_Bet._ But I swear, were I to have my will, you should be always angry at me. It gives your ladyship such a pretty fierceness, and quick spirit to your features--not that you want it--yet it adds---- _Vict._ There are some people very unhappily pretend to fire and life; there's poor, stupid, insipid Lady Fad, has heard of the word spleen, and distaste, and sets up for being out of humour, with that unmeaning face of hers. _Bet._ You're in a fine humour, madam. _Vict._ Her ladyship's physician prescribed anger to her; upon which she comes in public with her eyes staringly open. This she designs for vivacity, and gapes about like a wandering country lady. She pretends to be a remarker, and looks at everybody; but, alas, she wants it here, and knows not that to see, is no more to look, than to go is to walk. For you must know, Betty, every child can see, but 'tis an observing creature that can look; as every pretty girl can go, but 'tis a fine woman that walks. _Both._ Ha! ha! ha! _Vict._ But, by the way, there's Mrs. Penelope, methinks, does neither; I have a kindness for her, but she has no gesture in the least. My dear---- _Enter_ PENELOPE. _Pen._ Well, my dear---- _Bet._ How civilly people of quality hate one another. [_Aside._ _Pen._ Well, my dear, were not you strangely surprised to see that this young Bookwit should be the soldier we met this morning? _Vict._ The confident lying creature! Indeed, I wondered you'd suffer him to entertain you so long. _Pen._ You must know, madam, he's married too at Oxford. _Vict._ The ugly wretch! I think him downright disagreeable.--But perhaps this is a fetch of hers; he had no married look. [_Aside._ _Pen._ Yet I am resolved to go to your assignation, if it be but to confront the coxcomb, and laugh at his lie. Such fellows should be made to know themselves, and that they're understood. _Vict._ I'll wait upon you, my dear.--She's very prettily dressed. [_Aside._]--But indeed, my dear, you shan't go with your hood so; it makes you look abominably, with your head so forward. There--[_Displacing her head_]; that's something. You had a fearful, silly blushing look; now you command all hearts. _Pen._ Thank you, my dear. _Vict._ Your servant, dearest. _Pen._ But alas, madam, who patched you to-day? Let me see. It is the hardest thing in dress--I may say, without vanity, I know a little of it. That so low on the cheek pulps the flesh too much. Hold still, my dear, I'll place it just by your eye.--Now she downright squints. [_Aside._ _Vict._ There's nothing like a sincere friend, for one is not a judge of one's self. I have a patch-box about me. Hold, my dear, that gives you a sedate air, that large one near your temples. _Pen._ People, perhaps, don't mind these things. But if it be true, as the poet finely sings, that "all the passions in the features are," we may show or hide 'em, as we know how to affix these pretty artificial moles---- _Vict._ And so catch lovers, and puzzle physiognomy.