Mari. What is it? something pleasant I hope.
Lady. No, you shall retire to a convent, till you take possession of your fortune.
Mari. A convent! Oh lord! I can't make up my mind to it, now don't, pray don't think of it—I declare it's quite shocking.
Lady. It is a far better place than you deserve; my resolution is fixed, and we shall see whether a life of solitude and austerity will not awaken some sense of shame in you.
Mari. Indeed, I can't bear the thoughts of it.—Oh do speak to her, Mr Vapid—tell her about the nasty monks, now do,—a convent! mercy! what a check to the passions! Oh! I can't bear it.
[Weeping.
Vapid. Gad, here's a sudden touch of tragedy—pray, Lady Waitfor't, reflect—you can't send a lady to a convent when the theatres are open.
Mari. It will be the death of me! pray, my dear aunt——
Lady. Not a word—I am determined—to-morrow you shall leave this country, and then I have done with you for ever.
Mari. Oh! my poor heart! Oh, oh!