SCENE I.—A Room in Lady Wishfort’s House.

Lady Wishfort at her toilet, Peg waiting.

Lady. Merciful, no news of Foible yet?

Peg. No, madam.

Lady. I have no more patience—if I have not fretted myself ’till I am pale again, there’s no veracity in me. Fetch me the red—the red, do you hear, sweetheart? An errant ash colour, as I’m a person. Look you how this wench stirs! Why dost thou not fetch me a little red? Didst thou not hear me, mopus?

Peg. The red ratafia does your ladiship mean, or the cherry-brandy?

Lady. Ratafia, fool. No, fool. Not the ratafia, fool—grant me patience! I mean the Spanish paper, idiot, complexion darling. Paint, paint, paint, dost thou understand that, changeling, dangling thy hands like bobbins before thee? Why dost thou not stir, puppet? thou wooden thing upon wires.

Peg. Lord, madam, your ladiship is so impatient—I cannot come at the paint, madam, Mrs. Foible has locked it up, and carried the key with her.

Lady. A pox take you both—fetch me the cherry-brandy then.


Lady Wishfort. I’m as pale and as faint, I look like Mrs. Qualmsick the curate’s wife, that’s always breeding—Wench, come, come, wench, what art thou doing, sipping? tasting? Save thee, dost thou not know the bottle?


Lady Wishfort, Peg with a bottle and china cup.

Peg. Madam, I was looking for a cup.

Lady. A cup, save thee, and what a cup hast thou brought! Dost thou take me for a fairy, to drink out of an acorn? Why didst thou not bring thy thimble? Hast thou ne’er a brass thimble olinking in thy pocket with a bit of nutmeg? I warrant thee. Come, fill, fill.—So—again. See who that is.—[One knocks.] Set down the bottle first. Here, here, under the table—What, wouldst thou go with the bottle in thy hand like a tapster. As I’m a person, this wench has lived in an inn upon the road, before she came to me, like Maritornes the Asturian in Don Quixote. No Foible yet?

Peg. No, madam, Mrs. Marwood.

Lady. O Marwood, let her come in. Come in, good Marwood.


[To them] Mrs. Marwood.

Mrs. Mar. I’m surprized to find your ladiship in dishabillé at this time of day.

Lady. Foible’s a lost thing; has been abroad since morning, and never heard of since.

Mrs. Mar. I saw her but now, as I came masked through the Park, in conference with Mirabell.

  By PanEris using Melati.

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