MRS. FORE. Here ’tis, with all my heart. MRS. FRAIL. Well, as an earnest of friendship and confidence, I’ll acquaint you with a design that I have. To tell truth, and speak openly one to another, I’m afraid the world have observed us more than we have observed one another. You have a rich husband, and are provided for. I am at a loss, and have no great stock either of fortune or reputation, and therefore must look sharply about me. Sir Sampson has a son that is expected to-night, and by the account I have heard of his education, can be no conjurer. The estate you know is to be made over to him. Now if I could wheedle him, sister, ha? You understand me? MRS. FORE. I do, and will help you to the utmost of my power. And I can tell you one thing that falls out luckily enough; my awkward daughter-in-law, who you know is designed to be his wife, is grown fond of Mr. Tattle; now if we can improve that, and make her have an aversion for the booby, it may go a great way towards his liking you. Here they come together; and let us contrive some way or other to leave ’em together. SCENE X. [_To them_] TATTLE _and_ MISS PRUE. MISS. Mother, mother, mother, look you here! MRS. FORE. Fie, fie, Miss, how you bawl! Besides, I have told you, you must not call me mother. MISS. What must I call you then, are you not my father’s wife? MRS. FORE. Madam; you must say madam. By my soul, I shall fancy myself old indeed to have this great girl call me mother. Well, but Miss, what are you so overjoyed at? MISS. Look you here, madam, then, what Mr. Tattle has given me. Look you here, cousin, here’s a snuff-box; nay, there’s snuff in’t. Here, will you have any? Oh, good! How sweet it is. Mr. Tattle is all over sweet, his peruke is sweet, and his gloves are sweet, and his handkerchief is sweet, pure sweet, sweeter than roses. Smell him, mother—madam, I mean. He gave me this ring for a kiss. TATT. O fie, Miss, you must not kiss and tell. MISS. Yes; I may tell my mother. And he says he’ll give me something to make me smell so. Oh, pray lend me your handkerchief. Smell, cousin; he says he’ll give me something that will make my smocks smell this way. Is not it pure? It’s better than lavender, mun. I’m resolved I won’t let nurse put any more lavender among my smocks—ha, cousin? MRS. FRAIL. Fie, Miss; amongst your linen, you must say. You must never say smock. MISS. Why, it is not bawdy, is it, cousin? TATT. Oh, madam; you are too severe upon Miss; you must not find fault with her pretty simplicity: it becomes her strangely. Pretty Miss, don’t let ’em persuade you out of your innocency. MRS. FORE. Oh, demm you toad. I wish you don’t persuade her out of her innocency. TATT. Who, I, madam? O Lord, how can your ladyship have such a thought? Sure, you don’t know me. MRS. FRAIL. Ah devil, sly devil. He’s as close, sister, as a confessor. He thinks we don’t observe him.