_Arth._ Fair cousin, at your feet I would recant
Mine error.

_Flor._ 'Tis polite, sir, thus to yield
All your experience.

_Arth._ Nay, then! Do you not
Believe a man may once love faithfully?

_Flor._ 'Twere base to doubt it--yet I think not you:
You know you could not tell if it were true,
Your love might be a jest. [_She goes up the stage._]

_Arth._ [_following FLORENCE._] By heaven! No.

[_WILLIAM and BARBARA come forward._]

_Will._ Young woman! I doubt not your attachment,
nor wonder at your love; but it cannot be returned.
Principle forbids; and this heart is blighted.

_Barb._ Plighted, or not, I want none of it. What
nonsense the man talks!

_Will._ This beard--what think you of it?

_Barb._ That it is red.

_Will._ Yet 'tis not for you.

_Barb._ I would humbly desire so.

_Will._ Do you know, lively rustic, that the beard
of Mars, the god of war, is auburnly inclined? It is
much affected by the ladies of the south.

_Barb._ I would they had it then, for it is an abhorr'd
thing here.

_Will._ What a rank prude is woman, thus to
disguise her inclination. They call thee
Barbara--Bab! restrain not thy fancy. Come, hang round my neck
and love me. What! wouldst thou be an exception
to thy sex?

_Barb._ [_Strikes him._] Take that, thou coxcomb!

[_Runs up the stage, WILLIAM follows, ARTHUR
and FLORENCE advancing._]

_Arth._ Break not my dream. It is not late. The night
Will lose her beauty as thy footsteps fade
In distance from me. Florence, go not yet.
I had a thousand loyal thoughts, I swear,
To utter, and as many questions, Florence,
To ask thee of thyself. Thou lovest not,
Thou canst not love my brother; for thou saidst
As much, nay more, this moment.

_Flor._ Did I so?
Perchance I might have done; but then I love
My father--

_Arth._ Tell me so again!

_Flor._ Indeed, I love
My father!

_Arth._ Cruel! no, I'd have thee say
If thou dost love my brother.

_Flor._ He's my cousin.

_Arth._ Or any one!

_Barb._ Dear lady, it is time.

_Flor._ Farewell, sir! yet I bid you take this purse
'Tis justice--nay, my will!

_Arth._ Oh, farewell, Florence
May angels light thy feet, and all the stars
From heaven race with envious beams to shed
Celestial brightness on the path thou blessest.

[_Exit FLORENCE, R. ARTHUR gazes after
FLORENCE. WILLIAM and BARBARA, coming down, L._]

_Will._ Sweet Bab, I love thee.

_Barb._ That is