[]THE Clandeſtine Marriage, A COMEDY.

SCENE A room in Sterling's houſe.

MA'am! Miſs Fanny! Ma'am!

What's the matter! Betty!

Oh la! Ma'am! as ſure as I'm alive, here is your huſband—

Huſh! my dear Betty! if any body in the houſe ſhould hear you, I am ruined.

Mercy on me! it has frighted me to ſuch a degree, that my heart is come up to my mouth.—But as I was a ſaying, Ma'am, here's that dear, ſweet—

Have a care! Betty.

Lord! I'm bewitched, I think.—But as I was a ſaying, Ma'am, here's Mr. Lovewell juſt come from London.

Indeed!

Yes, indeed, and indeed, Ma'am, he is. I ſaw him croſſing the court-yard in his boots.

I am glad to hear it.—But pray now, my dear Betty, be cautious. Don't mention that word [2] again, on any account. You know, we have agreed never to drop any expreſſions of that ſort for fear of an accident.

Dear Ma'am, you may depend upon me. There is not a more truſtier creature on the face of the earth, than I am. Though I ſay it, I am as ſe⯑cret as the grave—and if it's never told, till I tell it, it may remain untold till doom's-day for Betty.

I know you are faithful—but in our circum⯑ſtances we cannot be too careful.

Very true, Ma'am!—and yet I vow and proteſt, there's more plague than pleaſure with a ſe⯑cret; eſpecially if a body mayn't mention it to four or five of one's particular acquaintance.

Do but keep this ſecret a little while longer, and then, I hope you may mention it to any body.—Mr. Lovewell will acquaint the family with the nature of our ſituation as ſoon as poſſible.

The ſooner, the better, I believe: for if he does not tell it, there's a little tell-tale, I know of, will come and tell it for him.

Fie, Betty!

Ah! you may well bluſh.—But you're not ſo ſick, and ſo pale, and ſo wan, and ſo many qualms—

Have done! I ſhall be quite angry with you.

Angry!—Bleſs the dear puppet! I am ſure I ſhall love it, as much as if it was my own.—I meant no harm, heaven knows.

Well—ſay no more of this—It makes me uneaſy—All I have to aſk of you, is to be faithful and ſecret, and not to reveal this matter, till we diſcloſe it to the family ourſelves.

Me reveal it!—if I ſay a word, I wiſh I may be burned. I wou'd not do you any harm for the world—And as for Mr. Lovewell, I am ſure I have loved the dear gentleman ever ſince he got a tide⯑waiter's place for my brother—But let me tell you both, you muſt leave off your ſoft looks to each [3] other, and your whiſpers, and your glances, and your always ſitting next to one another at dinner, and your long walks together in the evening—For my part, if I had not been in the ſecret, I ſhou'd have known you were a pair of loviers at leaſt, if not man and wife, as—

See there now! again. Pray be careful.

Well—well—nobody hears me.—Man and wife—I'll ſay ſo no more—what I tell you is very true for all that—

William!

Hark! I hear your huſband—

What!

I ſay, here comes Mr. Lovewell—Mind the caution I give you—I'll be whipped now, if you are not the firſt perſon he ſees or ſpeaks to in the family—However, if you chuſe it, it's nothing at all to me—as you ſow, you muſt reap—as you brew, ſo you muſt bake.—I'll e'en ſlip down the back-ſtairs, and leave you together.

I ſee, I ſee I ſhall never have a moment's eaſe till our marriage is made publick. New diſtreſſes croud in upon me every day. The ſollicitude of my mind ſinks my ſpirits, preys upon my health, and deſtroys every comfort of my life. It ſhall be revealed, let what will be the conſequence.

My love!—How's this?—In tears?—Indeed this is too much. You promiſed me to ſup⯑port your ſpirits, and to wait the determination of our fortune with patience.—For my ſake, for your own, be comforted! Why will you ſtudy to add to our uneaſineſs and perplexity?

Oh, Mr. Lovewell! the indelicacy of a ſecret marriage grows every day more and more ſhock⯑ing to me. I walk about the houſe like a guilty wretch: I imagine myſelf the object of the ſuſpicion [4] of the whole family; and am under the perpetual terrors of a ſhameful detection.

Indeed, indeed, you are to blame. The amiable delicacy of your temper, and your quick ſenſibility, only ſerve to make you unhappy.—To clear up this affair properly to Mr. Sterling, is the continual employment of my thoughts. Every thing now is in a fair train. It begins to grow ripe for a diſcovery; and I have no doubt of its concluding to the ſatisfaction of ourſelves, of your father, and the whole family.

End how it will, I am reſolved it ſhall end ſoon—very ſoon.—I wou'd not live another week in this agony of mind to be miſtreſs of the univerſe.

Do not be too violent neither. Do not let us diſturb the joy of your ſiſter's marriage with the tumult this matter may occaſion!—I have brought letters from Lord Ogleby and Sir John Melvil to Mr. Sterling.—They will be here this evening—and, I dare ſay, within this hour.

I am ſorry for it.

Why ſo?

No matter—Only let us diſcloſe our marri⯑age immediately!

As ſoon as poſſible.

But directly.

In a few days, you may depend on it.

To-night—or to-morrow morning.

That, I fear, will be impracticable.

Nay, but you muſt.

Muſt! why?

Indeed, you muſt.—I have the moſt alarm⯑ing reaſons for it.

Alarming indeed! for they alarm me, even before I am acquainted with them—What are they?

I cannot tell you.

Not tell me?

Not at preſent. When all is ſettled, you ſhall be acquainted with every thing.

Sorry they are coming!—Muſt be diſ⯑covered!—What can this mean!—Is it poſſible you can have any reaſons that need be concealed from me?

Do not diſturb yourſelf with conjectures—but reſt aſſured, that though you are unable to di⯑vine the cauſe, the conſequence of a diſcovery, be it what it will, cannot be attended with half the miſeries of the preſent interval.

