L. Flip. Would you have us as tractable as the wenches that eat oatmeal, and fooled like them too?
Mrs. Joyn. If nobody were wiser than I, I should think, since the widow wants the natural allurement which the virgin has, you ought to give men all other encouragements, in truly.
L. Flip. Therefore, on the contrary, because the widow's fortune (whether supposed or real) is her chiefest bait, the more chary she seems of it, and the more she withdraws it, the more eagerly the busy gaping fry will bite. With us widows, husbands are got like bishoprics, by saying "No:" and I tell you, a young heir is as shy of a widow as of a rook, to my knowledge.
Mrs. Joyn. I can allege nothing against your practice—but your ill success; and indeed you must use another method with Sir Simon Addleplot.
L. Flip. Will he be at your house at the hour?
Mrs. Joyn. He'll be there by ten:—'tis now nine. I'll warrant you he will not fail.
L. Flip. I'll warrant you then I will not fail:—for 'tis more than time I were sped.
Mrs. Joyn. Mr. Dapperwit has not been too busy with you, I hope?—Your experience has taught you to prevent a mischance.
L. Flip. No, no, my mischance (as you call it) is greater than that. I have but three months to reckon, ere I lie down with my port and equipage, and must be delivered of a woman, a footman, and a coachman:—for my coach must down, unless I can get Sir Simon to draw with me.
Mrs. Joyn. He will pair with you exactly if you knew all. [Aside.
L. Flip. Ah, Mrs. Joyner, nothing grieves me like the putting down my coach! For the fine clothes, the fine lodgings—let 'em go; for a lodging is as unnecessary a thing to a widow that has a coach, as a hat to a man that has a good peruke. For, as you see about town, she is most properly at home in her coach:—she eats, and drinks, and sleeps in her coach; and for her visits, she receives them in the playhouse.
Mrs. Joyn. Ay, ay, let the men keep lodgings, as you say, madam, if they will.
Enter behind, at one door, Gripe and Sir Simon Addleplot, the latter in the dress of a Clerk; at the other, Mrs. Martha.
L. Flip. Do you think if things had been with me as they have been, I would ever have housed with this counter-fashion brother of mine, (who hates a vest as much as a surplice,) to have my patches assaulted every day at dinner, my freedom censured, and my visitants shut out of doors?—Poor Mr. Dapperwit cannot be admitted.
Mrs. Joyn. He knows him too well to keep his acquaintance.
L. Flip. He is a censorious rigid fop, and knows nothing.
Gripe. So, so! [Behind.
Mrs. Joyn. [Aside.] Is he here?—[To Lady Flippant.] Nay, with your pardon, madam, I must contradict you there. He is a prying commonwealth's-man, an implacable magistrate, a sturdy pillar of his cause, and—[To Gripe] But, oh me, is your worship so near then? if I had thought you heard me—
Gripe. Why, why, Mrs. Joyner, I have said as much of myself ere now; and without vanity, I profess.
Mrs. Joyn. I know your virtue is proof against vainglory; but the truth to your face looks like flattery in your worship's servant.
Gripe. No, no; say what you will of me in that kind, far be it from me to suspect you of flattery.
Mrs. Joyn. In truly, your worship knows yourself, and knows me, for I am none of those—
L. Flip. [Aside.] Now they are in—Mrs. Joyner, I'll go before to your house, you'll be sure to come after me.
Mrs. Joyn. Immediately.—[Exit Lady Flippant.] But as I was saying, I am none of those—
Gripe. No, Mrs. Joyner, you cannot sew pillows under folks' elbows; you cannot hold a candle to the devil; you cannot tickle a trout to take him; you—
Mrs. Joyn. Lord, how well you do know me indeed!—and you shall see I know your worship as well. You cannot backslide from your principles; you cannot be terrified by the laws; nor bribed to allegiance by office or preferment; you—
Gripe. Hold, hold, my praise must not interrupt yours.
Mrs. Joyn. With your worship's pardon, in truly, I must on.
Gripe. I am full of your praise, and it will run over.
Mrs. Joyn. Nay, sweet sir, you are—
Gripe. Nay, sweet Mrs. Joyner, you are—
Mrs. Joyn. Nay, good your worship, you are—[Stops her mouth with his handkerchief.
Gripe. I say you are—
Mrs. Joyn. I must not be rude with your worship.
Gripe. You are a nursing mother to the saints; through you they gather together; through you they fructify and increase; and through you the child cries from out of the hand-basket.
Mrs. Joyn. Through you virgins are married, or provided for as well; through you the reprobate's wife is made a saint; and through you the widow is not disconsolate, nor misses her husband.
Gripe. Through you—
Mrs. Joyn. Indeed you will put me to the blush.
Gripe. Blushes are badges of imperfection:—saints have no shame. You are—are the flower of matrons, Mrs. Joyner.
Mrs. Joyn. You are the pink of courteous aldermen.
Gripe. You are the muffler of secrecy.
Mrs. Joyn. You are the head-band of justice.
Gripe. Thank you, sweet Mrs. Joyner: do you think so indeed? You are—you are the bonfire of devotion.
Mrs. Joyn. You are the bellows of zeal.
Gripe. You are the cupboard of charity.
Mrs. Joyn. You are the fob of liberality.
Gripe. You are the rivet of sanctified love or wedlock.
Mrs. Joyn. You are the picklock 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.
Mrs. Joyn. Your servant, your servant, sweet alderman! I have nothing to say.
Sir Sim. The half pullet will be cold, sir.
Gripe. Mrs. Joyner, you shall sup with me.
Mrs. Joyn. Indeed I am engaged to supper with some of your man's friends; and I came on purpose to get leave for him too.
Gripe. I cannot deny you anything. But I have forgot to tell you what a kind of fellow my sister's Dapperwit is: before a full table of the coffee-house sages, he had the impudence to hold an argument against me in the defence of vests and protections; and therefore I forbid him my house; besides, when he came I was forced to lock up my daughter for fear of him, nay, I think the poor child herself was afraid of him.—Come hither, child, were you not afraid of Dapperwit?
Mrs. Mar. Yes indeed, sir, he is a terrible man.—Yet I durst meet with him in a piazza at midnight. [Aside.
Gripe. He shall never come into my doors again.
Mrs. Mar. Shall Mr. Dapperwit never come hither again then?
Gripe. No, child.
Mrs. Mar. I am afraid he will.
Gripe.