OTH. More wit than anybody.

BRISK. I'm everlastingly your humble servant, deuce take me, madam.

LORD FROTH. Don't you think us a happy couple?

CYNT. I vow, my lord, I think you the happiest couple in the world, for
you're not only happy in one another, and when you are together, but
happy in yourselves, and by yourselves.

LORD FROTH. I hope Mellefont will make a good husband too.

CYNT. 'Tis my interest to believe he will, my Lord.

LORD FROTH. D'ye think he'll love you as well as I do my wife? I'm
afraid not.

CYNT. I believe he'll love me better.

LORD FROTH. Heav'ns! that can never be. But why do you think so?

CYNT. Because he has not so much reason to be fond of himself.

LORD FROTH. Oh, your humble servant for that, dear madam. Well,
Mellefont, you'll be a happy creature.

MEL. Ay, my lord, I shall have the same reason for my happiness that
your lordship has, I shall think myself happy.

LORD FROTH. Ah, that's all.

BRISK. [_To_ LADY FROTH.] Your ladyship is in the right; but, i'gad,
I'm wholly turned into satire. I confess I write but seldom, but when I
do--keen iambics, i'gad. But my lord was telling me your ladyship has
made an essay toward an heroic poem.

LADY FROTH. Did my lord tell you? Yes, I vow, and the subject is my
lord's love to me. And what do you think I call it? I dare swear you
won't guess--_The Sillabub_, ha, ha, ha.

BRISK. Because my lord's title's Froth, i'gad, ha, ha, ha, deuce take
me, very a propos and surprising, ha, ha, ha.

LADY FROTH. He, ay, is not it? And then I call my lord Spumoso; and
myself, what d'ye think I call myself?

BRISK. Lactilla, may be,--i'gad, I cannot tell.

LADY FROTH. Biddy, that's all; just my own name.

BRISK. Biddy! I'gad, very pretty. Deuce take me if your ladyship has
not the art of surprising the most naturally in the world. I hope you'll
make me happy in communicating the poem.

LADY FROTH. Oh, you must be my confidant, I must ask your advice.

BRISK. I'm your humble servant, let me perish. I presume your ladyship
has read Bossu?

LADY FROTH. Oh yes, and Racine, and Dacier upon Aristotle and Horace. My
lord, you must not be jealous, I'm communicating all to Mr. Brisk.

LORD FROTH. No, no, I'll allow Mr. Brisk; have you nothing about you to
shew him, my dear?

LADY FROTH. Yes, I believe I have. Mr. Brisk, come, will you go into
the next room? and there I'll shew you what I have.

LORD