[Exeunt severally.
The SCENE opens to a dressing room. Lady Townly, as just up, walks to her toilet, leaning on Mrs. Trusty.
Trusty. Dear Madam, what should make your Ladyship so out of order!
Lady Town. How is it possible to be well, where one is kill'd for want of sleep?
Trusty. Dear me! it was so long before you rung, Madam, I was in hopes your Ladyship had been finely compos'd.
Lady Town. Compos'd! why I have laid in an inn here! this house is worse than an inn with ten stage-coaches! What between my lord's impertinent people of business in a morning, and the intolerable thick shoes of footmen at noon, one has not a wink all night.
Trusty. Indeed, Madam, it's a great pity my Lord can't be persuaded into the hours of people of quality——Though I must say that, Madam, your Ladyship is certainly the best matrimonial manager in town.
Lady Town. Oh! you are quite mistaken, Trusty! I manage very ill! for notwithstanding all the power I have, by never being over-fond of my lord——yet I want money infinitely oftener than he is willing to give it me.
Trusty. Ah, if his lordship could but be brought to play himself, Madam, then he might feel what it is to want money.