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suppose that we prepared for you any other than an agreeable surprise? You won the heart and hand of your dear Lord by sensibility to his merit; and has that merit become less dear to you, when the glory derived from it is reflected upon yourself?

Ay, very sensible; very well put, my good cousin. The glory is reflected on herself, and she casts it from her, like a spoilt child who likes every urchin's playthings better than his own. Come, come, dear life; you did think that sonnet a clever thing, and you do think it, I know you do.

Keep that knowledge to yourself then, my Lord; it will but make us both very absurd.

Nay, nay, nay! (Following her to the bottom of the stage, speaking to her in dumb show till they disappear amongst the company there.)

You did not appear very sorry for my disappointment.

It cost me few tears, I confess. And you