_Duen_. You will pardon this breach of decorum in praising you thus,
but my joy at being so agreeably deceived has given me such a flow of
spirits!
_Isaac_. Oh, dear lady, may I thank those dear lips for this
goodness?--[_Kisses her_.] [_Aside_.]Why she has a pretty sort of
velvet down, that's the truth on't.
_Duen_. O sir, you have the most insinuating manner, but indeed you
should get rid of that odious beard--one might as well kiss a
hedgehog.
_Isaac_. [_Aside_.] Yes, ma'am, the razor wouldn't be amiss--for
either of us.--[_Aloud_.] Could you favour me with a song?
_Duen_. Willingly, though I'm rather hoarse--ahem![_Begins to sing_.]
_Isaac_. [_Aside_.] Very like a Virginia nightingale!--[_Aloud_.]
Ma'am, I perceive you're hoarse--I beg you will not distress----
_Duen_. Oh, not in the least distressed. Now, sir.
SONG.
When a tender maid
Is first assay'd
By some admiring swain.
How her blushes rise
If she meet his eyes,
While he unfolds his pain!
If he takes her hand, she trembles quite!
Touch her lips, and she swoons outright!
While a pit-a-pat, &c.
Her heart avows her fright.
But in time appear
Fewer signs of fear;
The youth she boldly views:
If her hand he grasp,
Or her bosom clasp,
No mantling blush ensues!
Then to church well pleased the lovers move,
While her smiles her contentment prove;
And a pit-a-pat, &c.
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