Your picture must sit for you, madam.
LADY. But art thou sure Sir Rowland will not fail to come? Or will
a not fail when he does come? Will he be importunate, Foible, and
push? For if he should not be importunate I shall never break
decorums. I shall die with confusion if I am forced to advance--oh
no, I can never advance; I shall swoon if he should expect advances.
No, I hope Sir Rowland is better bred than to put a lady to the
necessity of breaking her forms. I won't be too coy neither--I
won't give him despair. But a little disdain is not amiss; a little
scorn is alluring.
FOIB. A little scorn becomes your ladyship.
LADY. Yes, but tenderness becomes me best--a sort of a dyingness.
You see that picture has a sort of a--ha, Foible? A swimmingness in
the eyes. Yes, I'll look so. My niece affects it; but she wants
features. Is Sir Rowland handsome? Let my toilet be removed--I'll
dress above. I'll receive Sir Rowland here. Is he handsome? Don't
answer me. I won't know; I'll be surprised.
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