Lord Ogle. More fool you then.
Who pleads her cauſe with never-failing beauty,
Here finds a full redreſs. [ſtrikes his breaſt.
She's a fine girl, Lovewell.
Lovew. Her beauty, my Lord, is her leaſt merit. She has an underſtanding
Lord Ogle. Her choice convinces me of that.
Lovew.—[bowing.]—That's your Lordſhip's goodneſs. Her choice was a diſintereſted one.
Lord Ogle. No—no—not altogether—it began with intereſt, and ended in paſſion.
Lovew. Indeed, my Lord, if you were acquainted with her goodneſs of heart, and generoſity of mind, as well as you are with the inferior beauties of her face and perſon
Lord Ogle. I am ſo perfectly convinced of their exiſtence, and ſo totally of your mind touching every amiable particular of that ſweet girl, that were it not for the cold unfeeling impediments of the law, I would marry her to-morrow morning.
Lovew. My Lord!
Lord Ogle. I would, by all that's honourable in man, and amiable in woman.
Lovew. Marry her!—Who do you mean, my Lord?
Lord Ogle. Miſs Fanny Sterling, that is—the Counteſs of Ogleby that ſhall be.
Lovew. I am aſtoniſhed.
Lord Ogle. Why, could you expect leſs from me?
Lovew. I did not expect this, my Lord.
Lord Ogle. Trade and accounts have deſtroyed your feeling.
Lovew. No, indeed, my Lord. [ſighs.
Lord Ogle. The moment that love and pity entered my breaſt, I was reſolved to plunge into matrimony, and ſhorten the girl's tortures—I never do any thing by halves; do I, Lovewell?
Lovew. No, indeed, my Lord—[ſighs.]—What an accident!
Lord
