MEL. By heav'n, I love her more than life or -
LADY PLYANT. Fiddle faddle, don't tell me of this and that, and
everything in the world, but give me mathemacular demonstration;
answer me directly. But I have not patience. Oh, the impiety of
it, as I was saying, and the unparalleled wickedness! O merciful
Father! How could you think to reverse nature so, to make the
daughter the means of procuring the mother?
MEL. The daughter to procure the mother!
LADY PLYANT. Ay, for though I am not Cynthia's own mother, I am her
father's wife, and that's near enough to make it incest.
MEL. Incest! O my precious aunt, and the devil in conjunction.
[Aside.]
LADY PLYANT. Oh, reflect upon the horror of that, and then the
guilt of deceiving everybody; marrying the daughter, only to make a
cuckold of the father; and then seducing me, debauching my purity,
and perverting me from the road of virtue in which I have trod thus
long, and never made one trip, not one FAUX PAS. Oh, consider it!
What would you have to answer for if you should provoke me to
frailty? Alas! humanity is feeble, heav'n knows! very feeble, and
unable to support itself.
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