MISS. What must I call you then, are you not my father’s wife?
MRS. FORE. Madam; you must say madam. By my soul, I shall fancy myself old indeed to have this great girl call me mother. Well, but Miss, what are you so overjoyed at?
MISS. Look you here, madam, then, what Mr. Tattle has given me. Look you here, cousin, here’s a snuff-box; nay, there’s snuff in’t. Here, will you have any? Oh, good! How sweet it is. Mr. Tattle is all over sweet, his peruke is sweet, and his gloves are sweet, and his handkerchief is sweet, pure sweet, sweeter than roses. Smell him, mother—madam, I mean. He gave me this ring for a kiss.
TATT. O fie, Miss, you must not kiss and tell.
MISS. Yes; I may tell my mother. And he says he’ll give me something to make me smell so. Oh, pray lend me your handkerchief. Smell, cousin; he says he’ll give me something that will make my smocks smell this way. Is not it pure? It’s better than lavender, mun. I’m resolved I won’t let nurse put any more lavender among my smocks—ha, cousin?
MRS. FRAIL. Fie, Miss; amongst your linen, you must say. You must never say smock.
MISS. Why, it is not bawdy, is it, cousin?
TATT. Oh, madam; you are too severe upon Miss; you must not find fault with her pretty simplicity: it becomes her strangely. Pretty Miss, don’t let ’em persuade you out of your innocency.
MRS. FORE. Oh, demm you toad. I wish you don’t persuade her out of her innocency.
TATT. Who, I, madam? O Lord, how can your ladyship have such a thought? Sure, you don’t know me.