LADY PLYANT. O Lord! sir, pardon me, we women have not those advantages; I know my imperfections. But at the same time you must give me leave to declare in the face of the world that nobody is more sensible of favours and things; for with the reserve of my honour I assure you, Mr. Careless, I don't know anything in the world I would refuse to a person so meritorious. You'll pardon my want of expression. CARE. O, your ladyship is abounding in all excellence, particularly that of phrase. LADY PLYANT. You are so obliging, sir. CARE. Your ladyship is so charming. SIR PAUL. So, now, now; now, my lady. LADY PLYANT. So well bred. CARE. So surprising. LADY PLYANT. So well dressed, so _bonne mine_, so eloquent, so unaffected, so easy, so free, so particular, so agreeable. SIR PAUL. Ay, so, so, there. CARE. O Lord, I beseech you madam, don't. LADY PLYANT. So gay, so graceful, so good teeth, so fine shape, so fine limbs, so fine linen, and I don't doubt but you have a very good skin, sir, CARE. For heaven's sake, madam, I'm quite out of countenance. SIR PAUL. And my lady's quite out of breath; or else you should hear--Gads-bud, you may talk of my Lady Froth. CARE. O fie, fie, not to be named of a day. My Lady Froth is very well in her accomplishments. But it is when my Lady Plyant is not thought of. If that can ever be. LADY PLYANT. O, you overcome me. That is so excessive. SIR PAUL. Nay, I swear and vow that was pretty. CARE. O, Sir Paul, you are the happiest man alive. Such a lady! that is the envy of her own sex, and the admiration of ours. SIR PAUL. Your humble servant. I am, I thank heaven, in a fine way of living, as I may say, peacefully and happily, and I think need not envy any of my neighbours, blessed be providence. Ay, truly, Mr. Careless, my lady is a great blessing, a fine, discreet, well-spoken woman as you shall see, if it becomes me to say so, and we live very comfortably together; she is a little hasty sometimes, and so am I; but mine's soon over, and then I'm so sorry.--O Mr. Careless, if it were not for one thing-- SCENE VII. CARELESS, SIR PAUL, LADY PLYANT, BOY _with a letter_. LADY PLYANT. How often have you been told of that, you jackanapes? SIR PAUL. Gad so, gad's-bud. Tim, carry it to my lady, you should have carried it to my lady first. BOY. 'Tis directed to your worship. SIR PAUL. Well, well, my lady reads all letters first. Child, do so no more; d'ye hear, Tim. BOY. No, and please you. SCENE VIII. CARELESS, SIR PAUL, LADY PLYANT. SIR PAUL. A humour of my wife's: you know women have little fancies. But as I was telling you, Mr. Careless, if it were not for one thing, I should think myself the happiest man in the world; indeed that touches me near, very near. CARE. What can that be, Sir Paul?