it is an ungenerous suggestion, unworthy the benignity and tenderness of
the gentle Harriet.

FRANKTON. It is so.--Two things, on the part of the old gentleman, are the
cause: his pride will not suffer him to be the subject of a daughter's
bounty; and his regard for that daughter's welfare, makes him fearful of
being instrumental in impairing her fortune.

LOVEYET. I thought the angelic girl could not be ungrateful to the parent
of her being; but don't let us tarry--I am already on the wing.

FRANKTON. You are too sanguine; you must not expect to succeed without a
little opposition.

LOVEYET. How! what say you? pray be explicit.

FRANKTON. I will remove your suspense.--There is a Mr. Worthnought, a thing
by some people call'd a man, a beau, a fine gentleman, a smart fellow; and
by others a coxcomb, a puppy, a baboon and an ass.

LOVEYET. And what of him?

FRANKTON. Nothing; only he visits Miss Harriet frequently.

LOVEYET. Hah!--and does she countenance his addresses?

FRANKTON. I'll explain.--He imagines she is fond of him, because she does
not actually discard him; upon which presumption he titters, capers, vows,
bows, talks scraps of French, and sings an amorous lay--with such an
irresistibly languishing air, that she cannot do less than compliment
him--on the fineness of his voice, for instance; the smartness of his
repartees, the brilliancy of his wit, the gaiety and vivacity of his
temper, his genteel carriage, his handsome person, his winning address,
his----

LOVEYET. Hah! you surely cannot be in earnest, Frankton.

FRANKTON. To be serious then,--the sum total of the affair, I take to be
this.--In order to kill a heavy hour, she sometimes suffers the fool to be
in her company, because the extravagance of his behaviour, and the
emptiness of his upper region furnish her with a good subject for ridicule;
but _your_ presence will soon make him dwindle into his primitive
insignificance.

LOVEYET. If your prediction proves false, Harriet will be false
indeed;--but I must see her straightway.

FRANKTON. I think you go pretty well fraught with the fruits of our united
deliberations.

LOVEYET. Deliberations!--away with the musty term--

_No caution need my willing footsteps guide;--
When Love impels--what evil can betide?
Patriots may fear, their rulers lack more zeal,
And nobly tremble for the public weal;
To front the battle, and to fear no harm,
The _shield_ must glitter on