The School For Scandal [9]
not be ruined
by your extravagance--
LADY TEAZLE. My extravagance! I'm sure I'm not more extravagant
than a woman of Fashion ought to be.
SIR PETER. No no Madam, you shall throw away no more sums on such
unmeaning Luxury--'Slife to spend as much to furnish your Dressing
Room with Flowers in winter as would suffice to turn the Pantheon
into a Greenhouse, and give a Fete Champetre at Christmas.
LADY TEAZLE. Lord! Sir Peter am I to blame because Flowers are dear
in cold weather? You should find fault with the Climate, and not
with me. For my Part I'm sure I wish it was spring all the year
round--and that Roses grew under one's Feet!
SIR PETER. Oons! Madam--if you had been born to those Fopperies
I shouldn't wonder at your talking thus;--but you forget what your
situation was when I married you--
LADY TEAZLE. No, no, I don't--'twas a very disagreeable one or
I should never nave married you.
SIR PETER. Yes, yes, madam, you were then in somewhat a humbler
Style--the daughter of a plain country Squire. Recollect Lady Teazle
when I saw you first--sitting at your tambour in a pretty figured
linen gown--with a Bunch of Keys at your side, and your apartment
hung round with Fruits in worsted, of your own working--
LADY TEAZLE. O horrible!--horrible!--don't put me in mind of it!
SIR PETER. Yes, yes Madam and your daily occupation to inspect
the Dairy, superintend the Poultry, make extracts from the Family
Receipt-book, and comb your aunt Deborah's Lap Dog.
LADY TEAZLE. Abominable!
SIR PETER. Yes Madam--and what were your evening amusements?
to draw Patterns for Ruffles, which you hadn't the materials to make--
play Pope Joan with the Curate--to read a sermon to your Aunt--
or be stuck down to an old Spinet to strum your father to sleep
after a Fox Chase.
LADY TEAZLE. Scandalous--Sir Peter not a word of it true--
SIR PETER. Yes, Madam--These were the recreations I took you from--
and now--no one more extravagantly in the Fashion--Every Fopery
adopted--a head-dress to o'er top Lady Pagoda with feathers pendant
horizontal and perpendicular--you forget[,] Lady Teazle--when a little
wired gauze with a few Beads made you a fly Cap not much bigger than
a blew-bottle, and your Hair was comb'd smooth over a Roll--
LADY TEAZLE. Shocking! horrible Roll!!
SIR PETER. But now--you must have your coach--Vis-a-vis, and three
powder'd Footmen before your Chair--and in the summer a pair of
white cobs to draw you to Kensington Gardens--no recollection when y
ou were content to ride double, behind the Butler, on a docked
Coach-Horse?
LADY TEAZLE. Horrid!--I swear I never did.
SIR PETER. This, madam, was your situation--and what have I not done
for you? I have made you woman of Fashion of Fortune of Rank--
in short I have made you my wife.
LADY TEAZLE. Well then and there is but one thing more you can make
me to add to the obligation.
SIR PETER. What's that pray?
LADY TEAZLE. Your widow.--
SIR PETER. Thank you Madam--but don't flatter yourself for though
your ill-conduct may disturb my Peace it shall never break my Heart
I promise you--however I am equally obliged to you for the Hint.
LADY TEAZLE. Then why will you endeavour to make yourself so
disagreeable to me--and thwart me in every little elegant expense.
SIR PETER. 'Slife--Madam I pray, had you any of these elegant
expenses when you married me?
LADY TEAZLE. Lud Sir Peter would you have me be out of the Fashion?
SIR PETER. The Fashion indeed!--what had you to do with the Fashion
before you married me?
LADY TEAZLE. For my Part--I should think you would like to have
your wife thought a woman of Taste--
SIR PETER. Aye there again--Taste! Zounds Madam you had no Taste
when you married me--
LADY TEAZLE. That's very true indeed Sir Peter! after having married
you I should never pretend to Taste again I allow.
SIR PETER. So--so then--Madam--if these are your Sentiments pray how
came I to be honour'd with your Hand?
