_Oliv._ O horrid! Does it not give you the rank conception or image of a goat, or town-bull, or a satyr? nay, what is yet a filthier image than all the rest, that of an eunuch? _Eliza._ What then? I can think of a goat, a bull, or a satyr, without any hurt. _Oliv._ Ay: but cousin, one cannot stop there. _Eliza._ I can, cousin. _Oliv._ O no; for when you have those filthy creatures in your head once, the next thing you think, is what they do; as their defiling of honest men's beds and couches, rapes upon sleeping and waking country virgins under hedges, and on haycocks. Nay, farther-- _Eliza._ Nay, no farther, cousin. We have enough of your comment on the play, which will make me more ashamed than the play itself. _Oliv._ O, believe me, 'tis a filthy play! and you may take my word for a filthy play as soon as another's. But the filthiest thing in that play, or any other play, is-- _Eliza._ Pray keep it to yourself, if it be so. _Oliv._ No, faith, you shall know it; I'm resolved to make you out of love with the play. I say, the lewdest, filthiest thing is his china; nay, I will never forgive the beastly author his china. He has quite taken away the reputation of poor china itself, and sullied the most innocent and pretty furniture of a lady's chamber; insomuch that I was fain to break all my defiled vessels. You see I have none left; nor you, I hope. _Eliza._ You'll pardon me, I cannot think the worse of my china for that of the playhouse. _Oliv._ Why, you will not keep any now, sure! 'Tis now as unfit an ornament for a lady's chamber as the pictures that come from Italy and other hot countries; as appears by their nudities, which I always cover, or scratch out, whereso'er I find 'em. But china! out upon't, filthy china! nasty debauched china! _Eliza._ All this will not put me out of conceit with china, nor the play, which is acted to-day, or another of the same beastly author's, as you call him, which I'll go see. _Oliv._ You will not, sure! nay, you sha' not venture your reputation by going, and mine by leaving me alone with two men here: nay, you'll disoblige me for ever, if--[_Pulls her back._ _Eliza._ I stay!--your servant. [_Exit._ _Oliv._ Well--but, my lord, though you justify everybody, you cannot in earnest uphold so beastly a writer, whose ink is so smutty as one may say. _L. Plau._ Faith, I dare swear the poor man did not think to disoblige the ladies, by any amorous, soft, passionate, luscious saying in his play. _Oliv._ Fy, my lord! But what think you, Mr. Novel, of the play? though I know you are a friend to all that are new. _Nov._ Faith, madam, I must confess, the new plays would not be the worse for my advice, but I could never get the silly rogues, the poets, to mind what I say; but I'll tell you what counsel I gave the surly fool you spake of. _Oliv._ What was't?