Flip. In love?
Clar. With Araminta.
Flip. Impossible!
Clar. This letter from her, is to give me an account of it.
Flip. Methinks you are not very much alarm'd.
Clar. No; thou know'st I'm not much tortur'd with jealousy.
Flip. Nay, you are much in the right on't, Madam, for jealousy's a city passion, 'tis a thing unknown amongst people of quality.
Clar. Fy! A woman must indeed be of a mechanick mould, who is either troubled or pleas'd with any thing her husband can do to her. Pr'ythee mention him no more; 'tis the dullest theme.
Flip. 'Tis splenetick indeed. But when once you open your basset table, I hope that will put him out of your head.