LOVELESS: How do you like these lodgings...

LOVELESS: How do you like these lodgings, my dear? For my part, I am so pleased with them, I shall hardly remove whilst we stay here, if you are satisfied.

AMANDA:I am satisfied with everything that pleases you, else I had not come to Scarborough at all.

LOVELESS: Oh, a little of the noise and folly of this place will sweeten the pleasures of our retreat; we shall find the charms of our retirement doubled when we return to it.

AMANDA: That pleasing prospect will be my chiefest entertainment, whilst, much against my will, I engage in those empty pleasures which ’tis so much the fashion to be fond of.

LOVELESS: I own most of them are, indeed, but empty; yet there are delights of which a private life is destitute, which may divert an honest man, and be a harmless entertainment to a virtuous woman: good music is one; and truly (with some small allowance) the plays, I think, may be esteemed another.

AMANDA: Plays, I must confess, have some small charms. What do you think of that you saw last night?

LOVELESS: To say truth, I did not mind it much—my attention was for some time taken off to admire the workmanship of Nature in the face of a young lady who sat at some distance from me, she was so exquisitely handsome.

AMANDA: So exquisitely handsome!

LOVELESS: Why do you repeat my words, my dear?

AMANDA: Because you seemed to speak them with such pleasure, I thought I might oblige you with their echo.

LOVELESS: Then you are alarmed, Amanda?

AMANDA: It is my duty to be so when you are in danger.

LOVELESS: You are too quick in apprehending for me. I viewed her with a world of admiration, but not one glance of love.

AMANDA: Take heed of trusting to such nice distinctions. But were your eyes the only things that were inquisitive? Had I been in your place, my tongue, I fancy, had been curious too. I should have asked her where she lived—yet still without design—who was she, pray?

LOVELESS: Indeed I cannot tell.

AMANDA: You will not tell.

LOVELESS: Upon my honour, then, I did not ask.

AMANDA: Nor do you know what company was with her?

LOVELESS: I do not. But why are you so earnest?

AMANDA: I thought I had cause.

LOVELESS: But you thought wrong, Amanda; for turn the case, and let it be your story: should you come home and tell me you had seen a handsome man, should I grow jealous because you had eyes?

AMANDA: But should I tell you he was exquisitely so, and that I had gazed on him with admiration, should you not think ’twere possible I might go one step further, and inquire his name?

LOVELESS: [Aside.] She has reason on her side; I have talked too much; but I must turn off another way.—[Aloud.] Will you then make no difference, Amanda, between the language of our sex and yours? There is a modesty restrains your tongues, which makes you speak by halves when you commend; but roving flattery gives a loose to ours, which makes us still speak double what we think.

Enter SERVANT.

SERVANT: Madam, there is a lady at the door in a chair desires to know whether your ladyship sees company; her name is Berinthia.

AMANDA: Oh dear! ’tis a relation I have not seen these five years; pray her to walk in.—[Exit SERVANT.] Here’s another beauty for you; she was, when I saw her last, reckoned extremely handsome.

LOVELESS: Don’t be jealous now; for I shall gaze upon her too.

Enter BERINTHIA. Ha! by heavens, the very woman! [Aside.]