Wor. My rival, in the first place, and the most unaccountable fellow—but I'll tell you more as we go.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
An Apartment.
Melinda and Sylvia meeting.
Mel. Welcome to town, cousin Sylvia. [Salute.] I envied you your retreat in the country; for Shrewsbury, methinks, and all your heads of shires, are the most irregular places for living: here we have smoke, scandal, affectation, and pretension; in short, every thing to give the spleen—and nothing to divert it—then the air is intolerable.
Syl. Oh, madam! I have heard the town commended for its air.
Mel. But you don't consider, Sylvia, how long I have lived in it; for I can assure you that to a lady the least nice in her constitution—no air can be good above half a year. Change of air I take to be the most agreeable of any variety in life.
Syl. As you say, cousin Melinda, there are several sorts of airs.
Mel. Psha! I talk only of the air we breathe, or more properly of that we taste—Have not you, Sylvia, found a vast difference in the taste of airs?