Re-enter Lady Flippant and Lydia, after them Vincent and Dapperwit.
L. Flip. [To Lydia.] Nay, if you stay any longer, I must leave you again. [Going off.
Vin. We have overtaken them at last again. These are they: they separate too; and that's but a challenge to us.
Dap. Let me perish! ladies—
Lyd. Nay, good madam, let's unite, now here's the common enemy upon us.
Vin. Damn me! ladies—
Dap. Hold, a pox! you are too rough.—Let me perish! ladies—
Lyd. Not for want of breath, gentlemen:—we'll stay rather.
Dap. For want of your favour rather, sweet ladies.
L. Flip. [Aside.] That's Dapperwit, false villain! but he must not know I am here. If he should, I should lose his thrice agreeable company, and he would run from me as fast as from the bailiffs. [To Lydia.] What! you will not talk with 'em, I hope?
Lyd. Yes, but I will.
L. Flip. Then you are a Park-woman certainly, and you will take it kindly if I leave you.
Lyd. No, you must not leave me.
L. Flip. Then you must leave them.
Lyd. I'll see if they are worse company than you, first.
L. Flip. Monstrous impudence!—will you not come? [Pulls Lydia.
Vin. Nay, madam, I never suffer any violence to be used to a woman but what I do myself: she must stay, and you must not go.
L. Flip. Unhand me, you rude fellow!
Vin. Nay, now I am sure you will stay and be kind; for coyness in a woman is as little sign of true modesty, as huffing in a man is of true courage.
Dap. Use her gently, and speak soft things to her.
Lyd. [Aside.] Now do I guess I know my coxcomb.—[To Dapperwit.] Sir, I am extremely glad I am fallen into the hands of a gentleman that can speak soft things; and this is so fine a night to hear soft things in;—morning, I should have said.
Dap. It will not be morning, dear madam, till you pull off your mask.—[Aside.] That I think was brisk.
Lyd. Indeed, dear sir, my face would frighten back the sun.
Dap. With glories more radiant than his own.—[Aside.] I keep up with her, I think.
Lyd. But why would you put me to the trouble of lighting the world, when I thought to have gone to sleep?
Dap. You only can do it, dear madam, let me perish!
Lyd. But why would you (of all men) practise treason against your friend Phœbus, and depose him for a mere stranger?
Dap. I think she knows me. [Aside.
Lyd. But he does not do you justice, I believe; and you are so positively cock-sure of your wit, you would refer to a mere stranger your plea to the bay-tree.
Dap. She jeers me, let me perish! [Aside.
Vin. Dapperwit, a little of your aid; for my lady's invincibly dumb.
Dap. Would mine had been so too! [Aside.
Vin. I have used as many arguments to make her speak, as are requisite to make other women hold their tongues.
Dap. Well, I am ready to change sides.—Yet before I go, madam, since the moon consents now I should see your face, let me desire you to pull off your mask; which to a handsome lady is a favour, I'm sure.
Lyd. Truly, sir, I must not be long in debt to you for the obligation; pray let me hear you recite some of your verses; which to a wit is a favour, I'm sure.
Dap. Madam, it belongs to your sex to be obliged first; pull off your mask, and I'll pull out my paper.—[Aside.] Brisk again, of my side.
Lyd. 'Twould be in vain, for you would want a candle now.
Dap. [Aside.] I dare not make use again of the lustre of her face.—[To Lydia.] I'll wait upon you home then, madam.
Lyd. Faith, no; I believe it will not be much to our advantages to bring my face or your poetry to light: for I hope you have yet a pretty good opinion of my face, and so have I of your wit. But if you are for proving your wit, why do not you write a play?
Dap. Because 'tis now no more reputation to write a play, than it is honour to be a knight. Your true wit despises the title of poet, as much as your true gentleman the title of knight; for as a man may be a knight and no gentleman, so a man may be a poet and no wit, let me perish!
Lyd. Pray, sir, how are you dignified or distinguished amongst the rates of wits? and how many rates are there?
Dap. There are as many degrees of wits as of lawyers: as there is first your solicitor, then your attorney, then your pleading-counsel, then your chamber-counsel, and then your judge; so there is first your court-wit, your coffee-wit, your poll-wit, or politic-wit, your chamber-wit, or scribble-wit, and last of all, your judge-wit, or critic.
Lyd. But are there as many wits as lawyers? Lord, what will become of us!—What employment can they have? how are they known?
Dap. First, your court-wit is a fashionable, insinuating, flattering, cringing, grimacing fellow—and has wit enough to solicit a suit of love; and if he fail, he has malice enough to ruin the woman with a dull lampoon:—but he rails still at the man that is absent, for you must know all wits rail; and his wit properly lies in combing perukes, matching ribbons, and being severe, as they call it, upon other people's clothes.
Lyd. Now, what is the coffee-wit?
Dap. He is a lying, censorious, gossiping, quibbling wretch, and sets people together by the ears over that sober drink, coffee: he is a wit, as he is a commentator, upon the Gazette; and he rails at the pirates of Algier, the Grand Signior of Constantinople, and the Christian Grand Signior.
Lyd. What kind of man is your poll-wit?
Dap. He is a fidgetting, busy, dogmatical, hot-headed fop, that speaks always in sentences and proverbs, (as other in similitudes,) and he rails perpetually against the present government. His wit lies in projects and monopolies, and penning speeches for young parliament men.
Lyd. But what is your chamber-wit, or scribble-wit?
Dap. He is a poring, melancholy, modest sot, ashamed of the world: he searches all the records of wit, to compile a breviate of them for the use of players, printers, booksellers, and sometimes cooks, tobacco-men; he employs his railing against the ignorance of the age, and all that have more money than he.
Lyd. Now your last.
Dap. Your judge-wit, or critic, is all these together, and yet has the wit to be none of them: he can think, speak, write, as well as the rest, but scorns (himself a judge) to be judged by posterity: he rails at all the other classes of wits, and his wit lies in damning all but himself:—he is your true wit.
Lyd. Then, I suspect you are of his form.
Dap. I cannot deny it, madam.
Vin. Dapperwit, you have been all this time on the wrong side; for you love to talk all, and here's a lady would not have hindered you.
Dap. A pox! I have been talking too long indeed here; for wit is lost upon a silly weak woman, as well as courage. [Aside.