Cantwell. Oh shocking!—"as barren of anything new."—What an odious expression!—The most vulgarest comparison in nature.
Herald. Umph.—I suppose, if Mr. Gracely was here, you would not be so much in the dumps.
Cantwell. Ah, Miss Herald!—If you felt the corruptions of your wicked heart, you would be in the dumps too, as you call it.
[Sighs.
Herald. I believe there is a certain corruption in your heart, which our sex are apt to feel very sensibly, and that is the want of a husband.
Cantwell. The want of a husband!—I vow, you are monstrous indelicate, Miss Herald; I am afraid you are wandering from the paths of vartue, as dear good Mr. Gracely says.
Herald. There comes his very reverse,—Mr. Worthnought.
Cantwell. Ah, he is a profane rake; he is lighter than vanity, as Mr. Gracely says;—a mere painted sepulchre.
Herald. That ancient sepulchre of yours is pretty much daub'd, I think.
[Aside.