Mrs. Mar. You plead better for him than he could for himself, I believe; for, indeed, they say he is no better than an idiot.
Sir Sim. Then, believe me, madam—for nobody knows him better than I—he has as much wit, courage, and as good a mien to the full, as I have.—He an idiot!
Mrs. Mar. The common gull; so perspicuous a fop, the women find him out:—for none of 'em will marry him.
Sir Sim. You may see, now, how he and you are abused. For that he is not married, is a sign of his wit; and for being perspicuous, 'tis false; he is as mysterious as a new parliament-man, or a young statesman newly taken from a coffee-house or tennis-court.
Mrs. Mar. But is it a sign of his wit because he is not married?
Sir Sim. Yes, yes; your women of the town ravish your fops: there's not one about the town unmarried that has anything.
Mrs. Mar. It may be then he has spent his estate.
Sir Sim. [Aside.] How unluckily guessed!—[Aloud.] If he had, he has a head can retrieve it again.
Mrs. Mar. Besides, they say he has the modish distemper.
Sir Sim. He can cure it with the best French chirurgeon in town.