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68 WILLIAM CONGREVE [ACT III
Lucy. Now poverty and the pox light upon thee, for a
contemplative pimp I
Set. Ha! what art, who thus maliciously hast awakened
me from my dream of glory? Speak, thou vile disturber—
Lucy. Of thy most vile cogitations.—Thou poor, conceited
wretch, how wert thou valuing thyself upon thy master's
employment? For he's the head-pimp to Mr. Bellmour.
Set. Good words, damsel, or I shall—but how dost thou
know my master or me?
Lucy. Yes, I know both master and man to be—
Set. To be men perhaps; nay, faith, like enough: I often
march in the rear of my master, and enter the breaches
which he has made.
Lucy. Ay, the breach of faith, which he has begun: thou
traitor to thy lawful princess!
Set. Why, how now! prithee, who art? Lay by that
worldly face, and produce your natural vizor.
Lucy. No, sirrah, I'll keep it on to abuse thee, and leave
thee without hopes of revenge.
Set. Dh! I begin to smoke ye: thou art some forsaken
Abigail we have dallied with heretofore, and art come to
tickle thy imagination with remembrance of iniquity past.
Lucy. No, thou pitiful flatterer of thy master's imperfections!
tbou mnukin, made up of the shreds and parings
of his superfluous fopperies!
Set. Thou art thy mistress's foul self, composed of her
sullied iniauities and clothing.
Lucy. Hang thee, beggar's cur'—Thy master is but a
mumper in love; lies canting at the gate, but never dares
presume to enter the house.
Set. Thou art the wicket to thy mistress's gate, to be
opened for all corners. In fine, thou art the high-road to thy
mistress.
Lucy. Beast! filthy toad! I can hold no longer: look and
tremble. [Unmasks.
Set. How, Mrs. Lucv!
Lucy. I wonder thou hast the impudence to look me in the
face.
Set. Adsbud, who's in fault, mistress of mine? who flung
the first stone? who undervalued my function? and who
the devil could know you by instinct?
Lucy. You could know my office by instinct, and be
hanged! which you have slandered most abominably. It