am so lazy to-day.

Clar. Give it me-Open it for me, Flippanta; I [Sits down. Brass. [To Flip.] Be sure now you deliver my mas. ter's as carefully as I do this.

Flip. Don't trouble thyself; I'm no novice.

Clar. [To Brass.] 'Tis well; there needs no answer, since she'll be here so soon.

Brass. Your ladyship has no farther commands then?

Clar. Not at this time, honest Brass-Flippanta! [Exit Brass.

Flip. Madam.

Clar. My husband's in love.

Flip. In love!

Clar. With Araminta.

Flip. Impossible!

Clar. This letter from her is to give me an account of it.

Flip. Methinks you are not very much alarmed. Clar. No; thou know'st I'm not much tortured with jealousy.

Flip. Nay, you are much in the right on't, madam; for jealousy's a city passion; 'tis a thing unknown amongst people of quality.

Clar. Fie A woman must indeed be of a mechanic mould, who is either troubled or pleased with any

thing her husband can do to her. Pr'ythee, mention

him no more; 'tis the dullest theme!

Flip. 'Tis splenetic indeed. But when once you

open your basset-table, I hope that will put him out

of your head.

Clar. Alas, Flippanta, I begin to grow weary even of the thoughts of that too!

Flip. How so?

Clar. Why, I have thought on't a day and a night already, and four-and-twenty hours, thou know'st, is enough to make one weary of any thing.

Flip. Now, by my conscience, you have more woman in you than all your sex together-You never know what you would have.

Clar. Thou mistak'st the thing quite. I always know what I lack, but I am never pleas'd with what I have. The want of a thing is perplexing enough, but the possession of it is intolerable.

Flip. Well, I don't know what you are made of, but other women would think themselves bless'd in your case: handsome, witty, loved by every body, and of so happy a composure, to care a fig for nobody. You have no one passion but that of your pleasures, and you have in me a servant devoted to all your desires, let them be as extravagant as they will. Yet all this is nothing; you can still be out of humour.

Clar. Alas, I have too much cause !

Flip. Why, what have you to complain of?

Clar. Alas, I have more subjects for spleen than one! Is it not a most horrible thing that I should be but a scrivener's wife Come, don't flatter me➡

don't you think nature designed me for something plus élevée ?

Flip. Nay, that's certain; but, on t'other side, methinks, you ought to be in some measure content, since you live like a woman of quality, tho' you are

none.

Clar. Oh, fie the very quintessence of it is wanting. Flip. What's that?

Clar. Why, I dare abuse nobody: I'm afraid to affront people, tho' I don't like their faces; or to ruin their reputations, tho' they pique me to it, by taking ever so much pains to preserve them: I dare not raise a lie of a man, tho' he neglects to make love to me; nor report a woman to be a fool, tho' she's handsomer than I am. In short, I dare not so much as bid my footman kick the people out of doors, tho' they come to ask me for what I owe them.

Flip. All this is very hard indeed.

Clar. Ah, Flippanta, the perquisites of quality are of an unspeakable value!

Flip. They are of some use, I must confess; but we must not expect to have every thing. You have wit and beauty, and a fool to your husband.-Come, come, madam, that's a good portion for one.

Clar. Alas! what signifies beauty and wit, when one dares neither jilt the men, nor abuse the women ? 'Tis a sad thing, Flippanta, when wit's confin'd, "'tis "worse than the rising of the lights;" I have been sometimes almost chok'd with scandal, and durst not cough it up, for want of being a countess.

Flip. Poor lady!

Clar. Oh, liberty is a fine thing, Flippanta! it's a great help in conversation to have leave to say what one will. I have seen a woman of quality, who has not had one grain of wit, entertain a whole company the most agreeably in the world, only with her ma- . lice. But 'tis in vain to repine; I cann't mend my condition till my husband dies; so I'll say no more on't, but think of making the most of the state I am in.

Flip. That's your best way, madam; and in order to it, pray consider how you'll get some ready money to set your basset-table a going; for that's necessary.

Clar. Thou say'st true: but what trick I shall play my husband to get some, I don't know; for my pretence of losing my diamond necklace has put the man into such a passion, I'm afraid he won't hear reason.

Flip. No matter; he begins to think 'tis lost in earnest so I fancy you may venture to sell it, and raise money that way.

Clar. That cann't be; for he has left odious notes with all the goldsmiths in town.

Flip. Well, we must pawn it then.

Clar. I'm quite tired with dealing with those brokers.

pawn

Flip. I'm afraid you'll continue the trade a great while, for all that.

[Aside.

Enter JESSAMIN,

Jes. Madam, there's the woman below that sells

paint and patches, iron bodice, false teeth, and all sorts of things to the ladies; I cann't think of her

name.

Flip. 'Tis Mrs. Amlet; she wants money.

Clar. Well, I ha'n't enough for myself; it's an unreasonable thing she should think I have any for her.

Flip. She's a troublesome jade.

Clar. So are all people that come a dunning.
Flip. What will you do with her?

Clar. I have just now thought on't. She's very that woman is, Flippanta; I'll borrow some money of her.

rich;

Flip. Borrow! Sure you jest, madam.

Clar. No, I'm in earnest; I give thee commission to do it for me.

Flip. Me!

Clar. Why dost thou stare, and look so ungainly Don't I speak to be understood?

Flip. Yes, I understand you well enough; but Mrs. Amlet

Clar. But Mrs. Amlet must lend me some money; where shall I have any to pay her eise?

Flip. That's true; I never thought of that, truly. But here she is.

Enter Mrs. AMLET.

Clar. How do you do? How do you do, Mrs. Amlet? I ha'n't seen you these thousand years; and yet I believe I'm down in your books.