Enter Lady Frances, Mrs. Racket, and Miss Ogle.
Silv. Yes, Sir, this is to be the first Lot:—the Model of a City, in wax.
2d Gent. The Model of a City! What City?
Silv. That I have not been able to discover; but call it Rome, Pekin, or London, 'tis still a City: you'll find in it the same jarring interests, the same passions, the same virtues, and the same vices, whatever the name.
Gent. You may as well present us a Map of Terra Incognita.
Silv. Oh, pardon me, Sir! a lively imagination would convert this waxen City into an endless and interesting amusement. For instance—look into this little House on the right-hand; there are four old Prudes in it, taking care of their Neighbours Reputations. This elegant Mansion on the left, decorated with Corinthian pillars—who needs be told that it belongs to a Court Lord, and is the habitation of Patriotism, Philosophy, and Virtue? Here's a City Hall—the rich steams that issue from the windows, nourish a neighbouring Work-House. Here's a Church—we'll pass over that, the doors are shut. The Parsonage-house comes next;—we'll take a peep here, however.—Look at the Doctor! he's asleep on a volume of Toland; whilst his Lady is putting on rouge for the Masquerade.—Oh! oh! this can be no English City; our Parsons are all orthodox, and their Wives the daughters of Modesty and Meekness.
Lady Frances and Miss Ogle come forward, followed by Courtall.
Lady Fran. I wish Sir George was here.——This man follows me about, and stares at me in such a way, that I am quite uneasy.
Miss Ogle. He has travell'd, and is heir to an immense estate; so he's impertinent by Patent.
Court. You are very cruel, Ladies. Miss Ogle—you will not let me speak to you. As to this little scornful Beauty, she has frown'd me dead fifty times.