Ma. That’s a most horrid Punishment indeed.  I had rather die a thousand Deaths than to be so bitterly in Love with an ugly Man, and one that won’t love me neither.

Pa. But we had a notable Example of this not long since upon a certain Maid.

Ma. Where did she live?

Pa. At Orleans.

Ma. How many Years ago was it?

Pa. How many Years! not ten Months.

Ma. What was her Name?  What do you stick at?

Pa. Nothing at all.  I know her as well as I know you.

Ma. Why don’t you tell me her Name then?

Pa. Because I am afraid it is ominous.  I wish she had been of some other Name.  She was your own Namesake.

Ma. Who was her Father?

Pa. Her Father is alive at this Time, and is a topping Lawyer, and a rich Man.

Ma. Tell me his Name.

Pa.  Mauritius.

Ma. His Sirname.

Pa.  Aglaius.

Ma. Is her Mother alive?

Pa. No, she died lately.

Ma. What did she die of, say you?

Pa. Why of Grief, and it had like to have cost her Father his Life too, for all he was a Man of a strong Constitution.

Ma. Mayn’t a Body know her Mother’s Name.

Pa. Yes, Sophrona, every Body knows her Name.  What do you mean by that Question?  Do you think I invent a Lye?

Ma. Why should I think so of you?  Our Sex is most to be suspected for that.  But tell me what became of the Maid?

Pa. The Maid, as I told you before, came of very honest Parents, had a good Fortune, was very handsome, and in few Words, was a Match for a Prince; a certain Gentleman of an equal Fortune courted her.

Ma. What was his Name?

Pa. Ah me, I can’t bear the Thoughts of it, his Name was Pamphilus as well as mine.  He try’d all the Ways in the World to gain her good Will; but she slighted all his Offers.  The young Man pines away with Grief.  Presently after she fell deep in Love with one more like an Ape than a Man.

Ma. How!

Pa. Ay, so wretchedly in Love, that ’tis impossible to relate it.

Ma. Such a pretty Maid to fall in Love with such an ugly Fellow?

Pa. Ay, with a long-visag’d, scald-headed, bald-pated, hollow-ey’d, snub-nos’d, wide-mouth’d, rotton-tooth’d, stuttering, scabby-bearded, hump-back’d, gor-belly’d, bandy-legg’d Fellow.

Ma. You tell me of a mere Thersites.

Pa. Nay, they said he had but one Ear, neither.

Ma. It may be he had lost the other in the War.

Pa. No, he lost it in Peace.

Ma. Who dar’d to cut it off?

Pa.  Jack Ketch.