You put me upon the rack.—I wou'd do any thing to make you eaſy.—But you know your father's temper.—Money (you will excuſe my frank⯑neſs) is the ſpring of all his actions, which nothing but the idea of acquiring nobility or magnificence can ever make him forego—and theſe he thinks his money will purchaſe.—You know too your aunt's, Mrs. Heidelberg's, notions of the ſplendor of high life, her contempt for every thing that does not reliſh of what ſhe calls Quality, and that from the vaſt fortune in her hands, by her late huſband, ſhe abſolutely governs Mr. Sterling and the whole family: now, if they ſhould come to the knowledge of this affair too abruptly, they might, perhaps, be incenſed beyond all hopes of reconciliation.

But if they are made acquainted with it otherwiſe than by ourſelves, it will be ten times worſe: and a diſcovery grows every day more pro⯑bable. The whole family have long ſuſpected our affection. We are alſo in the power of a fooliſh maid-ſervant; and if we may even depend on her fidelity, we cannot anſwer for her diſcretion.—Diſ⯑cover it therefore immediately, leſt ſome accident ſhould bring it to light, and involve us in additional diſgrace.

Well—well—I meant to diſcover it ſoon, but would not do it too precipitately.—I have more than once ſounded Mr. Sterling about it, and will attempt him more ſeriouſly the next opportunity. But my principal hopes are theſe.—My relationſhip [6] to Lord Ogleby, and his having placed me with your father, have been, you know, the firſt links in the chain of this connection between the two families; in conſequence of which, I am at preſent in high favour with all parties: while they all remain thus well-affected to me, I propoſe to lay our caſe before the old Lord; and if I can prevail on him to me⯑diate in this affair, I make no doubt but he will be able to appeaſe your father; and, being a lord and a man of quality, I am ſure he may bring Mrs. Heidelberg into good-humour at any time.—Let me beg you, therefore, to have but a little patience, as, you ſee, we are upon the very eve of a diſcovery, that muſt probably be to our advantage.

Manage it your own way. I am per⯑ſuaded.

But in the mean time make yourſelf eaſy.

As eaſy as I can, I will.—We had better not remain together any longer at preſent.—Think of this buſineſs, and let me know how you proceed.

Depend on my care! But, pray, be chearful.

I will.

Hey-day! who have we got here?

Mr. Lovewell, Sir!

And where are you going, huſſey!

To my ſiſter's chamber, Sir!

Ah, Lovewell! What! always getting my fooliſh girl yonder into a corner!—Well—well—let us but once ſee her elder ſiſter faſt-married to Sir John Melvil, we'll ſoon provide a good huſband for Fanny, I warrant you.

Wou'd to heaven, Sir, you would provide her one of my recommendation!

Yourſelf? eh, Lovewell!

With your pleaſure, Sir!

Mighty well!

And I flatter myſelf, that ſuch a propoſal would not be very diſagreeable to Miſs Fanny.

Better and better!

And if I could but obtain your conſent, Sir—

What! you marry Fanny!—no—no—that will never do, Lovewell!—You're a good boy, to be ſure—I have a great value for you—but can't think of you for a ſon-in-law.—There's no Stuff in the caſe, no money, Lovewell!

My pretenſions to fortune, indeed, are but moderate: but though not equal to ſplendor, ſufficient to keep us above diſtreſs.—Add to which, that I hope by diligence to increaſe it—and have love, honour—

But not the Stuff, Lovewell!—Add one little round o to the ſum total of your fortune, and that will be the fineſt thing you can ſay to me.—You know I've a regard for you—would do any thing to ſerve you—any thing on the footing of friendſhip—but—

If you think me worthy of your friend⯑ſhip, Sir, be aſſured, that there is no inſtance in which I ſhould rate your friendſhip ſo highly.

Pſha! pſha! that's another thing, you know.—Where money or intereſt is concerned, friendſhip is quite out of the queſtion.

But where the happineſs of a daughter is at ſtake, you wou'd not ſcruple, ſure, to ſacrifice a little to her inclinations.

Inclinations! why, you wou'd not perſuade me that the girl is in love with you—eh, Lovewell!

I cannot abſolutely anſwer for Miſs Fanny, Sir; but am ſure that the chief happineſs or miſery of my life depends entirely upon her.

Why, indeed now if your kinſman, Lord Ogleby, would come down handſomely for you—but that's impoſſible—No, no—'twill never do—I [8] muſt hear no more of this—Come, Lovewell, pro⯑miſe me that I ſhall hear no more of this.

I am afraid, Sir, I ſhou'd not be able to keep my word with you, if I did promiſe you.

Why you wou'd not offer to marry her without my conſent? wou'd you, Lovewell!

Marry her, Sir!

Ay, marry her, Sir!—I know very well that a warm ſpeech or two from ſuch a dangerous young ſpark, as you are, will go much farther towards per⯑ſuading a ſilly girl to do what ſhe has more than a month's mind to do, than twenty grave lectures from fathers or mothers, or uncles or aunts, to pre⯑vent her.—But you wou'd not, ſure, be ſuch a baſe fellow, ſuch a treacherous young rogue, as to ſeduce my daughter's affections, and deſtroy the peace of my family in that manner.—I muſt inſiſt on it, that you give me your word not to marry her without my conſent.

Sir—I—I—as to that—I—I—I beg, Sir—Pray, Sir, excuſe me on this ſubject at preſent.

Promiſe then, that you will carry this matter no further without my approbation.

You may depend on it, Sir, that it ſhall go no further.

Well—well—that's enough—I'll take care of the reſt, I warrant you.—Come, come, let's have done with this nonſenſe!—What's doing in town?—Any news upon 'Change?

Nothing material.

Have you ſeen the currants, the ſoap, and Madeira, ſafe in the warehouſes? Have you com⯑pared the goods with the invoice and bills of lading, and are they all right?

They are, Sir!

And how are ſtocks?

Fell one and an half this morning.

Well—well—ſome good news from America, and they'll be up again.—But how are Lord Ogleby and Sir John Melvil? When are we to expect them?

Very ſoon, Sir! I came on purpoſe to bring you their commands. Here are letters from both of them.

