L. Ha. O hideous! O the gross flatterer—I shall burst. Mrs. Fardingale, pray go on, the music fits the words most aptly. Take it higher, as your cousin advises.
Far. Oh! dear madam, do you really like it? I do it purely to please you, for I can't sing, alas!
L. Sh. We know it, good madam, we know it. But pray——
Far. "Let not love," and "substantial blisses," is lively enough, and ran accordingly in the tune. [Curtsies to the company.] Now I took it higher.
L. Ha. Incomparably done! Nothing can equal it, except your cousin sang his own poetry.
Cam. Madam, from my Lord Hardy. [Delivers a letter to Lady Sharlot.]—How do you say, my Lady Harriot, except I sing it myself? Then I assure you I will——
L. Sh. I han't patience. I must go read my letter. [Exit.
Cam. [Sings] Let not love, &c.
Far. Bless me, what's become of Lady Sharlot? [Exit.