Lady Brute. We are as wicked, Child, but our Vice lies another way: Men have more Courage than we, so they commit more bold, impudent Sins. They quarrel, fight, swear, drink, blaspheme, and the like: Whereas we, being Cowards, only backbite, tell Lyes, cheat at Cards, and so forth. But 'tis late: Let's end our Discourse for to-night, and, out of an excess of Charity, take a small Care of that nasty, drunken Thing there——Do but look at him, Belinda!
Bel. Ah——'tis a savoury Dish.
Lady Brute. As savoury as 'tis, I'm cloy'd with't. Pr'ythee call the Butler to take it away.
Bel. Call the Butler!—--Call the Scavenger! [To a Servant within.] Who's there? Call Rasor! Let him take away his Master, scour him clean with a little Sope and Sand, and so put him to Bed.
Lady Brute. Come, Belinda, I'll e'en lie with you to-night; and in the Morning we'll send for our Gentlemen to set this Matter even.
Bel. With all my Heart.
Lady Brute. Good Night, my Dear.
[Making a low Curtsy to Sir John.
[Both.] Ha, ha, ha!
[Exeunt.