Enter Widow.
Wid. Ladies, your servant. I fear I interrupt you; have you company? Lady Harriot, your servant; Lady Sharlot, your servant. What, not a word? Oh, I beg your ladyship's pardon. Lady Sharlot, did I say? My young Lady Brumpton, I wish you joy.
L. Sh. Oh, your servant, Lady Dowager Brumpton. That's an appellation of much more joy to you.
Wid. So smart, madam! but you should, methinks, have made one acquainted—Yet, madam, your conduct is seen through.
L. Sh. My conduct, Lady Brumpton!
Wid. Your conduct, Lady Sharlot! [Coming up to each other.
L. Sh. Madam, 'tis you are seen through all your thin disguises.
Wid. I seen? By whom?
L. Sh. By an all-piercing eye, nay, by what you much more fear, the eye of the world. The world sees you, or shall see you. It shall know your secret intemperance, your public fasting—Loose poems in your closet, an homily on your toilet—Your easy, skilful, practised hypocrisy, by which you wrought upon your husband, basely to transfer the trust and ward of us, two helpless virgins, into the hands and care of—I cannot name it. You're a wicked woman.