To neither a Word will I say;
But tol de rol, &c.
Polly. Sure, my Dear, there ought to be some Preference shewn to a Wife! At least she may claim the Appearance of it. He must be distracted with his Misfortunes, or he could not use me thus.
Lucy. O Villain, Villain! thou hast deceiv’d me.—I could even inform against thee with Pleasure. Not a Prude wishes more heartily to have Facts against her intimate Acquaintance, than I now wish to have Facts against thee. I would have her Satisfaction, and they should all out.
[ AIR XXXV. Irish Trot.]
Polly.
I am bubbled.
Lucy.