The Double-Dealer: A Comedy

[_To them_] LADY FROTH, BRISK.

Brisk. My lord, your humble servant; Sir Paul, yours,--the finest night!

Lady Froth. My dear, Mr. Brisk and I have been star-gazing, I don't know how long.

Sir Paul. Does it not tire your ladyship? Are not you weary with looking up?

Lady Froth. Oh, no, I love it violently. My dear, you're melancholy.

Lord Froth. No, my dear; I'm but just awake.

Lady Froth. Snuff some of my spirit of hartshorn.

Lord Froth. I've some of my own, thank you, dear.

Lady Froth. Well, I swear, Mr. Brisk, you understood astronomy like an old Egyptian.

Brisk. Not comparably to your ladyship; you are the very Cynthia of the skies, and queen of stars.

Lady Froth. That's because I have no light but what's by reflection from you, who are the sun.

Brisk. Madam, you have eclipsed me quite, let me perish. I can't answer that.

Lady Froth. No matter. Hark 'ee, shall you and I make an almanac together?

Brisk. With all my soul. Your ladyship has made me the man in't already, I'm so full of the wounds which you have given.

Lady Froth. O finely taken! I swear now you are even with me. O Parnassus, you have an infinite deal of wit.

Sir Paul. So he has, gads-bud, and so has your ladyship.