Let me ſee—let me ſee—'Slife, how his Lordſhip's letter is perfumed!—It takes my breath away.—

And French paper too! with a fine border of flowers and flouriſhes—and a ſlippery gloſs on it that dazzles one's eyes.—My dear Mr. Sterling.—

—Mercy on me! His Lorſhip writes a worſe hand than a boy at his exerciſe—But how's this?—Eh!—with you to-night—

—Lawyers to-morrow morning—To-night!—that's ſudden indeed.—Where's my ſiſter Heidelberg? ſhe ſhou'd know of this immediately.—Here John! Harry! Thomas!

Hark ye, Lovewell!

Sir!

Mind now, how I'll entertain his Lordſhip and Sir John—We'll ſhew your fellows at the other end of the town how we live in the city—They ſhall eat gold—and drink gold—and lie in gold—Here cook! butler!

What ſignifies your birth and education, and titles? Money, money, that's the ſtuff that makes the great man in this country.

Very true, Sir!

True, Sir?—Why then have done with your nonſenſe of love and matrimony. You're not rich enough to think of a wife yet. A man of buſineſs ſhou'd mind nothing but his buſineſs.—Where are theſe fellows? John! Thomas!

—Get an eſtate, and a wife will follow of courſe.—Ah! Lovewell! an Engliſh merchant is the moſt reſpectable character in the univerſe. 'Slife, man, a rich Engliſh merchant may make himſelf a [10] match for the daughter of a Nabob.—Where are all my raſcals? Here, William!

So!—As I ſuſpected.—Quite averſe to the match, and likely to receive the news of it with great diſ⯑pleaſure.—What's beſt to be done?—Let me ſee!—Suppoſe I get Sir John Melvil to intereſt himſelf in this affair. He may mention it to Lord Ogleby with a better grace than I can, and more probably prevail on him to interfere in it. I can open my mind alſo more freely to Sir John. He told me, when I left him in town, that he had ſomething of conſe⯑quence to communicate, and that I could be of uſe to him. I am glad of it: for the confidence he repoſes in me, and the ſervice I may do him, will enſure me his good offices.—Poor Fanny! It hurts me to ſee her ſo uneaſy, and her making a myſtery of the cauſe adds to my anxiety.—Something muſt be done upon her account; for at all events, her ſolli⯑citude ſhall be removed.

Scene changes to another chamber.

Oh, my dear ſiſter, ſay no more! This is downright hypocriſy.—You ſhall never convince me that you don't envy me beyond meaſure.—Well, after all it is extremely natural—It is impoſſible to be angry with you.

Indeed, ſiſter, you have no cauſe.

And you really pretend not to envy me?

Not in the leaſt.

And you don't in the leaſt wiſh that you was juſt in my ſituation?

No, indeed, I don't. Why ſhould I?

Why ſhould you?—What! on the brink of marriage, fortune, title—But I had forgot [11] —There's that dear ſweet creature Mr. Lovewell in the caſe.—You would not break your faith with your true love now for the world, I warrant you.

Mr. Lovewell!—always Mr. Lovewell!—Lord, what ſignifies Mr. Lovewell, Siſter?

Pretty peeviſh ſoul!—Oh, my dear, grave, romantick ſiſter!—a perfect philoſopher in petticoats!—Love and a cottage!—Eh, Fanny!—Ah, give me indifference and a coach and ſix!

And why not the coach and ſix without the indifference?—But, pray, when is this happy marriage of your's to be celebrated?—I long to give you joy.

In a day or two—I can't tell exactly.—Oh, my dear ſiſter!—I muſt mortify her a little.

—I know you have a pretty taſte. Pray, give me your opinion of my jewels.—How d'ye like the ſtile of this eſclavage?

Extremely handſome indeed, and well fancied.

What d'ye think of theſe bracelets? I ſhall have a miniature of my father, ſet round with diamonds, to one, and Sir John's to the other.—And this pair of ear-rings! ſet tranſparent!—here, the tops, you ſee, will take off to wear in a morn⯑ing, or in an undreſs—how d'ye like them?

Very much, I aſſure you—Bleſs me; ſiſter, you have a prodigious quantity of jewels—you'll be the very Queen of Diamonds.

Ha! ha! ha! very well, my dear!—I ſhall be as fine as a little queen indeed.—I have a bouquet to come home to-morrow—made up of diamonds, and rubies, and emeralds, and topazes, and amethyſts—jewels of all colours, green, red, blue, yellow, intermixt—the prettieſt thing you ever ſaw in your life!—The jeweller ſays I ſhall ſet out with as many diamonds as any body in town, except [12] Lady Brilliant, and Polly What d'ye-call-it, Lord Squander's kept miſtreſs.

But what are your wedding-cloaths, ſiſter?

Oh, white and ſilver to be ſure, you know.—I bought them at Sir Joſeph Luteſtring's, and ſat above an hour in the parlour behind the ſhop, conſulting Lady Luteſtring about gold and ſilver ſtuffs, on purpoſe to mortify her.

Fie, ſiſter! how could you be ſo abomina⯑bly provoking?

Oh, I have no patience with the pride of your city-knights' ladies.—Did you never obſerve the airs of Lady Luteſtring dreſt in the richeſt brocade out of her huſband's ſhop, playing crown⯑whiſt at Haberdaſher's-Hall?—While the civil ſmirk⯑ing Sir Joſeph, with a ſmug wig trimmed round his broad face as cloſe as a new-cut yew-hedge, and his ſhoes ſo black that they ſhine again, ſtands all day in his ſhop, faſtened to his counter like a bad ſhilling?

Indeed, indeed, ſiſter, this is too much—If you talk at this rate, you will be abſolutely a bye-word in the city—You muſt never venture on the inſide of Temple-Bar again.

