so many fine things, and nothing is so moving to me as a fine thing.
Well, I must do you this justice, and declare in the face of the
world, never anybody gained so far upon me as yourself. With
blushes I must own it, you have shaken, as I may say, the very
foundation of my honour. Well, sure, if I escape your
importunities, I shall value myself as long as I live, I swear.

CARE. And despise me. [Sighing.]

LADY PLYANT. The last of any man in the world, by my purity; now
you make me swear. O gratitude forbid, that I should ever be
wanting in a respectful acknowledgment of an entire resignation of
all my best wishes for the person and parts of so accomplished a
person, whose merit challenges much more, I'm sure, than my
illiterate praises can description.

CARE. [In a whining tone.] Ah heavens, madam, you ruin me with
kindness. Your charming tongue pursues the victory of your eyes,
while at your feet your poor adorer dies.

LADY PLYANT. Ah! Very fine.

CARE. [Still whining.] Ah, why are you so fair, so bewitching
fair? O let me grow to the ground here, and feast upon that hand; O
let me press it to my heart, my trembling heart: the nimble
movement shall instruct your pulse, and teach it to alarm desire.
(Zoons, I'm almost at the end of my cant, if she does not yield
quickly.) [Aside.]

LADY PLYANT. O that's so passionate and fine, I cannot hear. I am