_Lady Betty._ Assurement Ma'am'selle. A fine Lady can never sleep in her Bed if anybody that she has a regard for keeps more Card Tables than herself. There was my Lady Fanny Brilliant, and I, vying about it for a whole half year--first she had twenty--then I had five more--then she kept Sundays then I kept Sundays--then she had thirty--then I had forty--then she added, then I added--then she--then I--then she again--then I again--'till at last, there was not a Hole or corner in the House but was cramm'd--and you'd think the front of the House wou'd come down, with all the Men's backs lolling out of the Window. I was oblig'd to play in my Bed-chamber in the Servant's Hall--everywhere--and if she had urg'd me further I should have had a Tent in the Courtyard, and on the leads of the House, but upon casting up the Accounts, I had the Majority by seven--and I lost a cool fifteen hundred more than her. (_Enter_ JACK BROUGHTON) _Jack._ Mesdames, votre tres humble--I have made my Escape from the Savages below--I believe they are following me--no--à la mode d'Angleterre to make an end of their Bottle. _Lady Betty._ And mon cher Cavalier, you are come most à propos to decide a dispute between Miss Harriet and me. Is it not true what Molière says, there is no happiness out of Paris? _Jack._ Madam, hors de Paris, il n'y a pas de salut. The French to be sure, are the dearest creatures in the World. Under an absolute Monarch, you'll see them dance, and sing, and laugh, and ogle, and dress, and display their pretty little small talk--while an English John Trott, with his head full of Politics, shall knit his brow, and grumble, and plod, unhappy and discontented amidst all his boasted Liberty and Pudding. _Lady Betty._ Then the French Ladies, what lives they lead! The Husband makes it the Business of his life to ruin himself for his Wife's diversions. They keep separate chariots as well as separate Beds. She is sure to have the handsomest fellows for her Laqueys--they are all sur le bon Ton. And then the pleasures of the agreeable Billet-doux, and dear enchanting Quadrille. _Jack._ Oh my Lady Betty! The Joys of a life of Play are inexpressible--it leads a Person into the politest company, actuates the Spirits with the sweetest Vicissitudes of Passions--hope and fear, Pleasure and Anxiety, running an eternal Round. _Lady Betty._ There Madamoiselle Harriet, there's a life for you, but dear Heart, I must run away, this is Opera Night. _Harriet._ Is your Ladyship very fond of Operas? _Lady Betty._ Do you think Ma'am, I am like your English people of Quality, that go only because everybody goes--I'm a very Lady Townly for Operas--I expire at an Opera! Oh that enchanting air. (_Sings_) _Harriet._ Don't you think a good Play has something more rational and more natural than an Opera?