Never do I deſire it—never, my dear Fanny, I promiſe you.—Oh, how I long to be tranſ⯑ported to the dear regions of Groſvenor-Square—far—far from the dull diſtricts of Alderſgate, Cheap, Candlewick, and Farringdon Without and Within!—My heart goes pit-a-pat at the very idea of being introduced at court!—gilt chariot!—pyeballed hor⯑ſes!—laced liveries!—and then the whiſpers buzzing round the circle—"Who is that young Lady! Who is ſhe?"—"Lady Melvil, Ma'am!"—Lady Melvil! my ears tingle at the ſound.—And then at dinner, inſtead of my farther perpetually aſking—"Any news upon 'Change?"—to cry—well, Sir John! any thing new from Arthur's?—or—to ſay to ſome other woman of quality, was your Ladyſhip at the Dut⯑cheſs [13] of Rubber's laſt night?—Did you call in at Lady Thunder's? In the immenſity of croud I ſwear I did not ſee you—ſcarce a ſoul at the opera laſt Satur⯑day—ſhall I ſee you at Carliſle-Houſe next Thurſday?—Oh, the dear Beau-Monde! I was born to move in the ſphere of the great world.

And ſo, in the midſt of all this happineſs, you have no compaſſion for me—no pity for us poor mortals in common life.

You?—You're above pity.—You would not change conditions with me—you're over head and ears in love, you know.—Nay, for that matter, if Mr. Lovewell and you c [...]me together, as I doubt not you will, you will live very com⯑fortably, I dare ſay.—He will mind his buſineſs—you'll employ yourſelf in the delightful care of your family—and once in a ſeaſon perhaps you'll ſit toge⯑ther in a front-box at a benefit play, as we uſed to do at our dancing-maſter's, you know—and perhaps I may meet you in the ſummer with ſome other citizens at Tunbridge.—For my part, I ſhall always entertain a proper regard for my relations.—You ſha'n't want my countenance, I aſſure you.

Oh, you're too kind, ſiſter!

Here this evening!—I vow and perteſt we ſhall ſcarce have time to provide for them—Oh, my dear!

I am glad to ſee you're not quite in diſh-abille. Lord Ogleby and Sir John Melvil will be here to-night.

To-night, Ma'am?

Yes, my dear, to-night.—Do, put on a ſmarter cap, and change thoſe ordinary ruffles!—Lord, I have ſuch a deal to do, I ſhall ſcarce have time to ſlip on my Italian luteſtring.—Where is this dawdle of a houſekeeper?—

Oh, here, Truſty! do you know that people of qua⯑laty are expected here this evening?

Yes, Ma'am.

Well—Do you be ſure now that every thing is done in the moſt genteeleſt manner—and to the honour of the fammaly.

Yes, Ma'am.

Well—but mind what I ſay to you.

Yes, Ma'am.

His Lordſhip is to lie in the chintz bedchamber—d'ye hear?—And Sir John in the blue damaſk room—His Lordſhip's valet-de-ſhamb in the oppoſite—

But Mr. Lovewell is come down—and you know that's his room, Ma'am.

Well—well—Mr. Lovewell may make ſhift—or get a bed at the George—But hark ye, Truſty!

Ma'am!

Get the great dining-room in order as ſoon as poſſible. Unpaper the curtains, take the civers off the couch and the chairs, and put the china figures on the mantle-piece immediately.

Yes, Ma'am.

Be gone then! fly, this inſtant!—Where's my brother Sterling—

Talking to the butler, Ma'am.

Very well.

Miſs Fanny!—I perteſt I did not ſee you before—Lord, child, what's the matter with you?

With me? Nothing, Ma'am.

Bleſs me! Why your face is as pale, and black, and yellow—of fifty colours, I perteſt.—And then you have dreſt yourſelf as looſe and as big—I declare there is not ſuch a thing to be ſeen now, as a young woman with a fine waiſt—You all make your⯑ſelves as round as Mrs. Deputy Barter. Go, child!—You know the qualaty will be here by and by—Go, and make yourſelf a little more fit to be ſeen.

She is gone away in tears—abſolutely cry⯑ing, I vow and perteſt.—This ridicalous Love! we [15] muſt put a ſtop to it. It makes a perfect nataral of the girl.

Poor ſoul! ſhe can't help it.

Well, my dear! Now I ſhall have an opportunity of convincing you of the abſurdity of what you was telling me concerning Sir John Mel⯑vil's behaviour to you.

Oh, it gives me no manner of uneaſi⯑neſs. But, indeed, Ma'am, I cannot be perſuaded but that Sir John is an extremely cold lover. Such diſtant civility, grave looks, and lukewarm profeſſions of eſteem for me and the whole family! I have heard of flames and darts, but Sir John's is a paſſion of mere ice and ſnow.

Oh, fie, my dear! I am perfectly aſhamed of you. That's ſo like the notions of your poor ſiſter! What you complain of as coldneſs and indiffarence, is nothing but the extreme gentilaty of his addreſs, an exact pictur of the manners of qua⯑laty.

Oh, he is the very mirror of complai⯑ſance! full of formal bows and ſet ſpeeches!—I de⯑clare, if there was any violent paſſion on my ſide, I ſhould be quite jealous of him.

I ſay jealus indeed—Jealus of who, pray?

My ſiſter Fanny. She ſeems a much greater favourite than I am, and he pays her infinite⯑ly more attention, I aſſure you.

Lord! d'ye think a man of faſhion, as he is, can't diſtinguiſh between the genteel and the wulgar part of the famaly?—Between you and your ſiſter, for inſtance—or me and my brother?—Be ad⯑viſed by me, child! It is all politeneſs and good-breeding.—Nobody knows the qualaty better than I do.

In my mind the old lord, his uncle, has ten times more gallantry about him than Sir John. He is full of attentions to the ladies, and [16] ſmiles, and grins, and leers, and ogles, and fills every wrinkle in his old wizen face with comical expreſſions of tenderneſs. I think he wou'd make an admirable ſweetheart.

No fiſh?—Why the pond was dragged but yeſterday morning—There's carp and tench in the boat.—Pox on't, if that dog Lovewell had any thought, he wou'd have brought down a turbot, or ſome of the land-carriage mackarel.

