MRS. FRAIL. Ah devil, sly devil. He’s as close, sister, as a confessor. He thinks we don’t observe him.
MRS. FORE. A cunning cur, how soon he could find out a fresh, harmless creature; and left us, sister, presently.
TATT. Upon reputation
MRS. FORE. They’re all so, sister, these men. They love to have the spoiling of a young thing, they are as fond of it, as of being first in the fashion, or of seeing a new play the first day. I warrant it would break Mr. Tattle’s heart to think that anybody else should be beforehand with him.
TATT. O Lord, I swear I would not for the world—
MRS. FRAIL. O hang you; who’ll believe you? You’d be hanged before you’d confess. We know you—she’s very pretty! Lord, what pure red and white!—she looks so wholesome; ne’er stir: I don’t know, but I fancy, if I were a man—
MISS. How you love to jeer one, cousin.
MRS. FORE. Hark’ee, sister, by my soul the girl is spoiled already. D’ee think she’ll ever endure a great lubberly tarpaulin? Gad, I warrant you she won’t let him come near her after Mr. Tattle.
MRS. FRAIL. O my soul, I’m afraid not—eh!—filthy creature, that smells all of pitch and tar. Devil take you, you confounded toad—why did you see her before she was married?
MRS. FORE. Nay, why did we let him—my husband will hang us. He’ll think we brought ’em acquainted.