Methinks
I'm so easy after an absolution, and can sin afresh
with so much security, that I 'm resolved to die a
martyr to't Here's the key of the garden door,
come in the back way when 'tis late, I 'll be ready to
receive you; but don't so much as whisper, only
take hold of my hand; I 'll lead you, and do you
lead the Count, and follow me. [_Exeunt_.

_Scrub_. [_Coming forward_.] What witchcraft now have
these two imps of the devil been a-hatching here?
'There 's twenty louis-d'ors'; I heard that, and saw
the purse.--But I must give room to my betters.

[_Exit_.

_Re-enter Aimwell, leading Dorinda, and making love in
dumb show; Mrs. Sullen and Archer following_.

_Mrs. Sul_. [_To Archer_.] Pray, sir, how d'ye like that
piece? {313}

_Arch_. Oh, 'tis Leda! You find, madam, how Jupiter
comes disguised to make love--

_Mrs. Sul_. But what think you there of Alexander's
battles?

_Arch_. We only want a Le Brun, madam, to draw greater
battles, and a greater general of our own. The
Danube, madam, would make a greater figure in
a picture than the Granicus; and we have our
Ramillies to match their Arbela. {322}

_Mrs. Sul_. Pray, sir, what head is that in the corner
there?

_Arch_. O madam, 'tis poor Ovid in his exile.

_Mrs. Sul_. What was he banished for?

_Arch_. His ambitious love, madam.--[_Bowing_.] His
misfortune touches me.

_Mrs. Sul_. Was he successful in his amours?

_Arch_. There he has left us in, the dark. He was too
much a gentleman to tell. {331}

_Mrs. Sul_. If he were secret, I pity him.

_Arch_. And if he were successful, I envy him.

_Mrs. Sul_. How d 'ye like that Venus over the chimney?

_Arch_. Venus! I protest, madam, I took it for your
picture; but now I look again, 'tis not handsome
enough.

_Mrs. Sul_. Oh, what a charm is flattery! If you would
see my picture, there it is over that cabinet. How
d' ye like it? {340}

_Arch_. I must admire anything, madam, that has the
least resemblance of you. But, methinks, madam
--[_He looks at the picture and Mrs. Sullen three
or four times, by turns_.] Pray, madam, who drew it?

_Mrs. Sul_. A famous hand, sir.

[_Here Aimwell and Dorinda go off_.

_Arch_. A famous hand, madam!--Your eyes, indeed, are
featured there; but where's the sparking moisture,
shining fluid, in which they swim? The picture,
indeed, has your dimples; but where's the swarm
o