Lord, brother, I am afraid his lord⯑ſhip and Sir John will not arrive while it's light.

I warrant you.—But, pray, ſiſter Heidelberg, let the turtle be dreſt to-morrow, and ſome veniſon—and let the gardener cut ſome pine-apples—and get out ſome ice.—I'll anſwer for wine, I warrant you—I'll give them ſuch a glaſs of Champagne as they ne⯑ver drank in their lives—no, not at a Duke's table.

Pray now, brother, mind how you behave. I am always in a fright about you with people of qualaty. Take care that you don't fall aſleep directly after ſupper, as you commonly do. Take a good deal of ſnuff; and that will keep you awake.—And don't burſt out with your horrible loud horſe-laughs. It is monſtrous wulgar.

Never fear, ſiſter!—Who have we here?

It is Monſ. Cantoon, the Swiſh gentle⯑man, that lives with his Lordſhip, I vow and perteſt.

Ah, Mounſeer! your ſervant.—I am very glad to ſee you, Mounſeer.

Moſh oblige to Monſ. Sterling.—Ma'am, I am yours—Matemoiſelle, I am yours.

Your humble ſervant, Mr. Cantoon!

I kiſs your hands, Matam!

Well, Mounſeer!—and what news of your good family!—when are we to ſee his Lordſhip and Sir John?

Monſ. Sterling! Milor Ogelby and Sir Jean Melvile will be here in one quarter-hour.

I am glad to hear it.

O, I am perdigious glad to hear it. Being ſo late I was afeard of ſome accident.—Will you pleaſe to have any thing, Mr. Cantoon, after your journey?

No, I tank you, Ma'am.

Shall I go and ſhew you the apart⯑ments, Sir?

You do me great honeur, Ma'am.

Come then!—come, my dear!

Pox on't, it's almoſt dark—It will be too late to go round the garden this evening.—However, I will carry them to take a peep at my fine canal at leaſt, I am determined.

SCENE an anti-chamber to Lord Ogleby's bed-chamber—Table with chocolate, and ſmall caſe for medicines.

YOU ſhall ſtay, my dear, I inſiſt upon it.

Nay, pray, Sir, don't be ſo poſitive; I can't ſtay indeed.

You ſhall take one cup to our better ac⯑quaintance.

I ſeldom drinks chocolate; and if I did, one has no ſatisfaction, with ſuch apprehenſions about one—if my Lord ſhould wake, or the Swiſh gentle⯑man ſhould ſee one, or Madam Heidelberg ſhould [18] know of it, I ſhould be frighted to death—beſides I have had my tea already this morning—I'm ſure I hear my Lord.

No, no, Madam, don't flutter yourſelf—the moment my Lord wakes, he rings his bell, which I anſwer ſooner or later, as it ſuits my conve⯑nience.

But ſhould he come upon us without ringing—

I'll forgive him if he does—This key

locks him up till I pleaſe to let him out.

Law, Sir! that's potecary's-ſtuff.

It is ſo—but without this he can no more get out of bed—than he can read without ſpectacles—

What with qualms, age, rheumatiſm, and a few ſurfeits in his youth, he muſt have a great deal of bruſhing, oyling, ſcrewing, and winding up to ſet him a going for the day.

That's prodigious indeed—

My Lord ſeems quite in a decay.

Yes, he's quite a ſpectacle,

a mere corpſe, till he is reviv'd and refeſh'd from our little magazine here—When the reſtorative pills, and cor⯑dial waters warm his ſtomach, and get into his head, vanity friſks in his heart, and then he ſets up for the lover, the rake, and the fine gentleman.

Poor gentleman!—but ſhould the Swiſh gentleman come upon us.

Why then the Engliſh gentleman would be very angry—No foreigner muſt break in upon my privacy.

But I can aſſure you Monſieur Canton is otherwiſe employ'd—He is oblig'd to ſkim the cream of half a ſcore news-papers for my Lord's breakfaſt—ha, ha, ha. Pray, Madam, drink your cup peaceably—My Lord's chocolate is remarkably good, he won't touch a drop but what comes from Italy.

'Tis very fine indeed!—

and charmingly perfum'd—it ſmells for all the world like our young ladies dreſſing-boxes.

You have an excellent taſte, Madam, and I muſt beg of you to accept of a few cakes for your own drinking,

and in return, I deſire nothing but to taſte the per⯑fume of your lips—

—A ſmall return of favours, Madam, will make, I hope, this country and retirement agreeable to both.

Your young ladies are fine girls, faith:

tho' upon my ſoul, I am quite of my old lord's mind about them; and were I inclin'd to ma⯑trimony, I ſhould take the youngeſt.

Miſs Fanny's the moſt affableſt and the moſt beſt nater'd creter!

And the eldeſt a little haughty or ſo—

More haughtier and prouder than Saturn himſelf—but this I ſay quite confidential to you, for one would not hurt a young lady's marriage, you know.

By no means, but you can't hurt it with us—we don't conſider tempers—we want money, Mrs. Nancy—give us enough of that, we'll abate you a great deal in other particulars—ha, ha, ha.

Bleſs me, here's ſomebody—

—O! 'tis my Lord—Well, your ſervant, Mr. Bruſh—I'll clean the cups in the next room.

Do ſo—but never mind the bell—I ſhan't go this half hour. Will you drink tea with me in the afternoon?

Not for the world, Mr. Bruſh—I'll be here to ſet all things to rights—but I muſt not drink tea indeed—and ſo your ſervant.

It is impoſſible to ſtupify one's ſelf in the country for a week without ſome little flirting with the Abigails: this is much the handſomeſt wench in the houſe, except the old citizen's youngeſt [20] daughter, and I have not time enough to lay a plan for Her—

And now I'll go to my Lord, for I have nothing elſe to do.

Monſieur Bruſh—Maiſtre Bruſh—My Lor ſtirra yet?

He has juſt rung his bell—I am going to him.

Depechez vous donc.

