_Lady Fan._ You grow rude, Sir. Come, _Madamoiselle_, 'tis high time to be gone. Madam. _Allons, allons, allons._ _Heart._ [_Stopping them._] Nay, you may as well stand still; for hear me you shall, walk which way you please. _Lady Fan._ What mean you, Sir? _Heart._ I mean to tell you, that you are the most ungrateful Woman upon Earth. _Lady Fan._ Ungrateful! To whom? _Heart._ To Nature. _Lady Fan._ Why, what has Nature done for me? _Heart._ What you have undone by Art! It made you handsome; it gave you Beauty to a Miracle, a Shape without a Fault, Wit enough to make them relish, and so turn'd you loose to your own Discretion; which has made such work with you, that you are become the Pity of our Sex, and the Jest of your own. There is not a Feature in your Face, but you have found the way to teach it some affected Convulsion; your Feet, your Hands, your very Fingers Ends are directed never to move without some ridiculous Air or other; and your Language is a suitable Trumpet, to draw people's Eyes upon the Raree-show. _Madam._ [aside] _Est ce qu'on fait l'amour en Angleterre comme ça?_ _Lady Fan._ [_Aside._] Now cou'd I cry for Madness, but that I know he'd laugh at me for it. _Heart._ Now do you hate me for telling you the Truth, but that's because you don't believe it is so; for were you once convinc'd of that, you'd reform for your own sake. But 'tis as hard to persuade a Woman to quit any thing that makes her ridiculous, as 'tis to prevail with a Poet to see a Fault in his own Play. _Lady Fan._ Every Circumstance of nice Breeding must needs appear ridiculous to one who has so natural an Antipathy to Good-manners. _Heart._ But suppose I could find the means to convince you, that the whole World is of my Opinion, and that those who flatter and commend you, do it to no other Intent, but to make you persevere in your Folly, that they may continue in their Mirth. _Lady Fan._ Sir, tho' you and all that World you talk of shou'd be so impertinently officious, as to think to persuade me I don't know how to behave myself; I shou'd still have Charity enough for my own Understanding, to believe myself in the right, and all you in the wrong. Madam. _Le voila mort._ [_Exeunt Lady ~Fancyfull~ and ~Madamoiselle~._ _Heart._ [_Gazing after her._] There her single Clapper has publish'd the Sense of the whole Sex. Well, this once I have endeavour'd to wash the Blackamoor white, but henceforward I'll sooner undertake to teach Sincerity to a Courtier, Generosity to an Usurer, Honesty to a Lawyer, nay, Humility to a Divine, than Discretion to a Woman I see has once set her Heart upon playing the Fool. _Enter ~Constant~._ 'Morrow, _Constant_. _Const._ Good-morrow, _Jack_! What are you doing here this Morning? _Heart._ Doing! Guess, if thou canst.----Why I have been endeavouring to persuade my Lady _Fancyfull_, that she's the foolishest Woman about Town. _Const._ A pretty Endeavour, truly!