_Enter_ LYDIA _and_ LEONORE.
_Lyd._ I wish I had not come hither to-night, Leonore.
_Leo._ Why did you, madam, if the place be so disagreeable to you?
_Lyd._ We cannot help visiting the place often where we have lost
anything we value: I lost Ranger here last night.
_Leo._ You thought you had lost him before, a great while ago; and
therefore you ought to be the less troubled.
_Lyd._ But 'twas here I missed him first, I'm sure.
_Leo._ Come, madam, let not the loss vex you; he is not worth the
looking after.
_Lyd._ It cannot but vex me yet, if I lost him by my own fault.
_Leo._ You had but too much care to keep him.
_Lyd._ It often happens, indeed, that too much care is as bad as
negligence; but I had rather be robbed than lose what I have carelessly.
_Leo._ But, I believe you would hang the thief if you could.
_Lyd._ Not if I could have my own again.
_Leo._ I see you would be too merciful.
_Lyd._ I wish I were tried.
_Leo._ But, madam, if you please, we will waive the discourse; for
people seldom (I suppose) talk with pleasure of their real losses.
_Lyd._ 'Tis better than to ruminate on them; mine, I'm sure, will not
out of head nor heart.
_Leo._ Grief is so far from retrieving a loss, that it makes it
greater; but the way to lessen it is by a comparison with others'
losses. Here are ladies in the Park of your acquaintance, I doubt not,
can compare with you; pray, madam, let us walk and find 'em out.
_Lyd._ 'Tis the resentment, you say, makes the loss great or little;
and then, I'm sure, there is none like mine: however, go on. [_Exeunt._