Mrs. Cros. Will he relieve all our necessities?
Mrs. Joyn. All.
Mrs. Cros. Mine, as well as my daughter's?
Mrs. Joyn. Yes.
Mrs. Cros. Well fare his heart!—D'ye hear, daughter, Mrs. Joyner has satisfied me clearly; Dapperwit is a vile fellow, and, in short, you must put an end to that scandalous familiarity between you.
Lucy. Leave sweet Mr. Dapperwit!—oh furious ingratitude! Was he not the man that gave me my first Farrendon[37] gown, put me out of worsted stockings and handkerchiefs, taught me to dress, talk, and move well?
Mrs. Cros. He has taught you to talk indeed; but, huswife, I will not have my pleasure disputed.
Mrs. Joyn. Nay, indeed, you are too tart with her, poor sweet soul.
Lucy. He taught me to rehearse, too,—would have brought me into the playhouse, where I might have had as good luck as others: I might have had good clothes, plate, jewels, and things so well about me, that my neighbours, the little gentlemen's wives of fifteen hundred or two thousand pounds a year, should have retired into the country, sick with envy of my prosperity and greatness.