Sir Philip. What does it treat of?
Miss B. Love and friendship.
Sir Philip. A satire?
Miss B. No, father;—an eulogy.
Sir Philip. Thus do we find, in the imaginations of men, what we in vain look for in their hearts.—Lay it by. [A knocking at the door.] Come in—
Enter Evergreen.
Everg. My dear master, I am a petitioner to you.
Sir Philip. [Rises.] None possesses a better claim to my favour—ask, and receive.
Everg. I thank you, sir. The unhappy Henry—
Miss B. What of him?