_A Crab-fish once her Daughter told, (In Terms that savour'd much of Scold) She cou'd not bear to see her go Sidle, sidle, to and fro: The Devil's in the Wench, quoth she, When so much Money has been paid To polish you like me, It makes me almost mad to see Y'are still so awkward, an ungainly Jade. Her Daughter smil'd, and look'd a-skew; } She answer'd (for to give her her due) } Pertly, as most Folks Daughters do: } Madam, your Ladyship, quoth she, Is pleas'd to blame in me What, on Enquiry, you may find, Admits a passable Excuse, From a Proverb much in use, ~That Cat will after kind~._ _Amin._ Sir, I took you to be a Man better bred, than to liken a Lady to a Crab-fish. _Esop._ What I want in Good-breeding, Lady, I have in Truth and Honesty: As what you have wanted in Virtue, you have had in a good Face. _Amin._ Have had, Sir! What I have had, I have still; and shall have a great while, I hope. I'm no Grandmother, Sir. _Esop._ But in a fair way for't, Madam. _Amin._ Thanks to my Daughter's Forwardness then, not my Years. I'd have you to know, Sir, I have never a Wrinkle in my Face. A young pert Slut! Who'd think she shou'd know so much at her Age? _Esop._ Good Masters make quick Scholars, Lady; she has learn'd her Exercise from you. _Amin._ But where's the Remedy, Sir? _Esop._ In trying if a good Example will reclaim her, as an ill one has debauch'd her. Live private, and avoid Scandal. _Amin._ Never speak it; I can no more retire, than I can go to Church twice on a Sunday. _Esop._ What, your youthful Blood boils in your Veins, I'll warrant? _Amin._ I have Warmth enough to endure the Air, old Gentleman. I need not shut myself up in a House these twenty Years. _Esop._ [_Aside._] She takes a long Lease of Lewdness: She'll be an admirable Tenant to Lust. _Amin._ [_Walking hastily to and fro._] People think when a Woman is turn'd Forty, she's old enough to turn out of the World: But I say, when a Woman is turn'd Forty, she's old enough to have more Wit. The most can be said is, her Face is the worse for wearing: I'll answer for all the rest of her Fabrick. The Men wou'd be to be pity'd, by my troth, wou'd they, if we shou'd quit the Stage, and leave 'em nothing but a parcel of young pert Sluts, that neither know how to speak Sense, nor keep themselves clean. But, don't let 'em fear, we a'n't going yet----[_~Esop~ stares upon her, and as she turns from him, runs off the Stage._] How now! What left alone! An unmannerly Piece of Deformity! Methinks he might have had Sense enough to have made Love to me. But I have found Men strangely dull for the last ten or twelve Years: Sure they'll mend in Time, or the World won't be worth living in. _For let Philosophers say all they can, The Source of Women's Joys is plac'd in Man._