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 When he conducted Isabel from Court.

Vict. How did he do?

Mir. Give me your hand: he held his body thus, (putting himself in a ridiculous bowing posture.) And then he whisper'd softly; then look'd so; (ogling with his eyes affectedly.) Then she look'd so, and smil'd to him again. (throwing down his eyes affectedly.)

Isab. Thou art a little knave, and must be whipp'd.   [ Mirando leading out Victoria affectedly.

 

Fred. So Basil, from the pressing calls of war, Another day to rest and pastime gives. How is it now? methinks thou art not pleas'd.

Ros. It matters little if I am or not.

Fred. Now pray thee do confess thou art asham'd. Thou, who art wisely wont to set at nought The noble fire of individual courage, And call calm prudence the superiour virtue, What sayst thou now, my candid Rosinberg? When thy great captain, in a time like this, Denies his weary troops one day of rest Before the exertions of approaching battle, Yet grants it to a pretty lady's suit?

Ros. Who told thee this? it was no friendly tale, 