Balt. Yes, yes, he affects patronage and public spirit: he is ostentatious to an absurdity.
Mrs. B. Well then, don't disturb yourself about it. If he is so, people will only laugh at him.
Balt. O! hang them, but they wont laugh! I have seen the day, when, if a man made himself ridiculous, the world would laugh at him. But now, by heaven, every thing that is mean, disgusting, and absurd, pleases them but so much the better! If they would but laugh at him, I should be content.
Mrs. B. My dear Baltimore! curb this strange fancy that has taken such a strong hold of your mind, and be reasonable.
Balt. I can be reasonable enough. I can see as well as you do that it is nonsense to disturb myself about this man; and when he is absent I can resolve to endure him: but whenever I see him again, there is something in his full satisfied face; in the tones of his voice; ay, in the very gait and shape of his legs, that is insufferable to me.
Mrs. B. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!
Balt. What makes you laugh, Madam?
Mrs. B. Indeed I have more cause to cry! yet I could not help laughing when you talk'd of his gait and his legs: for people, you must know, have taken it into their heads that there is a resemblance between you and him; I have, myself, in twilight, sometimes mistaken the one for the other.
Balt. It must have been in midnight, I think.
