_Oliv._ One that never spoke ill of anybody, 'tis confessed. For she is as silent in conversation as a country lover, and no better company than a clock, or a weather-glass: for if she sounds, 'tis but once an hour to put you in mind of the time of day, or to tell you 'twill be cold or hot, rain or snow. _L. Plau._ Ah, poor creature! she's extremely good and modest. _Nov._ And for Mrs. Bridlechin, she's-- _Oliv._ As proud as a churchman's wife. _L. Plau._ She's a woman of great spirit and honour, and will not make herself cheap, 'tis true. _Nov._ Then Mrs. Hoyden, that calls all people by their surnames, and is-- _Oliv._ As familiar a duck-- _Nov._ As an actress in the tiring room. There I was once beforehand with you, madam. _L. Plau._ Mrs. Hoyden! a poor, affable, good-natured soul. But the divine Mrs. Trifle comes thither too. Sure her beauty, virtue, and conduct, you can say nothing to. _Oliv._ No! _Nov._ No!--Pray let me speak, madam. _Oliv._ First, can any one be called beautiful that squints? _L. Plau._ Her eyes languish a little, I own. _Nov._ Languish! ha! ha! _Oliv._ Languish!--Then, for her conduct, she was seen at the "Country Wife" after the first day. There's for you, my lord. _L. Plau._ But, madam, she was not seen to use her fan all the play long, turn aside her head, or by a conscious blush discover more guilt than modesty. _Oliv._ Very fine! Then you think a woman modest that sees the hideous "Country Wife" without blushing or publishing her detestation of it? D'ye hear him, cousin? _Eliza._ Yes, and am, I must confess, something of his opinion; and think, that as an over-conscious fool at a play, by endeavouring to show the author's want of wit, exposes his own to more censure, so may a lady call her own modesty in question, by publicly cavilling with the poet's. For all those grimaces of honour and artificial modesty disparage a woman's real virtue, as much as the use of white and red does the natural complexion: and you must use very, very little, if you would have it thought your own. _Oliv._ Then you would have a woman of honour with passive looks, ears, and tongue, undergo all the hideous obscenity she hears at nasty plays. _Eliza._ Truly, I think a woman betrays her want of modesty, by showing it publicly in a playhouse, as much as a man does his want of courage by a quarrel there; for the truly modest and stout say least, and are least exceptious, especially in public. _Oliv._ O hideous, cousin! this cannot be your opinion. But you are one of those who have the confidence to pardon the filthy play. _Eliza._ Why, what is there of ill in't, say you? _Oliv._ O fy! fy! fy! would you put me to the blush anew? call all the blood into my face again? But to satisfy you then; first, the clandestine obscenity in the very name of Horner. _Eliza._ Truly, 'tis so hidden, I cannot find it out, I confess.