-hole.
Enter Mrs. Clerimont.
Welcome, my dear, my tender charmer, oh! to my longing arms—feel the heart pant, that falls and rises as you smile or frown. Oh, the ecstatic moment!—I think that was something like what has been said to me. [Aside.
Mrs. Cler. Very well, Fainlove.—I protest I value myself for my discerning. I knew you had fire through all the respect you showed me; but how came you to make no direct advances, young gentleman? Why was I forced to admonish your gallantry?
Fain. Why, madam, I knew you a woman of breeding, and above the senseless niceties of an English wife. The French way is, you are to go so far, whether you are agreeable or not. If you are so happy as to please, nobody that is not of a constrained behaviour is at a loss to let you know it—Besides, if the humble servant makes the first approaches, he has the impudence of making a request, but not the honour of obeying a command.