_Mood._ But what kind of man is this Sir Martin, with whom you are to go? _L. Dupe._ A plain down-right country-gentleman, I assure you. _Mood._ I like him much the better for it. For I hate one of those you call a man of the town, one of those empty fellows of mere out-side: They have nothing of the true old English manliness. _Rose._ I confess, sir, a woman's in a bad condition, that has nothing to trust to, but a peruke above, and a well-trimmed shoe below. _To them Sir_ MARTIN. _Mill._ This, sir, is Sir John's friend; he is for your humour, sir; he is no man of the town, but bred up in the old Elizabeth way of plainness. _Sir Mart._ Ay, madam, your ladyship may say your pleasure of me. _To them_ WARNER. _Warn._ How the devil got he here before me! 'Tis very unlucky I could not see him first. _Sir Mart._ But, as for painting, music, poetry, and the like, I'll say this of myself---- _Warn._ I'll say that for him, my master understands none of them, I assure you, sir. _Sir Mart._ You impudent rascal, hold your tongue: I must rid my hands of this fellow; the rogue is ever discrediting me before company. _Mood._ Never trouble yourself about it, sir, for I like a man that---- _Sir Mart._ I know you do, sir, and therefore I hope you'll think never the worse of me for his prating: For, though I do not boast of my own good parts---- _Warn._ He has none to boast of, upon my faith, sir. _Sir Mart._ Give him not the hearing, sir; for, if I may believe my friends, they have flattered me with an opinion of more---- _Warn._ Of more than their flattery can make good, sir; 'tis true he tells you, they have flattered him; but, in my conscience, he is the most down-right simple-natured creature in the world. _Sir Mart._ I shall consider you hereafter, sirrah; but I am sure in all companies I pass for a virtuoso. _Mood._ Virtuoso! What's that too? is not virtue enough without O so? _Sir Mart._ You have reason, sir. _Mood._ There he is again too; the town phrase; a great compliment I wis! _you have reason, sir_; that is, you are no beast, sir. _Warn._ A word in private, sir; you mistake this old man; he loves neither painting, music, nor poetry; yet recover yourself, if you have any brains. [_Aside to him._ _Sir Mart._ Say you so? I'll bring all about again, I warrant you.--I beg your pardon a thousand times, sir; I vow to gad I am not master of any of those perfections; for, in fine, sir, I am wholly ignorant of painting, music, and poetry; only some rude escapes; but, in fine, they are such, that, in fine, sir---- _Warn._ This is worse than all the rest. [_Aside._ _Mood._ By coxbones, one word more of all this gibberish, and old Madge shall fly about your ears: What is this, _in fine_, he keeps such a coil with too?