Mrs. Sul. Pray, sir, what head is that in the corner, there?
Arch. O, madam, 'tis poor Ovid in his exile.
Mrs. Sul. What was he banished for?
Arch. His ambitious love, madam. [Bowing.] His misfortune touches me.
Mrs. Sul. Was he successful in his amours?
Arch. There he has left us in the dark—He was too much a gentleman to tell.
Mrs. Sul. If he were secret, I pity him.
Arch. And if he were successful I envy him.
Mrs. Sul. How d'ye like that Venus over the chimney?
Arch. Venus! I protest, madam, I took it for your picture: but now I look again, 'tis not handsome enough.