FAIN. Petulant and you both will find Mirabell as warm a rival as a lover.
WIT. Pshaw, pshaw, that she laughs at Petulant is plain. And for my part, but that it is almost a fashion to admire her, I should-- harkee--to tell you a secret, but let it go no further between friends, I shall never break my heart for her.
FAIN. How?
WIT. She's handsome; but she's a sort of an uncertain woman. FAIN. I thought you had died for her.
WIT. Umh--no -
FAIN. She has wit. WIT. 'Tis what she will hardly allow anybody else. Now, demme, I should hate that, if she were as handsome as Cleopatra. Mirabell is not so sure of her as he thinks for.
FAIN. Why do you think so?
WIT. We stayed pretty late there last night, and heard something of an uncle to Mirabell, who is lately come to town, and is between him and the best part of his estate. Mirabell and he are at some distance, as my Lady Wishfort has been told; and you know she hates Mirabell worse than a quaker hates a parrot, or than a fishmonger hates a hard frost. Whether this uncle has seen Mrs. Millamant or not, I cannot say; but there were items of such a treaty being in embryo; and if it should come to life, poor Mirabell would be in some sort unfortunately fobbed, i'faith.
FAIN. 'Tis impossible Millamant should hearken to it.
WIT. Faith, my dear, I can't tell; she's a woman and a kind of a humorist.
MIRA. And this is the sum of what you could collect last night?
PET. The quintessence. Maybe Witwoud knows more; he stayed longer. Besides, they never mind him; they say anything before him.
MIRA. I thought you had been the greatest favourite.
PET. Ay, tete-e-tete; but not in public, because I make remarks. MIRA. You do?
PET. Ay, ay, pox, I'm malicious, man. Now he's soft, you know, they are not in awe of him. The fellow's well bred, he's what you call a--what d'ye-call-'em--a fine gentleman, but he's silly withal.
MIRA. I thank you, I know as much as my curiosity requires. Fainall, are you for the Mall?
FAIN. Ay, I'll take a turn before dinner.
WIT. Ay, we'll all walk in the park; the ladies talked of being there. MIRA. I thought you were obliged to watch for your brother SirWilfull's arrival.
WIT. No, no, he comes to his aunt's, my Lady Wishfort; pox on him, I shall be troubled with him too; what shall I do with the fool?
PET. Beg him for his estate, that I may beg you afterwards, and so have but one trouble with you both.
WIT. O rare Petulant, thou art as quick as fire in a frosty morning; thou shalt to the Mall with us, and we'll be very severe.
PET. Enough; I'm in a humour to be severe.
MIRA. Are you? Pray then walk by yourselves. Let not us be accessory to your putting the ladies out of countenance with your senseless ribaldry, which you roar out aloud as often as they pass by you, and when you have made a handsome woman blush, then you think you have been severe.
PET. What, what? Then let 'em either show their innocence by not understanding what they hear, or else show their discretion by not hearing what they would not be thought to understand.
MIRA. But hast not thou then sense enough to know that thou ought'st to be most ashamed thyself when thou hast put another out of countenance?
PET. Not I, by this hand: I always take blushing either for a sign of guilt or ill-breeding.
MIRA. I confess you ought to think so. You are in the right, that you may plead the error of your judgment in defence of your practice.
Where modesty's ill manners, 'tis but fit That impudence and malice pass for wit.
