madam, I don't know what you mean by your
madmen, and your beaux, and your quality----they're all alike, I
believe.

_Lady D._ Pray, sir, walk with me into the next room.

[_Exit_ LADY DARLING, _leading_ CLINCHER, DICKY _following_.

_Ang._ Sir, if your conversation be no more agreeable than 'twas the
last time, I would advise you to make your visit as short as you can.

_Sir H._ The offences of my last visit, madam, bore their punishment in
the commission; and have made me as uneasy till I receive pardon, as
your ladyship can be till I sue for it.

_Ang._ Sir Harry, I did not well understand the offence, and must
therefore proportion it to the greatness of your apology; if you would,
therefore, have me think it light, take no great pains in an excuse.

_Sir H._ How sweet must the lips be that guard that tongue! Then, madam,
no more of past offences; let us prepare for joys to come. Let this seal
my pardon. [_Kisses her Hand._

_Ang._ Hold, sir: one question, Sir Harry, and pray answer plainly--D'ye
love me?

_Sir H._ Love you! Does fire ascend? Do hypocrites dissemble? Usurers
love gold, or great men flattery? Doubt these, then question that I
love.

_Ang._ This shows your gallantry, sir, but not your love.

_Sir H._ View your own charms, madam, then judge my passion.

_Ang._ If your words be real, 'tis in your power to raise an equal flame
in me.

_Sir H._ Nay, then, I seize----

_Ang._ Hold, sir; 'tis also possible to make me detest and scorn you
worse than the most profligate of your deceiving sex.

_Sir H._ Ha! a very odd turn this. I hope, madam, you only affect anger,
because you know your frowns are becoming.

_Ang._ Sir Harry, you being the best judge of your own designs, can best
understand whether my anger should be real or dissembled; think what
strict modesty should bear, then judge of my resentment.

_Sir H._ Strict modesty should bear! Why, 'faith, madam, I believe, the
strictest modesty may bear fifty guineas, and I don't believe 'twill
bear one farthing more.

_Ang._ What d'ye mean, sir?

_Sir H._ Nay, madam, what do you mean? If you go to that. I think now,
fifty guineas is a fine offer for your strict modesty, as you call it.

_Ang._ I'm afraid you're mad, sir.

_Sir H._ Why, madam, you're enough to make any man mad. 'Sdeath, are you
not a----

_Ang._ What, sir?

_Sir H._ Why, a lady of--strict modesty, if you will have it so.

_