LADY PLIANT.
O, name it no more!—Bless me, how can you talk of heaven! 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.
MILLEFOND.
Death and amazement! Madam, upon my knees.
LADY PLIANT.
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 is 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 melancholy, 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 for 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.—O, they are coming, I must fly.
[138]: Congreve, The Way of the World.
[139]: Sententious Mirabell! Prithee, don't look with that violent and inflexible wise face, like Salomon on the dividing of the child in an old tapestry-hanging.... Ha, ha, ha, pardon me, dear creature, I must laugh, though I grant you 'tis a little barbarous, ha, ha, ha!
Ah! I'll never marry unless I am first made sure of my will and pleasure!... My dear liberty, shall I leave thee? My faithful solitude, my darling contemplation, must I bid you adieu? Ay, adieu; my morning thoughts, agreeable wakings, indolent slumbers, all ye douceurs, ye sommeils du matin, adieu.—I can't do it; 'tis more than impossible.—Positively, Mirabell, I'll lie a bed in a morning as long as I please.