And Lady Betty Modish?
She must be--well-nigh on to two hundred years old (a thousand florid pardons, sweet madame, for bringing in your age), but she is as blooming, saucy, and interesting as ever.
What becomes of Betty in the comedy, the reader may ask.

She goes on her triumphant way, the same cruel enchantress, until the last act, when she is quite ready to fall into the arms of Lord Morelove.

Sir Charles Easy, touched by the constancy and devotion of his wife, announces that he will mend his wilful habits, and Lord Foppington, who flattered himself that Lady Betty was madly in love with him, accepts his dismissal with great good humour.

Then we have a song setting forth how: "Sabina with an angel's face By Love ordain'd for joy, Seems of the Siren's cruel race, To charm and then destroy.
"With all the arts of look and dress, She fans the fatal fire; Through pride, mistaken oft for grace, She bids the swains expire.
"The god of Love, enraged to see The nymph defy his flame, Pronounced his merciless decree Against the haughty dame: "'Let age with double speed o'ertake her, Let love the room of pride supply; And when the lovers all forsake her, A spotless virgin let her die.'" Next, with the sound of this horrible warning ringing in our ears, Sir Charles steps forward to give the tag: "If then [turning to Lady Easy] the unkindly thought of what I have been hereafter shou'd intrude upon thy growing quiet, let this reflection teach thee to be easy: "Thy wrong, when greatest, most thy virtue prov'd; And from that virtue found, I blus'd and truly lov'd." So ends the comedy in a blaze of morality.

We almost see Sir Charles fitting on a pair of newly-made wings, as he prepares to float away to some better planet; but let him go, by all means.