L. Sh. 'Tis so, indeed, for your cousin's song is very pretty, Mrs. Fardingale.
[Reads.]
Let not love on me bestow
Soft distress and tender woe;
I know none but substantial blisses,
Eager glances, solid kisses;
I know not what the lovers feign,
Of finer pleasure mixed with pain.
Then prithee give me, gentle boy,
None of thy grief, but all thy joy.[23]
But Harriot thinks that a little unreasonable, to expect one without enduring t'other.
Enter Servant.
Ser. There's your cousin Campley to wait on you without.
Far. Let him come in, we shall have the song now.
Enter Campley.
Cam. Ladies, your most obedient servant; your servant, Lady Sharlot—servant Lady Harriot—[Harriot looks grave upon him] What's the matter, dear Lady Harriot, not well? I protest to you I'm mightily concerned [Pulls out a bottle]. This is a most excellent spirit, snuff it up, madam.
L. Ha. Pish—the familiar coxcomb frets me heartily.