Prais. I submit to your Ladyship.

Aw'dw. Madam, shall I crave leave to speak a few Words with you before you go?

Mars. I must gratify you, tho' 'tis to my Prejudice.—My Dear Calista, be pleas'd to take my Chair to the Play-House, and I'll follow you presently.

Calist. I will; but make haste.

Mars. Fear not, yours waits below, I suppose, Sir.

Prais. Yes Madam.

Mars. Pray take Care of the Lady 'till I come.

Prais. Most willingly. [Exit.

Mars. What a ridiculous conceited thing it is!— A witty Woman conceited, looks like a handsome Woman set out with Frippery:

Aw'dw. Railing shou'd be my part: But, Marsilia, I'll give it a genteeler Name, and call it complaining.