L. Rod. The English Ladies!  Shall a Corner of Europe teach me Decorums, that have travers’d the whole.  The French Ladies admire my Gayety; the Italians are ravish’d with my Grandeur, and if the English Ladies do blame my Conduct, who values the Censure of a little Island.—­ Oh! what Transports do I feel, to provoke the Eyes and Whispers of the Multitude,—­Whose Equipage is that—­My Lady Rodomont’s?—­Whose Visiting-day is it—­My Lady Rodomont’s?—­Who bespoke the Play to Night—­ My Lady Rodomont?—­But when she’s once marry’d—­What “Gentlewoman’s that with the great Belly—­Sir Marmaduke Mortgage’s Wife, that’s come to Town to buy Clouts, her Husband lost his Estate at Roly-poly.—­She’s mighty Big indeed, I’m afraid she’ll ha’ two.  Unless one cou’d find out some Plant of a Husband, with Life and no Soul; a governable, drudging Creature, that wou’d love, honour and obey his Wife; and know so little of his own Prerogative, as to change his Name for her.

Mrs. Lov. Really, Madam, I’m o’ your Opinion, I’d have Petticoat-Government pass thro’ the Nation; the Ladies shou’d possess the Estates, and make their Husbands a Jointure.

L. Rod. While a Woman o’ Fortune remains unmarry’d, she’s a Petty-Queen; Lovers innumerable trace her Steps; each Coxcomb thinks to be the happy Man, and ev’ry were her Presence makes a Court—­but when her Reason’s once subdu’d by Love, and the fond, foolish Nymph resigns her Pow’r, she’s but a meer Appendix to a Fellow.

    No more her darling Liberty can boast,
    Lovers no more her quondam Beauties toast,
    But all her Pleasure, Pride and Charms are lost.

End of the First ACT.

ACT II.

SCENE, The Park.

    Sir Harry_, and the_ Collonel.

Col. Never a loose Lady tripping through the Park to whet one’s Appetite this Morning?

Sir Har. Fie, Collonel, refine your Tast;——­A common Woman!  I’d as soon dine at a common Ordinary:  Give me a Woman of Condition, there’s Pride as well as Pleasure in such an Amour.

Col. Your Women of Condition, Pox on em, are like Noblemen’s Dinners, all Garniture and no Meat, then, the Ceremony of Approach and Retire, palls a Man’s Inclination, ‘till he grows indifferent i’ the Matter;—­ Wou’d you Charm me, give me a ruddy Country Wench to riffe on the Grass, with no other resistance than,—­What a Dickens, is the Man berwattl’d, you are an impudent, bold Rogue, and I’ll call my Mother:  Besides, the fear of Scandal makes your great Ladies preserve a foolish kind of Virtue, their Principles wou’d fain get rid of.

Sir Har. You are deceiv’d, Collonel, Women of Quality are above Reputation.—­Is it my Lady Tipple-dram’s Modesty, or the effect of Ratifia, that gives her a high Colour in the Drawing-room?—­Is my Lady Sluggard’s Religion question’d, that has never been at Church since her Baptism, or my Lady Gamesom’s Virtue suspected for admiring Collonel Sturdy’s Regiment; both Sexes of Rank, now, use what Liberty they please without censuring one another, and consequently despise the tattling of Inferiours.