Pinch. My sister denies her marriage, and you see is gone away from you dissatisfied.
Spark. Pshaw! upon a foolish scruple, that our parson was not in lawful orders, and did not say all the common-prayer; but 'tis her modesty only I believe. But let all women be never so modest the first day, they'll be sure to come to themselves by night, and I shall have enough of her then. In the mean time, Harry Horner, you must dine with me: I keep my wedding at my aunt's in the Piazza.[81]
Horn. Thy wedding! what stale maid has lived to despair of a husband, or what young one of a gallant?
Spark. O, your servant, sir—this gentleman's sister then,—no stale maid.
Horn. I'm sorry for't.
Pinch. How comes he so concerned for her? [Aside.
Spark. You sorry for't? why, do you know any ill by her?
Horn. No, I know none but by thee; 'tis for her sake, not yours, and another man's sake that might have hoped, I thought.
Spark. Another man! another man! what is his name?
Horn. Nay, since 'tis past, he shall be nameless.—[Aside.] Poor Harcourt! I am sorry thou hast missed her.