Lady Betty. And mon cher Cavalier, you are come most à propos to decide a dispute between Miss Harriet and me. Is it not true what Molière says, there is no happiness out of Paris?
Jack. Madam, hors de Paris, il n'y a pas de salut. The French to be sure, are the dearest creatures in the World. Under an absolute Monarch, you'll see them dance, and sing, and laugh, and ogle, and dress, and display their pretty little small talk—while an English John Trott, with his head full of Politics, shall knit his brow, and grumble, and plod, unhappy and discontented amidst all his boasted Liberty and Pudding.
Lady Betty. Then the French Ladies, what lives they lead! The Husband makes it the Business of his life to ruin himself for his Wife's diversions. They keep separate chariots as well as separate Beds. She is sure to have the handsomest fellows for her Laqueys—they are all sur le bon Ton. And then the pleasures of the agreeable Billet-doux, and dear enchanting Quadrille.
Jack. Oh my Lady Betty! The Joys of a life of Play are inexpressible—it leads a Person into the politest company, actuates the Spirits with the sweetest Vicissitudes of Passions—hope and fear, Pleasure and Anxiety, running an eternal Round.
Lady Betty. There Madamoiselle Harriet, there's a life for you, but dear Heart, I must run away, this is Opera Night.
Harriet. Is your Ladyship very fond of Operas?
Lady Betty. Do you think Ma'am, I am like your English people of Quality, that go only because everybody goes—I'm a very Lady Townly for Operas—I expire at an Opera! Oh that enchanting air. (Sings)
Harriet. Don't you think a good Play has something more rational and more natural than an Opera?
Lady Betty. I detest Plays—but I shall go to the first good Play that's acted—my Lady Tattleaid and I have made a Party to go and talk at the first good Play. But mon cher Cavalier, what do you think? When I arriv'd on this Island, I expected to hear of nothing but politics, and Crown Point and Scalping, but I find all the People of Fashion's thoughts are taken up about another thing—they're all in an uproar about an Opera-singer's sore Throat—some say there was a sore throat—others say there was not a sore throat. You know Lord Maggoti, he spoke to me the other night, to be of his Party for the Sore Throat. I have not taken my Party yet, tho' I believe I shall be for the Sore Throat; but I must be gone.
Harriet. Had not your Ladyship better spend the Evening with us?