[Aside.

Aman. For Heaven’s sake, Berinthia, tell me what way I shall take to persuade you to come and live with me.

Ber. Why, one way in the world there is, and but one.

Aman. And pray what is that?

Ber. It is to assure me—I shall be very welcome.

Aman. If that be all, you shall e’en sleep here to-night.

Ber. To-night!

Aman. Yes, to-night.

Ber. Why, the people where I lodge will think me mad.

Aman. Let ’em think what they please.

Ber. Say you so, Amanda? Why, then, they shall think what they please: for I’m a young widow, and I care not what anybody thinks.—Ah, Amanda, it’s a delicious thing to be a young widow!

Aman. You’ll hardly make me think so.

Ber. Poh! because you are in love with your husband.

Aman. Pray, ’tis with a world of innocence I would inquire whether you think those we call women of reputation do really escape all other men as they do those shadows of beaux?

Ber. Oh no, Amanda; there are a sort of men make dreadful work amongst ’em, men that may be called the beau’s antipathy, for they agree in nothing but walking upon two legs. These have brains, the beau has none. These are in love with their mistress, the beau with himself. They take care of their reputation, the beau is industrious to destroy it. They are decent, he’s a fop; in short, they are men, he’s an ass.

Aman. If this be their character, I fancy we had here, e’en now, a pattern of ’em both.

Ber. His lordship and Colonel Townly?

Aman. The same.

Ber. As for the lord, he is eminently so; and for the other, I can assure you there’s not a man in town who has a better interest with the women that are worth having an interest with.

Aman. He answers the opinion I had ever of him.—[Takes her hand.] I must acquaint you with a secret—’tis not that fool alone has talked to me of love; Townly has been tampering too.

Ber. [Aside.] So, so! here the mystery comes out!—[Aloud.] Colonel Townly! impossible, my dear!

Aman. ’Tis true indeed; though he has done it in vain; nor do I think that all the merit of mankind combined could shake the tender love I bear my husband; yet I will own to you, Berinthia, I did not start at his addresses, as when they came from one whom I contemned.

Ber. [Aside.] Oh, this is better and better!—[Aloud.] Well said, Innocence! and you really think, my dear, that nothing could abate your constancy and attachment to your husband?