Arch. Never to a person of your figure, I can assure you, madam: my addresses have been always confined to people within my own sphere, I never aspired so high before.
[Sings.
And are dress’d so tight,
That a man would swear you’re right,
As arm was e’er laid over.
Such an air
You freely wear
To ensnare,
As makes each guest a lover!
Since then, my dear, I’m your guest,
Prithee give me of the best
Of what is ready drest:
Since then, my dear, etc.
Cher. [aside]. What can I think of this man?—[Aloud.] Will you give me that song, sir?
Arch. Ay, my dear, take it while ’tis warm.—[Kisses her.]. Death and fire! her lips are honeycombs.
Cher. And I wish there had been bees too, to have stung you for your impudence.
Arch. There’s a swarm of Cupids, my little Venus, that has done the business much better.
Cher. [aside]. This fellow is misbegotten as well as I.—[Aloud.] What’s your name, sir?
Arch. [aside]. Name! egad, I have forgot it.—[Aloud.] Oh! Martin.
Cher. Where were you born?
Arch. In St. Martin’s parish.
Cher. What was your father?
Arch. St. Martin’s parish.
Cher. Then, friend, good-night.
Arch. I hope not.
Cher. You may depend upon’t.
Arch. Upon what?
Cher. That you’re very impudent.
Arch. That you’re very handsome.
Cher. That you’re a footman.
Arch. That you’re an angel.
Cher. I shall be rude.
Arch. So shall I.
Cher. Let go my hand.
Arch. Give me a kiss.
[Kisses her.]
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