L. Kno. O, Faugh, Mr. Fancy, what have you said, Mother Tongue! Can any thing that’s great or moving be express’d in filthy English?—I’ll give you an Energetical proof, Mr. Fancy; observe but divine Homer in the Grecian Language—[Ton d’ apamibominous prosiphe podas ochus Achilleus!] Ah how it sounds! which English’t dwindles into the most grating stuff:—Then the swift-foot Achilles made reply: oh, faugh.
Lucr. So now my Mother’s in her right Sphere.
L. Kno. Come, Mr. Fancy, we’ll pursue our first design of retiring into my Cabinet, and reading a leaf or two in Martial; I am a little dull, and wou’d fain laugh.
Lean. Methinks, Madam, Discourse were much better with these young Ladies. Dear Lucretia, find some way to release me. Aside.
L. Kno. Oh, how I hate the impertinence of Women, who for the generality have no other knowledge than that of dressing; I am uneasy with the unthinking Creatures.
Lucr. Indeed ’tis much better to be entertaining a young Lover alone; but I’ll prevent her, if possible. Aside.
L. Kno. No, I am for the substantial pleasure of an Author. Philosophemur! is my Motto,—I’m strangely fond of you, Mr. Fancy, for being a Scholar.
Lean. Who, Madam, I a Scholar? the greatest Dunce in Nature—Malicious Creatures, will you leave me to her mercy? To them aside.
Lucr. Prithee assist him in his misery, for I am [Mudd], and can do nothing towards it. Aside.
Isab. Who, my Cousin Leander a Scholar, Madam?