Husband, will you go to bed? It's ten a'clock. Mr
Scandal, your servant.
Pox on her, she has interrupted my design--but I must work
her into the project. You keep early hours, madam.
Mr Foresight is punctual; we sit up after him.
My dear, pray lend me your glass, your little looking-glass.
Pray lend it him, madam. I'll tell you the reason.
[She gives him the glass: SCANDAL and she whisper.] My passion for
you is grown so violent, that I am no longer master of myself. I
was interrupted in the morning, when you had charity enough to give
me your attention, and I had hopes of finding another opportunity of
explaining myself to you, but was disappointed all this day; and the
uneasiness that has attended me ever since brings me now hither at
this unseasonable hour.
Was there ever such impudence, to make love to me before
my husband's face? I'll swear I'll tell him.
Do. I'll die a martyr rather than disclaim my passion. But
come a little farther this way, and I'll tell you what project I had
to get him out of the way; that I might have an opportunity of
waiting upon you. [Whisper. FORESIGHT looking in the glass.]
I do not see any revolution here; methinks I look with a
serene and benign aspect--pale, a little pale--but the roses of
these cheeks have been gathered many years;--ha! I do not like that
sudden flushing. Gone already! hem, hem, hem! faintish. My heart
is pretty good; yet it beats; and my pulses, ha!--I have none--mercy
on me--hum. Yes, here they are--gallop, gallop, gallop, gallop,
gallop, gallop, hey! Whither will they hurry me? Now they're gone
again. And now I'm faint again, and pale again, and hem! and my
hem! breath, hem! grows short; hem! hem! he, he, hem!
It takes: pursue it in the name of love and pleasure.