Fain. She has wit.

Wit. ’Tis what she will hardly allow anybody else—Now, demme, I should hate that, if she were as handsome as Cleopatra. Mirabell is not so sure of her as he thinks for.

Fain. Why do you think so?

Wit. We staid pretty late there last night; and heard something of an uncle to Mirabell, who is lately come to town,—and is between him and the best part of his estate; Mirabell and he are at some distance, as my Lady Wishfort has been told; and you know she hates Mirabell, worse than a Quaker bates a parrot, or than a fishmonger hates a hard frost. Whether this uncle has seen Mrs. Millamant or not, I cannot say; but there were items of such a treaty being in embrio; and if it should come to life, poor Mirabell would be in some sort unfortunately fobbed i’faith.

Fain. ’Tis impossible Millamant should harken to it.

Wit. Faith, my dear, I can’t tell; she’s a woman and a kind of a humorist.

Mira. And this is the sum of what you could collect last night.

Pet. The quintessence. Maybe Witwoud knows more, he stayed longer.—Besides they never mind him; they say anything before him.

Mira. I thought you had been the greatest favourite.

Pet. Ay, tête à tête; but not in publick, because I make remarks.

Mira. You do?

Pet. Ay, ay, pox I’m malicious, man. Now he’s soft, you know, they are not in awe of him—the fellow’s well bred, he’s what you call a—what-d’ye-call-’em. A fine gentleman, but he’s silly withal.

Mira. I thank you, I know as much as my curiosity requires. Fainall, are you for the Mall?

Fain. Ay, I’ll take a turn before dinner.

Wit. Ay, we’ll all walk in the Park, the ladies talked of being there.

Mira. I thought you were obliged to watch for your brother Sir Wilfull’s arrival.

Wit. No, no, he comes to his aunt’s, my Lady Wishfort; pox on him, I shall be troubled with him too; what shall I do with the fool?

Pet. Beg him for his estate; that I may beg you afterwards; and so have but one trouble with you both.

Wit. O rare Petulant; thou art as quick as fire in a frosty morning; thou shalt to the Mall with us; and we’ll be very severe.

Pet. Enough. I’m in a humour to be severe.

Mira. Are you? Pray then walk by yourselves,—let not us be accessary to your putting the ladies out of countenance, with your senseless ribaldry; which you roar out aloud as often as they pass by you; and when you have made a handsome woman blush, then you think you have been severe.

Pet. What, what? Then let ’em either shew their innocence by not understanding what they hear, or else shew their discretion by not hearing what they would not be thought to understand.