L’Ec. Oh! no, I never speak ill of the dead.
Ros. Why, you vile insinuating, but I shall preserve my temper though you have lost your manners: well, assuredly of all objects in creation, the most pitiable is a man in liquor.
L’Ec. There’s an exception—a man in love.
[DUETT.—Rosabelle and L’Eclair.]
Ros. The precept of Bacchus to man proves a curse,
The head it confounds, and the heart it bewitches.
L’Ec. I’m sure, the example of Cupid is worse,
For he walks abroad without shirt, drawers, or breeches.
Ros. Pshaw! Cupid, you dolt, has rich garments enough.
L’Ec. Nay, his wardrobe’s confin’d to a plain suit of buff.