Lady F. No, really, mademoiselle, methinks you look mighty pretty.

Madem. Ah! matam, de moon have no eclat, ven de sun appear.

Lady F. Oh! pretty expression! Have you ever been in love, mademoiselle?

Madem. Oui, matam.

[Sighing.

Lady F. And were you beloved again?

Madem. No, matam.

Lady F. Oh! ye gods! what an unfortunate creature should I be in such a case! But nature has made me nice, for my own defence; I am nice, strangely nice, mademoiselle: I believe, were the merit of whole mankind bestowed upon one single person, I should still think the fellow wanted something to make it worth my while to take notice of him; and yet, I could love, nay, fondly love, were it possible to have a thing made on purpose for me, for I am not cruel, mademoiselle; I am only nice.

Madem. Ah! matam, I wish I was fine gentleman, for your sake. I do all de ting in de world to get a little way into your heart. I make song, I make verse, I give you de serenade, I give great many present to mademoiselle; I no eat, I no sleep, I be lean, I be mad, I hang myself, I drown myself. Ah! ma chère dame, que je vous aimerois!

[Embracing her.

Lady F. Well, the French have strange, obliging ways with them; you may take those two pair of gloves, mademoiselle.

Madem. Me humbly tank my sweet lady.

Enter a Servant with a letter.

Serv. Madam, here’s a letter for your ladyship.

[Exit.

Lady F. ’Tis thus I am importuned every morning, mademoiselle. Pray, how do the French ladies, when they are thus accablées?

Madem. Matam, dey never complain. Au contraire, when one Frense laty have got a hundred lover, den she do all she can to get a hundred more.

Lady F. Well, let me die, I think they have le bon goat. For ’tis an unutterable pleasure to be adored by all the men, and envied by all the women. Yet, I’ll swear, I’m concerned at the torture I give them. Lard! why was I formed to make the whole creation uneasy? But let me read my letter.

[Reads. “If you have a mind to hear of your faults, instead of being praised for your virtues, take the pains to walk in the Green Walk in St. James’s Park, with your woman, an hour hence. You’ll there meet one, who hates you for some things, as he could love you for others; and, therefore, is willing to endeavour your reformation. If you come to the place I mention, you’ll know who I am; if you don’t, you never shall; so take your choice.” This is strangely familiar, mademoiselle! now have I a provoking fancy to know who this impudent fellow is.