_Sir Geo._ With all my heart, and impowered to oblige every woman to conform her conduct to her real situation. You, for instance, are a Widow: your air should be sedate, your dress grave, your deportment matronly, and in all things an example to the young women growing up about you!--instead of which, you are dress'd for conquest, think of nothing but ensnaring hearts; are a Coquette, a Wit, and a Fine Lady. _Mrs. Rack._ Bear witness to what he says! A Coquette! a Wit! and a Fine Lady! Who would have expected an eulogy from such an ill-natur'd mortal!--Valour to a Soldier, Wisdom to a Judge, or glory to a Prince, is not more than such a character to a Woman. _Miss Ogle._ Sir George, I see, languishes for the charming society of a century and a half ago; when a grave 'Squire, and a still graver Dame, surrounded by a sober family, form'd a stiff groupe in a mouldy old house in the corner of a Park. _Mrs. Rack._ Delightful serenity! Undisturb'd by any noise but the cawing of rooks, and the quarterly rumbling of an old family-coach on a state-visit; with the happy intervention of a friendly call from the Parish Apothecary, or the Curate's Wife. _Sir Geo._ And what is the society of which you boast?--a meer chaos, in which all distinction of rank is lost in a ridiculous affectation of ease, and every different order of beings huddled together, as they were before the creation. In the same _select party_, you will often find the wife of a Bishop and a Sharper, of an Earl and a Fidler. In short, 'tis one universal masquerade, all disguised in the same habits and manners. _Serv._ Mr. Flutter. [_Exit_ Servant. _Sir Geo._ Here comes an illustration. Now I defy you to tell from his appearance, whether Flutter is a Privy Counsellor or a Mercer, a Lawyer, or a Grocer's 'Prentice. _Enter_ Flutter. _Flut._ Oh, just which you please, Sir George; so you don't make me a Lord Mayor. Ah, Mrs. Racket!----Lady Frances, your most obedient; you look--now hang me, if that's not provoking!--had your gown been of another colour, I would have said the prettiest thing you ever heard in your life. _Miss Ogle._ Pray give it us. _Flut._ I was yesterday at Mrs. Bloomer's. She was dress'd all in green; no other colour to be seen but that of her face and bosom. So says I, My dear Mrs. Bloomer! you look like a Carnation, just bursting from its pod. _Sir Geo._ And what said her Husband? _Flut._ Her Husband! Why, her Husband laugh'd, and said a Cucumber would have been a happier simile. _Sir Geo._ But there _are_ Husbands, Sir, who would rather have corrected than amended your comparison; I, for instance, should consider a man's complimenting my Wife as an impertinence.