WOFF. I shall like you better—oh! so much better.
VANE. Then I will own to you——
WOFF. Oh! do not tell me you have loved others before me; I could not bear to hear it.
VANE. No—no—I never loved till now.
WOFF. Let me hear that only. I am jealous even of the past. Say you never loved but me—never mind whether it is true—say so;—but it is true, for you do not yet know love. Ernest, shall I make you love me, as none of your sex ever loved? with heart, and brain, and breath, and life, and soul?
VANE. Teach me so to love, and I am yours for ever. (Pause) And now you will keep your promise, to make me happy with your presence this morning at the little festival I had arranged with Cibber and some of our friends of the theatre.
WOFF. I shall have so much pleasure; but, àpropos, you must include Snarl and Soaper in your list.
VANE. What! the redoubtable Aristarchuses of the pit?
WOFF. Yes. Oh, you don’t know the consequences of loving an actress. You will have to espouse my quarrels, manage my managers, and invite my critics to dinner.
VANE. They shall be invited, never fear.