L. Rod. There you please me, English People are extremely fond of what’s forbid, we commonly obey our Parents, and the Government much a-like; and tho’ the State prohibits Flanders Lace, French Alamodes, and India Sattins, we have ’em all by the way of Holland.—­These Ruffles too are so furiously starch’d, I shall throw People down as I move along.

Semp. The Ladies, Madam, love a stiff Ruffle, for shou’d the Wind blow it aside, your Ladyship’s Elbow might catch cold, but I’ll slacken my Hand i’the next.—­Does your Ladyship want a very fine short Apron?

L. Rod. Women o’ Quality, Mrs. Taffety have left ’em off, and those Ladies that do wear ’em, generally make ’em of their old Top-knots [to the India Woman] Mrs. Japan, you are a Stranger here, I hav’n’t seen you since I paid off your last Bill,

Ind.  Wom. Oh, Madam!  I have been at Death’s Door, the Hypocondriacks have so prey’d upon my Spirits, they have destroy’d my Constitution, such Rotations i’my Head, such an Oppression at my Stomach—­but I ha’ brought you a Pound of Bohee, so purifying, ’twill give your Ladyship a new Mass of Blood in a Quarter of an Hour.

L. Rod. Mrs. Chince has much better.

Ind.  Wom. Then will I eat Mrs. Chince.—­Shall I show you some fine India Pictures?

L. Rod. I hate those Shadows o’ Men half finish’d.

Ind Wom. I must own the Substance of a Man well finish’d is much better,—­but here’s a Set o’Japan Cups will ravish your Ladyship, a Tradesman’s Wife long’d, and miscarry’d about ’em.

L. Rod. I’m overstock’d with China, and they say ’tis grown so common.  I intend to sacrifice mine to my Monkey.

Ind.  Wom. Nay, pray, my Lady, buy somewhat of me, you know I’m in great Tribulation, I trusted a couple of Trollops, that were turn’d out of the Play-House, for having too much Assurance for the Stage, and set up a little Shop in Spring Garden; and the bold Jades are gone a stroling Fifty Pounds in my Debt.  Besides, I have just now a lazy Trull of a Daughter, that run away with a Foot Soldier, return’d big with the Lord knows what, and that’s no small Charge to me, that am forc’d to pad it about for a Livelihood.

L. Rod. Well, you may leave a Pound of Powder.

Ind.  Wom. [Aside.] A Pound of Powder, pox o’your Generosity, these great Ladies are grown as stingy as if they paid one ready Mony, were it not for a City-bubble now and then, I might e’en go dance with the Dogs in May-Fair.

L. Rod. [To the Toy-Man.] Mr. Gimcrack, what new Fancies have you brought this Morning?

Toy-M. A Pair of nice Genoa Gloves for your Ladyship, curiously made up in a gilt Wallnut Shell.

L. Rod A Wallnut Shell! they can’t be large enough.