Harriet. If you desire amusement, what so likely to beguile the heavy hours as Comedy? If your spirits are depress'd, what so replete with that which can revive them as the laughter-loving Thalia? If the foibles and vices of human nature ought to suffer correction, in what way can they be satiriz'd so happily and successfully as on the stage;—or if elegance of language, and refinement of sentiment——
Maria. Humph—there's sentiment again.
Harriet. You dislike every good thing I have mentioned this morning, Maria,—except one.
Maria. What's that, my dear?
Harriet. Mr. Frankton.
Maria. Ha, ha. Why, to be sure, the good things of this life are not to be despis'd, and men are not the worst creatures belonging to this life, nor Mr. Frankton the worst of men, but—apropos, about plays—did you observe how much I was affected the other night at the tragedy of Zara?
Harriet. I really did not—I wish I had seen such a pleasing proof of your sensibility.
Maria. Oh, you cruel creature!—wish to see your friend in tears?
Harriet. 'Tis rather unusual to see a lady of your taste and spirit, either weep at a pathetic incident in tragedy, or laugh at a comic scene; and as for the gentlemen, your lads of spirit, such as are falsely called ladies' men, they are not so masculine as to understand, and, therefore, not so effeminate as to weep; tho' one would conclude, from their effeminacy in appearance and behaviour, that they would cry if you were to look at them.
Maria. To be sure, a little matter will draw tears from the feminine part of mankind.