LADY TEAZLE. Shall I tell you
by your extravagance--
LADY TEAZLE. My extravagance! I'm sure I'm not more extravagant
than a woman of Fashion ought to be.
SIR PETER. No no Madam, you shall throw away no more sums on such
unmeaning Luxury--'Slife to spend as much to furnish your Dressing
Room with Flowers in winter as would suffice to turn the Pantheon
into a Greenhouse, and give a Fete Champetre at Christmas.
LADY TEAZLE. Lord! Sir Peter am I to blame because Flowers are dear
in cold weather? You should find fault with the Climate, and not
with me. For my Part I'm sure I wish it was spring all the year
round--and that Roses grew under one's Feet!
SIR PETER. Oons! Madam--if you had been born to those Fopperies
I shouldn't wonder at your talking thus;--but you forget what your
situation was when I married you--
LADY TEAZLE. No, no, I don't--'twas a very disagreeable one or
I should never nave married you.
SIR PETER. Yes, yes, madam, you were then in somewhat a humbler
Style--the daughter of a plain country Squire. Recollect Lady Teazle
when I saw you first--sitting at your tambour in a pretty figured
linen gown--with a Bunch of Keys at your side, and your apartment
hung round with Fruits in worsted, of your own working--
LADY TEAZLE. O horrible!--horrible!--don't put me in mind of it!
SIR PETER. Yes, yes Madam and your daily occupation to inspect
the Dairy, superintend the Poultry, make extracts from the Family
Receipt-book, and comb your aunt Deborah's Lap Dog.
LADY TEAZLE. Abominable!
SIR PETER. Yes Madam--and what were your evening amusements?
to draw Patterns for Ruffles, which you hadn't the materials to make--
play Pope Joan with the Curate--to read a sermon to your Aunt--
or be stuck down to an old Spinet to strum your father to sleep
after a Fox Chase.
LADY TEAZLE. Scandalous--Sir Peter not a word of it true--
SIR PETER. Yes, Madam--These were the recreations I took you from--
and now--no one more extravagantly in the Fashion--Every Fopery
adopted--a head-dress to o'er top Lady Pagoda with feathers pendant
horizontal and perpendicular--you forget[,] Lady Teazle--when a little
wired gauze with a few Beads made you a fly Cap not much bigger than
a blew-bottle, and your Hair was comb'd smooth over a Roll--
LADY TEAZLE. Shocking! horrible Roll!!
SIR PETER. But now--you must have your coach--Vis-a-vis, and three
powder'd Footmen before your Chair--and in the summer a pair of
white cobs to draw you to Kensington Gardens--no recollection when y
ou were content to ride double, behind the Butler, on a docked
Coach-Horse?
LADY TEAZLE. Horrid!--I swear I never did.
SIR PETER. This, madam, was your situation--and what have I not done
for you? I have made you woman of Fashion of Fortune of Rank--
in short I have made you my wife.
LADY TEAZLE. Well then and there is but one thing more you can make
me to add to the obligation.
SIR PETER. What's that pray?
LADY TEAZLE. Your widow.--
SIR PETER. Thank you Madam--but don't flatter yourself for though
your ill-conduct may disturb my Peace it shall never break my Heart
I promise you--however I am equally obliged to you for the Hint.
LADY TEAZLE. Then why will you endeavour to make yourself so
disagreeable to me--and thwart me in every little elegant expense.
SIR PETER. 'Slife--Madam I pray, had you any of these elegant
expenses when you married me?
LADY TEAZLE. Lud Sir Peter would you have me be out of the Fashion?
SIR PETER. The Fashion indeed!--what had you to do with the Fashion
before you married me?
LADY TEAZLE. For my Part--I should think you would like to have
your wife thought a woman of Taste--
SIR PETER. Aye there again--Taste! Zounds Madam you had no Taste
when you married me--
LADY TEAZLE. That's very true indeed Sir Peter! after having married
you I should never pretend to Taste again I allow.
SIR PETER. So--so then--Madam--if these are your Sentiments pray how
came I to be honour'd with your Hand?
LADY TEAZLE. Shall I tell you