Sir _Har._ Our Nation, Madam's so far gone in Parties,
That Faction's even carry'd to Diversions,
One Party strives for Sense, and t'other Sound;
The _Major_ here, I think opposes both.

_Bram._ So I do--What signifies a Comedy of Fools; han't we the Courts
of _Westminster_ to divert us; and your Tragedies, where Kings and
Emperors are murder'd; in a quarter of an Hour after they are at
_Buxton's_ Coffee-House, playing at _All-Fours_; then your Singing-Op'ras,
I hate your _Italian_ Squaling, like a Woman in Labour; and 'fore-gad,
Madam, 'tis a most miraculous thing to me, that a Lady of your Experience,
who has travers'd the World, and ought to know Nature in a wonderful
Perfection, shou'd admire an Eunuch.

La. _Rod._ You shou'd have liv'd in former Ages, _Major_, when odious
Tilts and Tournaments were in Vogue; our Pleasures are too curious for
your Taste, I fancy the _Bear-Garden_ suits your Genius mightily.

_Bram._ Ay, Madam, there's Celestial Sport and Pastime; the Musick of the
Dogs, the Harmony o' the Butchers, to see, a Mastiff tear a Bull by the
Throat, the Bull once wounded, goring o'er the Ground, cants a fat Woman
higher than the _Monument_--I love Reality in my Diversions; but at a
_Play-House_ I never laugh'd but once, and that was at a most agreeable
Noise the Footmen made in the Upper-Gall'ry.

La. _Rod._ Savage Creature!

_Nick._ Your brutish Temper, _Major_, wou'd make one fancy you were born
in _Greenland_, and suckl'd by a _Wolf_.