WORSHIPTON (ogling Hannah, and giving a groan).
Oh! oh!
La! what is the matter with you? have you the stomach ach? My aunt can cure that.
Nay, my dear Hanabella, it is yourself that must cure me. I have got the heart-ach. It is your pity I must implore.
(Kneeling and taking her hand.)
O, sure now! to see you kneeling so—it is so droll! I don't know what to say, it is so droll.
Say that you will be mine, and make me happy: there is nothing a lover can do, that I will not do to please you.
Miss Languish's lover made songs upon her.
I'll do so too, or any thing: but don't let your aunt know that I have spoken to you, she would be so angry.
O no! she is very fond of people being married.
