Lord BELMOUR. Again, young lord, I tell you, shou'd you wed
With the first merchant's daughter of the world,
'Twould to your lineage be disgrace for ever.

Lord WESTON. Disgrace lies only in the want of virtue,
That excellence, in which she most abounds.

Lord BELMOUR. How long have you surrender'd to this dotage?

Lord WESTON. Almost from infancy; for even then,
A mutual sympathy inspir'd our souls;
Which first commenc'd in her good father's house,
(Whom I then serv'd,) when all I knew of love,
Was that her presence ever gave me pleasure,
As did her absence pain--I even thought,
The air blew sweeter from the place she breath'd.
But when her heav'nly mind disclos'd its beauties,
My heart then fix'd beyond the power of change.

Lord BELMOUR. All, all romance, with which your head seems fill'd.
But briefly to decide this matter, know,
'Tis now full thirty summers since I wedded,
Yet have not had one offspring to inherit
My large possessions, which I can bestow,
As best my pleasure suits: and you're the one,
Who in my mind stands fairest for adoption;
My heir apparent, as my next a-kin.
Reflect too, that your income is unequal
To that high rank in life, it shou'd support.