MEL. Where am I? is it day? and am I awake? Madam—
LADY PLYANT. And nobody knows how circumstances may happen together. To my thinking, now I could resist the strongest temptation. But yet I know, ’tis impossible for me to know whether I could or not; there’s no certainty in the things of this life.
MEL. Madam, pray give me leave to ask you one question.
LADY PLYANT. O Lord, ask me the question; I’ll swear I’ll refuse it, I swear I’ll deny it—therefore don’t ask me; nay, you shan’t ask me, I swear I’ll deny it. O Gemini, you have brought all the blood into my face; I warrant I am as red as a turkey-cock. O fie, cousin Mellefont!
MEL. Nay, madam, hear me; I mean—
LADY PLYANT. Hear you? No, no; I’ll deny you first and hear you afterwards. For one does not know how one’s mind may change upon hearing. Hearing is one of the senses, and all the senses are fallible. I won’t trust my honour, I assure you; my honour is infallible and uncomeatable.
MEL. For heav’n’s sake, madam—
LADY PLYANT. Oh, name it no more. Bless me, how can you talk of heav’n, and have so much wickedness in your heart? May be you don’t think it a sin—they say some of you gentlemen don’t think it a sin. May be it is no sin to them that don’t think it so; indeed, if I did not think it a sin—But still my honour, if it were no sin. But then, to marry my daughter for the conveniency of frequent opportunities, I’ll never consent to that; as sure as can be, I’ll break the match.
MEL. Death and amazement! Madam, upon my knees—
LADY PLYANT. Nay, nay, rise up; come, you shall see my good-nature. I know love is powerful, and nobody can help his passion. ’Tis not your fault; nor, I swear, it is not mine. How can I help it, if I have charms? And how can you help it, if you are made a captive? I swear it is pity it should be a fault. But my honour,—well, but your honour, too—but the sin!—well, but the necessity—O Lord, here’s somebody coming, I dare not stay. Well, you must consider of your crime; and strive as much as can be against it,—strive, be sure. But don’t be melancholic; don’t despair. But never think that I’ll grant you anything. O Lord, no. But be sure you lay aside all thoughts of the marriage, for though I know you don’t love Cynthia, only as a blind for your passion to me, yet it will make me jealous. O Lord, what did I say? Jealous! no, no, I can’t be jealous, for I must not love you; therefore don’t hope,—but don’t despair neither. Oh, they’re coming, I must fly.