I wiſh de Deviel had all deſe papiers—I forget, as faſt as I read—De Advertiſe put out of my head de Gazette, de Gazette de Chronique, and ſo dey all go l'un apres l'autre—I muſt get ſome nouvelle for my Lor, or he'll be en⯑rag [...]e contre moi—Voyons!—

Here is noting but Anti-Sejanus & advertiſe—

Vat you vant, child?—

Only the chocolate things, Sir.

O ver well—dat is good girl—and ver prit too!

Canton, he, he—

—Canton!

I come, my Lor—vat ſhall I do?—I have no news—He vil make great tintamarre!—

Canton, I ſay, Canton! Where are you?—

Here, my Lor; I aſk pardon, my Lor, I have not finiſh de papiers—

Dem your pardon, and your papers—I want you here, Canton.

Den I run, dat is all—

You Swiſs are the moſt unaccountable mixture—you have the language and the imperti⯑nence of the French, with the lazineſs of Dutchmen.

'Tis very true, my Lor—I can't help—

O Diavolo!

You are not in pain, I hope, my Lor.

Indeed but I am, my Lor—That vulgar fellow Sterling, with his city politeneſs, would force me down his ſlope laſt night to ſee a clay-colour'd ditch, which he calls a canal; and what with the dew, and the eaſt-wind, my hips and ſhoulders are abſo⯑lutely ſcrew'd to my body.

A littel veritable eau d'arquibuſade vil ſet all to right again—

Where are the palſy-drops, Bruſh?

Here, my Lord!

Quelle nouvelle avez vous, Canton?

A great deal of papier, but no news at all.

What! nothing at all, you ſtupid fellow?

Yes, my Lor, I have littel advertiſe here vil give you more plaiſir den all de lyes about noting at all. La voila!

Come read it, Canton, with good em⯑phaſis, and good diſcretion.

I vil, my Lor—

Dere is no queſtion, but dat de Coſmetique Royale vil utterlie take away all heats, pimps, frecks & oder eruptions of de ſkin, and likewiſe de wrinque of old age, &c. &c.—A great deal more, my Lor—be ſure to aſk for de Coſmetique Royale, ſigned by de Docteur own hand—Dere is more raiſon for dis caution dan good men vil tink—Eh bien, my Lor!

Eh bien, Canton!—Will you purchaſe any?

For you, my Lor?

For me, you old puppy! for what?

My Lor?

Do I want coſmeticks?

My Lor!

Look in my face—come, be ſincere—Does it want the aſſiſtance of art?

En veritè, non.—'Tis very ſmooſe and brillian—but I tote dat you might take a little by way of prevention.

You thought like an old fool, Monſieur, as you generally do—The ſurfeit-water, Bruſh!

What do you think, Bruſh, of this family, we are going to be connected with?—Eh!

Very well to marry in, my Lord; but it would not do to live with.

You are right, Bruſh—There is no waſh⯑ing the Blackamoor white—Mr. Sterling will never get rid of Black-Fryars, always taſte of the Borachio—and the poor woman his ſiſter is ſo buſy and ſo notable, to make one welcome, that I have not yet got over her firſt reception; it almoſt amounted to ſuffocation! I think the daughters are tolerable—Where's my cephalick ſnuff?

Dey tink ſo of you, my Lor, for dey look at noting elſe, ma foi.

Did they?—Why, I think they did a lit⯑tle—Where's my glaſs?

The youngeſt is delectable.

O, ouy, my Lor—very delect, inteed; ſhe made doux yeux at you, my Lor.

She was particular—the eldeſt, my ne⯑phew's lady, will be a moſt valuable wife; ſhe has all the vulgar ſpirits of her father, and aunt, happily blended with the termagant qualities of her deceaſed mother.—Some pepper-mint water, Bruſh!—How happy is it, Cant, for young ladies in general, that people of quality overlook every thing in a marriage contract but their fortune.

C'eſt bien heureux, et commode auſſi.

Bruſh, give me that pamphlet by my bed-ſide—

Canton, do you wait in the anti-chamber, and let nobody interrupt me till I eall you.

Muſh goot may do your Lordſhip!

And now, Bruſh, leave me a little to my ſtudies.

What can I poſſibly do among theſe women here, with this confounded rheumatiſm? It is a moſt grievous enemy to gallantry and addreſs—

—He!—Courage, my Lor! by heav'ns, I'm another creature—

It will do, faith—Bravo, my Lor! theſe girls have abſolutely inſpir'd me—If they are for a game of romps—Me voila pret!

O—that's an ugly twinge—but it's gone—I have rather too much of the lily this morning in my complexion; a faint tincture of the roſe will give a delicate ſpirit to my eyes for the day.

Who's there! I won't be diſturb'd.

My Lor, my Lor, here is Mon⯑ſieur Sterling to pay his devoir to you this morn in your chambre.

What a fellow!—

I am extreamly honour'd by Mr. Sterling—Why don't you ſee him in, Monſieur?—I wiſh he was at the bottom of his ſtinking canal—

Oh, my dear Mr. Sterling, you do me a great deal of honour.

I hope, my Lord, that your Lordſhip ſlept well in the night—I believe there are no better beds in Europe than I have—I ſpare no pains to get 'em, nor money to buy 'em—His Majeſty, God bleſs him, don't ſleep upon a better out of his palace; and if I had ſaid in too, I hope no treaſon, my Lord.

Your beds are like every thing elſe about you, incomparable!—They not only make one reſt well, but give one ſpirits, Mr. Sterling.

What ſay you then, my Lord, to another walk in the garden? You muſt ſee my water by day⯑light, and my walks, and my ſlopes, and my clumps, [24] and my bridge, and my flow'ring trees, and my bed of Dutch tulips—Matters look'd but dim laſt night, my Lord; I feel the dew in my great toe—but I would put on a cut ſhoe that I might be able to walk you about—I may be laid up to-morrow.

I pray heav'n you may!

What ſay you, my Lord!

I was ſaying, Sir, that I was in hopes of ſeeing the young ladies at breakfaſt: Mr. Sterling, they are, in my mind, the fineſt tulips in this part of the world—he, he.

