Now, could I see his busy fancy's painting,
How should I blush to gaze upon myself.
Wal. The matchless form of woman! The choice calling
Of the aspiring artist, whose ambition
Robs Nature to outdo her--the perfections
Of her rare various workmanship combines
To aggrandise his art at Nature's cost,
And make a paragon!
W. Green. Gods! how he draws me!
Soon as he sees me, at my feet he falls! -
Good Master Waller!
Wal. Ha! The Widow Green!
W. Green. He is confounded! So am I. O dear!
How catching is emotion. He can't speak!
O beautiful confusion! Amiable
Excess of modesty with passion struggling!
Now comes he to declare himself, but wants
The courage. I must help him.--Master Waller!
[Enter SIR WILLIAM FONDLOVE.]
Sir Wil. Dear Widow Green!
W. Green. Sir William Fondlove!
Wal. Thank
My lucky stars! [Aside.]
W. Green. I would he had the gout,
And kept his room! [Aside.]--You're welcome, dear Sir William!
'Tis very, very kind of you to call.
Sir William Fondlove--Master Waller. Pray
Be seated, gentlemen.--He shall requite me
For his untimely visit. Though the nail
Be driven home, it may want clinching yet
To make the hold complete! For that, I'll use him.--[Aside.]
You're looking monstrous well, Sir William! and
No wonder.
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