Mrs. Joyn. Then your frequent and public detestation of marriage is thought real; and if you have had no offer, there's the thing, madam.
L. Flip. I cannot deny but I always rail against marriage;—which is the widow's way to it certainly.
Mrs. Joyn. 'Tis the desperate way of the desperate widows, in truly.
L. Flip. Would you have us as tractable as the wenches that eat oatmeal, and fooled like them too?
Mrs Joyn. If nobody were wiser than I, I should think, since the widow wants the natural allurement which the virgin has, you ought to give men all other encouragements, in truly.
L. Flip. Therefore, on the contrary, because the widow's fortune (whether supposed or real) is her chiefest bait, the more chary she seems of it, and the more she withdraws it, the more eagerly the busy gaping fry will bite. With us widows, husbands are got like bishoprics, by saying "No:" and I tell you, a young heir is as shy of a widow as of a rook, to my knowledge.
Mrs. Joyn. I can allege nothing against your practice—but your ill success; and indeed you must use another method with Sir Simon Addleplot.
L. Flip. Will he be at your house at the hour?
Mrs. Joyn. He'll be there by ten:—'tis now nine. I'll warrant you he will not fail.