_Beau._ O dear Sir, yes; a little decent Smutt is the very Life of all Conversation. 'Tis the Wit of Drawing-Rooms, Assemblies, and Tea-tables. 'Tis the smart Raillery of fine Gentlemen, and the innocent Freedom of fine Ladies. 'Tis a _Double Entendre_, at which the Coquet laughs, the Prude looks grave, the Modest blush, but all are pleas'd with. _Mast._ That it is the Wit and the Entertainment of all Conversations, I believe, Sir, may, possibly, be a Mistake. 'Tis true, those who are so rude as to use it in all Conversations, may possibly be so deprav'd themselves, as to fancy every body else as agreeably entertain'd in hearing it as they are in uttering it: But I dare say, any Man or Woman, of real Virtue and Modesty, has as little Taste for such Ribaldry as those Coxcombs have for what is good Sense or true Politeness. _Beau._ Good Sense, Sir! Damme, Sir, what do you mean? I would have you think, I know good Sense as well as any Man. Good Sense is a true----a right----a----a----a----Dam it, I wo'nt be so pedantick as to make Definitions: But I can invent a cramp Oath, Sir; drink a smutty Health, Sir; ridicule Priests, laugh at all Religion, and make such a grave Prig as you look just like a Fool, Sir. Now, I take this to be good Sense. _Mast._ And I unmov'd can hear such senseless Ridicule, and look upon its Author with an Eye of Pity and Contempt. And I take this to be good Sense. _Beau._ Pshaw, pshaw; damn'd Hypocrisy and Affectation; Nothing else, nothing else. [_Exit._ _Mast._ There is Nothing so much my Aversion as a Coxcomb. They are a Ridicule upon humane Nature, and make one almost asham'd to be of the same Species. And, for that Reason, I can't forbear affronting them whenever they fall in my Way. I hope the Ladies will excuse such Behaviour in their Presence. _2 La._ Indeed, Sir, I wish we had always somebody to treat them with such Behaviour in our Presence. 'Twould be much more agreeable than their Impertinence. _Enter a_ Young Gentleman. _3 Gent._ I want a plain Gold Ring, Sir, exactly this Size. _Mast._ Then 'tis not for yourself, Sir. _3 Gent._ No. _Mast._ A Wedding Ring, I presume. _3 Gent._ No, Sir, I thank you kindly, that's a Toy I never design to play with. 'Tis the most dangerous Piece of Goods in your whole Shop. People are perpetually doing themselves a Mischief with it. They hang themselves fast together first, and afterwards are ready to hang themselves separately, to get loose again. _1 La._ This is but the fashionable Cant. I'll be hang'd if this pretended Railer at Matrimony is not just upon the Point of making some poor Woman miserable. [_Aside._]