Const. Virtue?—Virtue, alas! is no more like the thing that's call'd so, than 'tis like Vice itself. Virtue consists in Goodness, Honour, Gratitude, Sincerity, and Pity; and not in peevish, snarling, strait-lac'd Chastity. True Virtue, wheresoever it moves, still carries an intrinsick Worth about it, and is in every Place, and in each Sex, of equal Value. So is not Continence, you see: That Phantom of Honour, which Men in every Age have so contemned, they have thrown it amongst the Women to scrabble for.
Lady Brute. If it be a thing of so little Value, why do you so earnestly recommend it to your Wives and Daughters?
Const. We recommend it to our Wives, Madam, because we wou'd keep 'em to ourselves; and to our Daughters, because we wou'd dispose of 'em to others.
Lady Brute. 'Tis then, of some Importance, it seems, since you can't dispose of them without it.
Const. That Importance, Madam, lies in the Humour of the Country, not in the Nature of the Thing.
Lady Brute. How do you prove that, Sir?
Const. From the Wisdom of a neighbouring Nation in a contrary Practice. In Monarchies, things go by Whimsy; but Commonwealths weigh all things in the Scale of Reason.
Lady Brute. I hope we are not so very light a People, to bring up Fashions without some ground.
Const. Pray what does your Ladyship think of a powder'd Coat for deep Mourning?
Lady Brute. I think, Sir, your Sophistry has all the effect that you can reasonably expect it should have; it puzzles, but don't convince.