_Cim._ Lycurgus, madam, instituted otherwise; among the Lacedæmonians the whole female world was pregnant, but none but the mothers themselves knew by whom; their meetings were secret, and the amorous congress always by stealth; and no such professed doings between the sexes as are tolerated among us under the audacious word, marriage. _Mrs. Seal._ Oh, had I lived in those days and been a matron of Sparta, one might with less indecency have had ten children, according to that modest institution, than one, under the confusion of our modern, barefaced manner. _Luc._ And yet, poor woman, she has gone through the whole ceremony, and here I stand a melancholy proof of it. [_Aside._ _Mrs. Seal._ We will talk then of business. That girl walking about the room there is to be your wife. She has, I confess, no ideas, no sentiments, that speak her born of a thinking mother. _Cimb._ I have observed her; her lively look, free air, and disengaged countenance speak her very---- _Luc._ Very what? _Cimb._ If you please, madam--to set her a little that way. _Mrs. Seal._ Lucinda, say nothing to him, you are not a match for him; when you are married, you may speak to such a husband when you're spoken to. But I am disposing of you above yourself every way. _Cimb._ Madam, you cannot but observe the inconveniences I expose myself to, in hopes that your ladyship will be the consort of my better part. As for the young woman, she is rather an impediment than a help to a man of letters and speculation. Madam, there is no reflection, no philosophy, can at all times subdue the sensitive life, but the animal shall sometimes carry away the man. Ha! ay, the vermilion of her lips. _Luc._ Pray, don't talk of me thus. _Cimb._ The pretty enough--pant of her bosom. _Luc._ Sir! madam, don't you hear him? _Cimb._ Her forward chest. _Luc._ Intolerable! _Cimb._ High health. _Luc._ The grave, easy impudence of him! _Cimb._ Proud heart. _Luc._ Stupid coxcomb! _Cimb._ I say, madam, her impatience, while we are looking at her, throws out all attractions--her arms--her neck--what a spring in her step! _Luc._ Don't you run me over thus, you strange unaccountable! _Cimb._ What an elasticity in her veins and arteries! _Luc._ I have no veins, no arteries. _Mrs. Seal._ Oh, child! hear him, he talks finely; he's a scholar, he knows what you have. _Cimb._ The speaking invitation of her shape, the gathering of herself up, and the indignation you see in the pretty little thing--Now, I am considering her, on this occasion, but as one that is to be pregnant. _Luc._ The familiar, learned, unseasonable puppy! [_Aside._ _Cimb._ And pregnant undoubtedly she will be yearly. I fear I shan't, for many years, have discretion enough to give her one fallow season. _Luc._ Monster! there's no bearing it. The hideous sot! there's no enduring it, to be thus surveyed like a steed at sale.