BLUNT. Yes, so does the smoothness and plumpness of a partridge move a mighty desire in the hawk to be the destruction of it.
|LUCY. Why, birds are their prey, as men are||230|
BLUNT. I wish it may prove so, for you know we
|all depend upon her. Should she trifle away her||235|
LUCY. There's no danger of that, for I am sure she has no view in this affair but interest.
|BLUNT. Well, and what hopes are there of||240|
LUCY. The most promising that can be. 'Tis true, the youth has his scruples; but she'll soon teach him to answer them by stifling his conscience.
|Oh, the lad is in a hopeful way, depend upon't.||245|
Scene draws and discovers BARNWELL and MILLWOOD at supper. An entertainment of music and singing. After which they come forward.
BARN. What can I answer? All that I know is, that you are fair and I am miserable.
MILL. We are both so, and yet the fault is in ourselves.
|BARN. To ease our present anguish by plung||250|
MILL. I should have thought the joys of love as lasting as they are great; if ours prove otherwise, 'tis
|your inconstancy must make them so.||255|
BARN. The law of heaven will not be reversed, and that requires us to govern our passions.
MILL. To give us sense of beauty and desires, and yet forbid us to taste and be happy, is cruelty to
|nature. Have we passions only to torment||260|
BARN. To hear you talk, though in the cause of vice; to gaze upon your beauty, press your hand, and see your snow-white bosom heave and fall, en
|flames my wishes: my pulse beats high; my||265|
MILL. Chimeras all! Come on with me and
BARN. I would not, yet must on. -- Reluctant thus, the merchant quits his ease, And trusts to rocks, and sands, and stormy seas;
In hopes some unknown golden coast to find,|
Commits himself, though doubtful, to the wind;
Longs much for joys to come, yet mourns those
A room in Thorowgood's house.'
BARN. How strange are all things round me! Like some thief, who treads forbidden ground and fain would lurk unseen, fearful I enter each apartment of this well-known house. To guilty love, as if that
|were too little, already have I added breach of||5|
|and public shame and ruin must ensue. In the||10|
|first he lost his purity; like me, disconsolate he||15|
TR. Barnwell! Oh, how I rejoice to see you safe! so will our master and his gentle daughter, who
|during your absence often enquired after you.||20|
BARN. (aside). Would he were gone! His officious love will pry into the secrets of my soul.
TR. Unless you knew the pain the whole family has felt on your account, you can't conceive how much you are beloved. But why thus cold and 25 silent? When my heart is full of joy for your return, why do you turn away? why thus avoid me? what have I done? how am I altered since you saw me last? Or rather, what have you done? and why are
|you thus changed, for I am still the same.||30|
BARN. (aside). What have I done, indeed!
TR. Not speak! -- nor look upon me!
BARN. (aside). By my face he will discover all I would conceal; methinks already I begin to hate him.
|TR. I cannot bear this usage from a friend --||35|