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and she must be extravagant beyond all bounds of nature, who would ruin the fond husband who toils for her; no, no, nature makes not such, but when she sets her scowling mark upon them to warn us from our ruin. (Pauses, walks up and down, then comes forward again.) Insipid constitutions, good nature is a tiresome thing: passion subdued by reason is worth a score of it—and passion subdued by love?—O! that were better still!—yesterday, as I enter'd her door, I heard her name me to her cousin, with so much gentle softness in her voice, I blest her as she spoke.—Ah! if this were so, all might still be well; who would not struggle with the world, for such a creature as this—Ay, and I must struggle!—O! that this head of mine would give over thinking, but for one half hour! (Rings the bell.)

What brings you here, Thomas?

Thom. Your bell rung, sir.

Har. Well, well, I did want something but I have forgot it. Bring me a glass of water. ( Thomas. Harwood sits down by a small writing-table, and rests his head upon his hand. Re-enter Thomas, with the water.) You have made good haste, Thomas.

Thom. I did make good haste, sir, lest you should be impatient with me.

Har. I am sometimes impatient with you, then? I fear indeed I have been too often so of late;