Horn. A pox! some unbelieving sisters of my former acquaintance, who, I am afraid, expect their sense should be satisfied of the falsity of the report. Nothis formal fool and women!
Enter Sir Jasper Fidget, Lady Fidget, and Mrs. Dainty Fidget.
Quack. His wife and sister.
Sir Jasp. My coach breaking just now before your door, sir, I look upon as an occasional reprimand to me, sir, for not kissing your hands, sir, since your coming out of France, sir; and so my disaster, sir, has been my good fortune, sir; and this is my wife and sister, sir.
Horn. What then, sir?
Sir Jasp. My lady, and sister, sir.Wife, this is Master Horner.
Lady Fid. Master Horner, husband!
Sir Jasp. My lady, my Lady Fidget, sir.
Horn. So, sir.
Sir Jasp. Wont you be acquainted with her, sir?[Aside.] So, the report is true, I find, by his coldness or aversion to the sex; but Ill play the wag with him.[Aloud.] Pray salute my wife, my lady, sir.
Horn. I will kiss no mans wife, sir, for him, sir; I have taken my eternal leave, sir, of the sex already, sir.
Sir Jasp. [aside]. Ha! ha! ha! Ill plague him yet.[Aloud.] Not know my wife, sir?
Horn. I do know your wife, sir; shes a woman, sir, and consequently a monster, sir, a greater monster than a husband, sir.
Sir Jasp. A husband! how, sir?
Horn. So, sir; but I make no more cuckolds, sir.
Sir Jasp. Ha! ha! ha! Mercury! Mercury!
Lady Fid. Pray, Sir Jasper, let us be gone from this rude fellow.
Mrs. Dain. Who, by his breeding, would think he had ever been in France?
Lady Fid. Foh! hes but too much a French fellow, such as hate women of quality and virtue for their love to their husbands. Sir Jasper, a woman is hated by em as much for loving her husband as for loving their money. But pray lets be gone.
Horn. You do well, madam; for I have nothing that you came for. I have brought over not so much as a bawdy picture, no new postures, nor the second part of the Ecole des Filles; nor
Quack. Hold, for shame, sir! what dye mean? youll ruin yourself for ever with the sex
[Apart to Horner.
Sir Jasp. Ha! ha! ha! he hates women perfectly, I find.
Mrs. Dain. What pity tis he should!
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