Sylv. So far from it, that I protest eternally against the whole sex.
L. Dunce. That time will best demonstrate; in the mean while to our business.
Sylv. As how, madam?
L. Dunce. To-night must I see Beaugard; they are this minute at dinner in the Haymarket; now to make my evil genius, that haunts me everywhere, my thing called a husband, himself to assist his poor wife at a dead lift, I think would not be unpleasant.
Sylv. But 'twill be impossible.
L. Dunce. I am apt to be persuaded rather very easy. You know our good and friendly neighbour, Sir Jolly.
Sylv. Out on him, beast! he's always talking filthily to a body; if he sits but at the table with one, he'll be making nasty figures in the napkins.
L. Dunce. He and my sweet yoke-fellow are the most intimate friends in the world; so that partly out of neighbourly kindness, as well as the great delight he takes to be meddling in matters of this nature, with a great deal of pains and industry he has procured me Beaugard's picture, and given him to understand how well a friend of his in petticoats, called myself, wishes him.
Sylv. But what's all this to the making the husband instrumental? for I must confess, of all creatures, a husband's the thing that's odious to me.
L. Dunce. That must be done this night: I'll instantly to my chamber, take my bed in a pet, and send for Sir Davy.