[Sir Timothy _walks about the Room, expecting when_ Celinda _should speak_. _Cel_. Oh, dear Nurse, what shall I do? _Nur_. I that ever help you at a dead Lift, will not fail you now. Sir _Tim_. What a Pox, not a Word? _Cel_. Sure this Fellow believes I’ll begin. Sir _Tim_. Not yet--sure she has spoke her last-- _Nur_. The Gentleman’s good-natur’d, and has took pity on you, and will not trouble you, I think. Sir _Tim_.--Hey day, here’s Wooing indeed--Will she never begin, trow? --This some would call an excellent Quality in her Sex--But a pox on’t, I do not like it--Well, I see I must break Silence at last--Madam--not answer me--’shaw, this is mere ill breeding--by Fortune--it can be nothing else--O’ my Conscience, if I should kiss her, she would bid me stand off--I’ll try-- _Nur_. Hold, Sir, you mistake your Mark. Sir _Tim_. So I should, if I were to look in thy mouldy Chaps, good Matron--Can your Lady speak? _Nur_. Try, Sir. Sir _Tim_. Which way? _Nur_. Why, speak to her first. Sir _Tim_. I never knew a Woman want a Cue for that; but all that I Have met with were still before-hand with me in tittle tattle. _Nur_. Likely those you have met with may, but this is no such Creature, Sir. Sir _Tim_. I must confess, I am unus’d to this kind of Dialogue; and I am an Ass, if I know what to say to such a Creature. --But come, will you answer me to one Question? _Cel_. If I can, Sir. Sir _Tim_. But first I should ask you if you can speak? For that’s a Question too. _Cel_. And if I cannot, how will you be answer’d? Sir _Tim_. Faith, that’s right; why, then you must do’t by signs. _Cel_. But grant I can speak, what is’t you’ll ask me? Sir _Tim_. Can you love? _Cel_. Oh, yes, Sir, many things; I love my Meat, I love abundance of Adorers, I love choice of new Clothes, new Plays; and, like a right Woman, I love to have my Will. Sir _Tim_. Spoke like a well-bred Person, by Fortune: I see there’s hopes of thee, Celinda; thou wilt in time learn to make a very fashionable Wife, having so much Beauty too. I see Attracts, and Allurements, wanton Eyes, the languishing turn of the Head, and all That invites to Temptation. _Cel_. Would that please you in a Wife? Sir _Tim_. Please me! Why, Madam, what do you take me to be? a Sot?-- a Fool?--or a dull _Italian_ of the Humour of your Brother?--No, no, I can assure you, she that marries me, shall have Franchise--But, my pretty Miss, you must learn to talk a little more-- _Cel_. I have not Wit, and Sense enough, for that. Sir _Tim_. Wit! Oh la, O la, Wit! as if there were any Wit requir’d in a Woman when she talks; no, no matter for Wit, or Sense: talk but loud, and a great deal to shew your white Teeth, and smile, and be very confident, and ‘tis enough--Lord, what a Sight ‘tis to see a pretty Woman Stand right up an end in the middle of a Room, playing with her Fan, for want of something to keep her in Countenance. No, she that is mine, I will teach to entertain at another rate.