Hip. Alas, alas, poor Prue! your stomach lies another way: I will take pity of you, and get me a husband very suddenly, who may have a servant at your service. But rather than marry my cousin, I will be a nun in the new protestant nunnery they talk of; where, they say, there will be no hopes of coming near a man.
Prue. But you can marry nobody but your cousin, miss: your father you expect to-night; and be certain his Spanish policy and wariness, which has kept you up so close ever since you came from Hackney school, will make sure of you within a day or two at farthest.
Hip. Then 'tis time to think how to prevent him—stay—
Prue. In vain, vain, miss!
Hip. If we knew but any man, any man, though he were but a little handsomer than the devil, so that he were a gentleman!
Prue. What if you did know any man? if you had an opportunity, could you have confidence to speak to a man first? but if you could, how could you come to him, or he to you? nay, how could you send to him? for though you could write, which your father in his Spanish prudence would never permit you to learn, who should carry the letter?—But we need not be concerned for that, since we know not to whom to send it.
Hip. Stay—it must be so—I'll try however—
Enter Monsieur de Paris.
Mons. Serviteur! serviteur! la cousine; I come to give the bon soir, as the French say.