Enter Lord BELMOUR.

Lord BELMOUR. How does my charming creditor this morning?

Mrs. ANDREWS. Your debtor, I suppose you mean, my lord?

Lord BELMOUR. Thou never was't my debtor. I'm thy slave;
And in the pleasing chains would live for ever.
To view that lovely form! those radiant eyes,
And listen to the language of those lips!
What sum can be a recompense for these
O! that such matchless, such resistless beauty,
Shou'd be condemn'd to the cold arms of age
Or one of vulgar breed!--'tis--Oh! it is--

Mrs. ANDREWS. I know not what you mean. You talk in mystery.
[He attempts to take her hand, at which she seems
very uneasy, withdrawing it.]
My lord, I must beseech you to desist,
Or I must hence retire.

Lord BELMOUR. But hear me first.
This is a free discharge of all demands. [Produces a paper]
This other writing binds me, as your debtor,
In two thousand. [Produces another paper]

Mrs. ANDREWS. I see his base designs.
He seeks to take advantage of my wants. [Aside]
I need no further proofs of your intentions.