L. Flip. I'll warrant you then I will not fail:—for 'tis more than time I were sped.
Mrs. Joyn. Mr. Dapperwit has not been too busy with you, I hope?—Your experience has taught you to prevent a mischance.
L. Flip. No, no, my mischance (as you call it) is greater than that. I have but three months to reckon, ere I lie down with my port and equipage, and must be delivered of a woman, a footman, and a coachman:—for my coach must down, unless I can get Sir Simon to draw with me.
Mrs. Joyn. He will pair with you exactly if you knew all. [Aside.
L. Flip. Ah, Mrs. Joyner, nothing grieves me like the putting down my coach! For the fine clothes, the fine lodgings,—let 'em go; for a lodging is as unnecessary a thing to a widow that has a coach, as a hat to a man that has a good peruke. For, as you see about town, she is most properly at home in her coach:—she eats, and drinks, and sleeps in her coach; and for her visits, she receives them in the playhouse.
Mrs. Joyn. Ay, ay, let the men keep lodgings, as you say, madam, if they will.
Enter behind, at one door, Gripe and Sir Simon Addleplot, the latter in the dress of a Clerk; at the other, Mrs. Martha.
L. Flip. Do you think if things had been with me as they have been, I would ever have housed with this counter-fashion brother of mine, (who hates a vest as much as a surplice,) to have my patches assaulted every day at dinner, my freedom censured, and my visitants shut out of doors?—Poor Mr. Dapperwit cannot be admitted.
Mrs. Joyn. He knows him too well to keep his acquaintance.
L. Flip. He is a censorious rigid fop, and knows nothing.