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Show i Sir Harry Wildair 5 being Stand. In the next place then, you're to congratulate my Succefs: You have heard, I fuppofe, that I've marry'd a fine Lady with a great Fortune. Fire. Ay, ay ; 'twas m y firft News upon m y Landing, That Coll. Standard had marry'd the fine Lady Lurewell A fine Lady indeed! A very fine Lady! But Faith, Brother, I had rather turn Skipper to an Indian Canoo, than manage the Veffel you're Mafter of. Stand. W h y fo, Sir ? Fire. Becaufe fhe'U run adrift with every W i n d that blows: She's all Sail, and no Ballaft Shall I tell you, the Character I have heard of a fine Lady ? A fine Lady can laugh at the Death of her Husband, and cry for the Lofs of a Lap Dog. A fine Lady is angry without a Caufe, and pleas'd without a Reafon. A fine Lady has the Vapours all the Morning, and the Cholick all the Afternoon. The Pride of a fine Lady is above the Merit of an underftanding Head; yet her Vanity will ftoop to the Adoration of a Peruke. And in fine, a fine Lady goes to Church for Fafhion's fake, and to the Baffet-Table with Devotion ; and her Paffion for Gaming exceeds her Vanity of being thought vertuous, or the Defire of acting the contrary. We Seamen fpeak plain, Brother. Stand. You Seamen are like your Element, always tem-peftuous, too ruffling to handle a fine Lady. Fire. Say you fo? W h y then, give m e thy hand, honeft Frank; and let the World talk on, and be damn'd. Stand. The World talk, fay you? What does the World talk ? Fire. Nothing, nothing at all They only fay what's ufual upon fuch Occaftons: That your Wife's thovgreateft Coquet about the Court, and your Worfhip the greateft Cuckold about the City: That's all. Stand. H o w , how, Sir ! Fire. That fhe's a Coquet, and you a Cuckold. Stand. She's an Angel in her felf, and a Paradife to me. Fire. She's an Eve in her felf, and a Devil to you. Stand. She's all Truth, and the World a Liar. Fire. W h y then, I'gad, Brother, it fhall be fo.; I'll back again to White's, and .whoever dates mutter Scandal of my Brother and Sifter, I'll dafh his Ratefia in's his Face, and call him a Lyar. (Going. Stan I. Hold, hold, Sir. The World is too ftrong for us. Wmuefite mSucradnedra l aalln dt hDee tBreaacutixo,n atno db ep otyhfoorno whlayl fr etvheen gL'adTd,hi oewfsee: |
