Mrs. Pinch. Nay, I confess I was quiet enough till my husband told me what pure lives the London ladies live abroad, with their dancing, meetings, and junketings, and dressed every day in their best gowns; and I warrant you, play at nine-pins every day of the week, so they do.
Enter Pinchwife.
Pinch. Come, what's here to do? you are putting the town-pleasures in her head, and setting her a-longing.
Alith. Yes, after nine-pins. You suffer none to give her those longings you mean but yourself.
Pinch. I tell her of the vanities of the town like a confessor.
Alith. A confessor! just such a confessor as he that, by forbidding a silly ostler to grease the horse's teeth, taught him to do't.
Pinch. Come, Mrs. Flippant, good precepts are lost when bad examples are still before us: the liberty you take abroad makes her hanker after it, and out of humour at home. Poor wretch! she desired not to come to London; I would bring her.
Alith. Very well.
Pinch. She has been this week in town, and never desired till this afternoon to go abroad.