Braviſſimo, my Lor!—ha, ha, he.

They ſhall meet your Lordſhip in the garden—we won't loſe our walk for them; I'll take you a little round before breakfaſt, and a larger before dinner, and in the evening you ſhall go to the Grand Tower, as I call it, ha, ha, ha.

Not a foot, I hope, Mr. Sterling—conſi⯑der your gout, my good friend—You'll certainly be laid by the heels for your politeneſs—he, he, he.

Ha, ha, ha—'tis admirable! en veritè!—

If my young man

here, would but laugh at my jokes, which he ought to do, as Mounſeer does at yours, my Lord, we ſhould be all life and mirth.

What ſay you, Cant, will you take my kinſman under your tuition? you have certainly the moſt companionable laugh I ever met with, and never out of tune.

But when your Lorſhip is out of ſpirits.

Well ſaid, Cant!—but here comes my nephew, to play his part.

Well, Sir John, what news from the iſland of Love? have you been ſighing and ſerenading this morning?

I am glad to ſee your Lordſhip in ſuch ſpirits this morning.

I'm ſorry to ſee you ſo dull, Sir—What poor things, Mr. Sterling, theſe very young fellows are! they make love with faces, as if they were bu⯑rying the dead—though, indeed, a marriage ſome⯑times may be properly called a burying of the living—eh, Mr. Sterling?—

Not if they have enough to live upon, my Lord—Ha, ha, ha.

Dat is all Monſieur Sterling tink of.

Prithee, Lovewell, come with me into the garden; I have ſomething of conſequence for you, and I muſt communicate it directly.

We'll go together—

If your Lordſhip and Mr. Sterling pleaſe, we'll pre⯑pare the ladies to attend you in the garden.

My girls are always ready, I make 'em riſe ſoon, and to-bed early; their huſbands ſhall have 'em with good conſtitutions, and good fortunes, if they have nothing elſe, my Lord.

Fine things, Mr. Sterling!

Fine things, indeed, my Lord!—Ah, my Lord, had not you run off your ſpeed in your youth, you had not been ſo crippled in your age, my Lord.

Very pleaſant, I proteſt—He, he, he.—

Here's Mounſeer now, I ſuppoſe, is pretty near your Lordſhip's ſtanding; but having little to eat, and little to ſpend, in his own country, he'll wear three of your Lordſhip out—eating and drink⯑ing kills us all.

Very pleaſant, I proteſt—What a vulgar dog!

My Lor ſo old as me!—He is ſhicken to me—and look like a boy to pauvre me.

Ha, ha, ha. Well ſaid, Mounſeer—keep to that, and you'll live in any country of the world—Ha, ha, ha.—But, my Lord, I will wait upon you into the garden: we have but a little time to break⯑faſt [26] —I'll go for my hat and cane, fetch a little walk with you, my Lord, and then for the hot rolls and butter!

I ſhall attend you with pleaſure—Hot rolls and butter, in July!—I ſweat with the thoughts of it—What a ſtrange beaſt it is!

C'eſt un barbare.

He is a vulgar dog, and if there was not ſo much money in the family, which I can't do with⯑out, I would leave him and his hot rolls and butter directly—Come along, Monſieur!

Scene changes to the Garden.

In my room this morning? Impoſſible.

Before five this morning, I promiſe you.

On what occaſion?

I was ſo anxious to diſcloſe my mind to you, that I could not ſleep in my bed—But I found that you could not ſleep neither—The bird was flown, and the neſt long ſince cold.—Where was you, Lovewell?

Pooh! prithee! ridiculous!

Come now! which was it? Miſs Ster⯑ling's maid? a pretty little rogue!—or Miſs Fanny's Abigail? a ſweet ſoul too!—or—

Nay, nay, leave trifling, and tell me your buſineſs.

Well, but where was you, Lovewell?

Walking—writing—what ſignifies where I was?

Walking! yes, I dare ſay. It rained as hard as it could pour. Sweet refreſhing ſhowers to walk in! No, no, Lovewell.—Now would I give twenty pounds to know which of the maids—

But your buſineſs! your buſineſs, Sir John!

Let me a little into the ſecrets of the family.

Pſha!

Poor Lovewell! he can't bear it, I ſee. She charged you not to kiſs and tell.—Eh, Lovewell! However, though you will not honour me with your confidence, I'll venture to truſt you with mine.—What d'ye think of Miſs Sterling?

What do I think of Miſs Sterling?

Ay; what d'ye think of her?

An odd queſtion!—but I think her a ſmart, lively girl, full of mirth and ſprightlineſs.

All miſchief and malice, I doubt.

How?

But her perſon—what d'ye think of that?

Pretty and agreeable.

A little griſette thing.

What is the meaning of all this?

I'll tell you. You muſt know, Love⯑well, that notwithſtanding all appearances—

We are interrupted—When they are gone, I'll explain.

Great improvements indeed, Mr. Ster⯑ling! wonderful improvements! The four ſeaſons in lead, the flying Mercury, and the baſin with Neptune in the middle, are all in the very extreme of fine taſte. You have as many rich figures as the man at Hyde-Park Corner.

The chief pleaſure of a country houſe is to make improvements, you know, my Lord. I ſpare no expence, not I.—This is quite another-gueſs ſort of a place than it was when I firſt took it, my Lord. We were ſurrounded with trees. I cut down above fifty to make the lawn before the houſe, and let in the wind and the ſun—ſmack-ſmooth—as you ſee.—Then I made a green-houſe out of the old laundry, [28] and turned the brew houſe into a pinery.—The high octagon ſummer-houſe, you ſee yonder, is raiſed on the maſt of a ſhip, given me by an Eaſt-India cap⯑tain, who has turned many a thouſand of my money. It commands the whole road. All the coaches and chariots, and chaiſes, paſs and repaſs under your eye. I'll mount you up there in the afternoon, my Lord. 'Tis the pleaſanteſt place in the world to take a pipe and a bottle,—and ſo you ſhall ſay, my Lord.

