Mrs. Seal. Oh, child! hear him, he talks finely; he's a scholar, he knows what you have.
Cimb. The speaking invitation of her shape, the gathering of herself up, and the indignation you see in the pretty little thing—Now, I am considering her, on this occasion, but as one that is to be pregnant.
Luc. The familiar, learned, unseasonable puppy! [Aside.
Cimb. And pregnant undoubtedly she will be yearly. I fear I shan't, for many years, have discretion enough to give her one fallow season.
Luc. Monster! there's no bearing it. The hideous sot! there's no enduring it, to be thus surveyed like a steed at sale.
Cimb. At sale! She's very illiterate—But she's very well limbed too; turn her in; I see what she is. [Exit Lucinda, in a rage.
Mrs. Seal. Go, you creature, I am ashamed of you.
Cimb. No harm done—you know, madam, the better sort of people, as I observed to you, treat by their lawyers of weddings [Adjusting himself at the glass.]—and the woman in the bargain, like the mansion house in the sale of the estate, is thrown in, and what that is, whether good or bad, is not at all considered.
Mrs. Seal. I grant it; and therefore make no demand for her youth and beauty, and every other accomplishment, as the common world think 'em, because she is not polite.