Verses on Mrs. Susanna Townley, in the front box dress'd in green.
In you the beauties of the spring are seen,
Your cheeks are roses, and your dress is green.
A poor dog of a poet! I fear him not.
Enter a ragged fellow with a letter.
Foot. My master is at present under a cloud——He begs you will deliver this letter to your lady.
[Exit.
Foss. [reads] 'I am reduced by your favours to ask the thing I formerly deny'd; that you would entertain me as a husband, who can no longer keep you as a mistress.
'Charles Bat.'
Why did I part with this fellow? This was a proposal indeed, to make both me and himself happy at once! He shall have her, and a twelve-month's fees into the bargain. Where shall I find him?—Why was the mistress of all mankind unknown to thee alone? Why is nature so dark in our greatest concerns? Why are there no external symptoms of defloration, nor any pathognomick of the loss of virginity but a big belly? Why has not lewdness its tokens like the plague? Why must a man know rain by the aking of his corns, and have no prognostick of what is of infinitely greater moment, cuckoldom? Or if there are any marks of chastity, why is the enquiry allowed only to Turks and Jews, and denyed to Christians? O Townley, Townley! once to me the fragrant rose; now aloes, wormwood and snake-root! but I must not be seen.
As Townley and Sarsnet enter, Fossile sneaks off.
Town. Sarsnet, we are betray'd. I have discovered my husband posted at the door in Hugh's livery, he has intercepted all my letters. I immediately writ this, which is the only thing that can bring us off. Run this moment to Plotwell, get him to copy it, and send it directed to me by his own servant with the utmost expedition. He is now at the chocolate-house in the next street.
Sars. I fly, madam; but how will you disengage yourself from the affair with Underplot?