Joy. You are the pick-lock and dark-lantern of policy; and in a
     word a conventicle of virtues.

     Gripe. Your servant, your servant, sweet Mrs. Joyner!  You have
     stopped my mouth.

     Joy. Your servant, your servant, sweet Alderman!  I have nothing
     to say.

Indelicacy in words has by this time become very much reduced, although here and there we find some cant expressions of the day which shock our sensibilities.  Much refinement in this respect could not be expected at a period where a young lady of fortune could be represented as calling her maid, and afterwards herself, a “damned jade,” and a lady from the country as saying she had not yet had “her bellyful of sights” in London.

“The Plain Dealer” is a naval captain in the time of the Dutch war.  Olivia says,

“If he be returned, then shall I be pestered again with his boisterous sea-love; have my alcove smell like a cabin, my chamber perfumed with his tarpaulin Brandenburgh, and hear volleys of brandy-sighs, enough to make a fog in one’s room.  Foh!  I hate a lover that smells like Thames Street.”

The Plain Dealer, i.e., the sea-captain Manly, meets with a lawyer, and they converse in this way,

     Manly. Here’s a lawyer I know threatening us with another
     greeting.

     Lawyer. Sir!  Sir! your very servant; I was afraid you had
     forgotten me.

     Man. I was not afraid you had forgotten me.

     Law. No, Sir; we lawyers have pretty good memories.

     Man. You ought to have by your wits.

     Law. O, you are a merry gentleman, Sir; I remember you were merry
     when I was last in your company.

     Man. I was never merry in your company, Mr. Lawyer, sure.

     Law. Why I am sure you joked upon me, and shammed me all night
     long.

     Man. Shammed! prithee what barbarous law-term is that?

     Law. Shamming! why, don’t you know that? ’tis all our way of wit,
     Sir.

     Man. I am glad I don’t know it, then.  Shamming! what does he mean
     by it, Freeman?

     Free. Shamming is telling an insipid dull lie with a dull face,
     which the sly wag, the author, only laughs at himself; and making
     himself believe ’tis a good jest, puts the sham only upon himself.

Manly meets an Alderman.

     Man. Here’s a city-rogue will stick as hard upon us as if I owed
     him money.

     Ald. Captain, noble Sir, I am yours heartily, d’ye see; why
     should you avoid your old friends?

     Man. And why should you follow me?  I owe you nothing.

     Ald. Out of my hearty respects to you; for there is not a man in
     England——­