Luc. And yet, poor woman, she has gone through the whole ceremony, and here I stand a melancholy proof of it. [Aside.
Mrs. Seal. We will talk then of business. That girl walking about the room there is to be your wife. She has, I confess, no ideas, no sentiments, that speak her born of a thinking mother.
Cimb. I have observed her; her lively look, free air, and disengaged countenance speak her very——
Luc. Very what?
Cimb. If you please, madam—to set her a little that way.
Mrs. Seal. Lucinda, say nothing to him, you are not a match for him; when you are married, you may speak to such a husband when you're spoken to. But I am disposing of you above yourself every way.
Cimb. Madam, you cannot but observe the inconveniences I expose myself to, in hopes that your ladyship will be the consort of my better part. As for the young woman, she is rather an impediment than a help to a man of letters and speculation. Madam, there is no reflection, no philosophy, can at all times subdue the sensitive life, but the animal shall sometimes carry away the man. Ha! ay, the vermilion of her lips.
Luc. Pray, don't talk of me thus.
Cimb. The pretty enough—pant of her bosom.
Luc. Sir! madam, don't you hear him?