Sir Jasp. Nay, prithee, dear, hear me.

[Whispers to Lady FIDGET.

Horn. Ladies— [HORNER and DORILANT draw near Mrs. SQUEAMISH and Mrs. DAINTY FIDGET.

Mrs. Dain. Stand off.

Mrs. Squeam. Do not approach us.

Mrs. Dain. You herd with the wits, you are obscenity all over.

Mrs. Squeam. And I would as soon look upon a picture of Adam and Eve, without fig-leaves, as any of you, if I could help it; therefore keep off, and do not make us sick.

Dor. What a devil are these?

Horn. Why, these are pretenders to honour, as critics to wit, only by censuring others; and as every raw, peevish, out-of-humoured, affected, dull, tea-drinking, arithmetical fop, sets up for a wit by railing at men of sense, so these for honour, by railing at the court, and ladies of as great honour as quality.

Sir Jasp. Come, Mr. Horner, I must desire you to go with these ladies to the play, sir.

Horn. I, sir?

Sir Jasp. Ay, ay, come, sir.

Horn. I must beg your pardon, sir, and theirs; I will not be seen in women’s company in public again for the world.

Sir Jasp. Ha, ha, strange a version!

Mrs. Squeam. No, he’s for women’s company in private.

Sir Jasp. He—poor man—he—ha! ha! ha!

Mrs. Dain. ’Tis a greater shame amongst lewd fellows to be seen in virtuous women’s company, than for the women to be seen with them.

Horn. Indeed, madam, the time was I only hated virtuous women, but now I hate the other too; I beg your pardon, ladies.

Lady Fid. You are very obliging, sir, because we would not be troubled with you.

Sir Jasp. In sober sadness, he shall go.

Dor. Nay, if he wo’ not, I am ready to wait upon the ladies, and I think I am the fitter man.

Sir Jasp. You, sir! no, I thank you for that. Master Horner is a privileged man amongst the virtuous ladies, ’twill be a great while before you are so; he! he! he! he’s my wife’s gallant; he! he! he! No, pray withdraw, sir, for as I take it, the virtuous ladies have no business with you.

Dor. And I am sure he can have none with them. ’Tis strange a man can’t come amongst virtuous women now, but upon the same terms as men are admitted into the Great Turk’s seraglio. But heavens keep me from being an ombre player with ’em!—But where is Pinchwife?

[Exit.