Gripe. Politicly done of him indeed! If the truth were known, he is a statesman by that, umph—
Mrs. Cros. Truly, your women of quality are very troublesome to their husbands: I have heard 'em complain, they will allow them no separate maintenance, though the honourable jilts themselves will not marry without it.
Mrs. Joyn. Come, come, mistress; sometimes 'tis the craft of those gentlemen to complain of their wives' expenses to excuse their own narrowness to their misses; but your daughter has a gallant that can make no excuse.
Gripe. So, Mrs. Joyner!—my friend, Mrs. Joyner—
Mrs. Cros. I hope, indeed, he'll give my daughter no cause to dun him; for, poor wretch! she is as modest as her mother.
Gripe. I profess, I believe it.
Lucy. But I have the boldness to ask him for a treat.—Come, gallant, we must walk towards the Mulberry-garden.
Gripe. So!—I am afraid, little mistress, the rooms are all taken up by this time.
Mrs. Joyn. Will you shame yourself again? [Aside to Gripe.
Lucy. If the rooms be full we'll have an arbour.