Ay—or a bowl of punch, or a can of flip, Mr. Sterling! for it looks like a cabin in the air.—If flying chairs were in uſe, the captain might make a voyage to the Indies in it ſtill, if he had but a fair wind.

Ha! ha! ha! ha!

My brother's a little comacal in his ideas, my Lord!—But you'll excuſe him.—I have a little gothick dairy, fitted up entirely in my own taſte.—In the evening I ſhall hope for the honour of your Lordſhip's company to take a diſh of tea there, or a ſullabub warm from the cow.

I have every moment a freſh oppor⯑tunity of admiring the elegance of Mrs. Heidelberg—the very flower of delicacy, and cream of polite⯑neſs.

O my Lord!

O Madam!

How d'ye like theſe cloſe walks, my Lord?

A moſt excellent ſerpentine! It forms a perfect maze, and winds like a true-lover's knot.

Ay—here's none of your ſtrait lines here—but all taſte—zig-zag—crinkum-crankum—in and out—right and left—to and again—twiſting and turn⯑ing like a worm, my Lord!

Admirably laid out indeed, Mr. Ster⯑ing! one can hardly ſee an inch beyond one's noſe any where in theſe walks.—You are a moſt excellent oeconomiſt of your land, and make a little go a great way.—It lies together in as ſmall parcels as if it was [29] placed in pots out at your window in Gracechurch-Street.

Ha! ha! ha! ha!

What d'ye laugh at, Canton?

Ah! que cette ſimilitude eſt drole! So clever what you ſay, mi Lor.

You ſeem mightily enga⯑ged, Madam. What are thoſe pretty hands ſo buſily employed about?

Only making up a noſegay, my Lord!—Will your Lordſhip do me the honour of accepting it?

I'll wear it next my heart, Madam!—I ſee the young creature doats on me.

Lord, ſiſter! you've loaded his Lord⯑ſhip with a bunch of flowers as big as the cook or the nurſe carry to town on Monday morning for a beaupot.—Will your Lordſhip give me leave to pre⯑ſent you with this roſe and a ſprig of ſweet-briar?

The trueſt emblems of yourſelf, Ma⯑dam! all ſweetneſs and poignancy.—A little jealous, poor ſoul!

Now, my Lord, if you pleaſe, I'll carry you to ſee my Ruins.

You'll abſolutely fatigue his Lordſhip with overwalking, brother!

Not at all, Madam! We're in the garden of Eden, you know; in the region of perpe⯑tual ſpring, youth, and beauty.

Quite the man of qualaty, I perteſt.

Take a my arm, mi Lor!

I'll only ſhew his Lordſhip my ruins, and the caſcade, and the Chineſe bridge, and then we'll go in to breakfaſt.

Ruins, did you ſay, Mr. Sterling?

Ay, ruins, my Lord! and they are reckoned very fine ones too. You would think them ready to [30] tumble on your head. It has juſt coſt me a hundred and fifty pounds to put my ruins in thorough repair.—This way, if your Lordſhip pleaſes.

What ſteeple's that we ſee yonder? the pariſh-church, I ſuppoſe.

Ha! ha! ha! that's admirable. It is no church at all, my Lord! it is a ſpire that I have built againſt a tree, a field or two off, to terminate the proſpect. One muſt always have a church, or an obeliſk, or a ſomething, to terminate the proſpect, you know. That's a rule in taſte, my Lord!

Very ingenious, indeed! For my part, I deſire no finer proſpect, than this I ſee before me.

—Simple, yet varied; bounded, yet extenſive.—Get away, Canton!

I want no aſſiſtance.—I'll walk with the ladies.

This way, my Lord!

Lead on, Sir!—We young folks here will follow you.—Madam!—Miſs Sterling!—Miſs Fanny! I attend you.

He is cock o'de game, ma foy!

At length, thank heaven, I have an opportunity to unboſom.—I know you are faithful, Lovewell, and flatter myſelf you would rejoice to ſerve me.

Be aſſured, you may depend on me.

You muſt know then, notwithſtanding all appearances, that this treaty of marriage between Miſs Sterling and me will come to nothing.

How!

It will be no match, Lovewell.

No match?

No.

You amaze me. What ſhould prevent it?

I.

You! wherefore?

I don't like her.

Very plain indeed! I never ſuppoſed that you was extremely devoted to her from inclination, but thought you always conſidered it as a matter of convenience, rather than affection.

Very true. I came into the family with⯑out any impreſſions on my mind—with an unim⯑paſſioned indifference ready to receive one woman as ſoon as another. I looked upon love, ſerious, ſober love, as a chimaera, and marriage as a thing of courſe, as you know moſt people do. But I, who was lately ſo great an infidel in love, am now one of its ſincereſt votaries.—In ſhort, my defection from Miſs Sterling proceeds from the violence of my attachment to another.

Another! So! ſo! here will be fine work. And pray who is ſhe?

Who is ſhe! who can ſhe be? but Fanny, the tender, amiable, engaging Fanny.

Fanny! What Fanny?

Fanny Sterling. Her ſiſter—Is not ſhe an angel, Lovewell?

Her ſiſter? Confuſion!—You muſt not think of it, Sir John.

Not think of it? I can think of nothing elſe. Nay, tell me, Lovewell! was it poſſible for me to be indulged in a perpetual intercourſe with two ſuch objects as Fanny and her ſiſter, and not find my heart led by inſenſible attraction towards Her?—You ſeem confounded—Why don't you anſwer me?

Indeed, Sir John, this event gives me infinite concern.

Why ſo?—Is not ſhe an angel, Love⯑well?

I foreſee that it muſt produce the worſt conſequences. Conſider the confuſion it muſt una⯑voidably create. Let me perſuade you to drop theſe thoughts in time.

Never—never, Lovewell!

You have gone too far to recede. A negotiation, ſo nearly concluded, cannot be broken off with any grace. The lawyers, you know, are hourly expected; the preliminaries almoſt finally ſettled between Lord Ogleby and Mr. Sterling; and Miſs Sterling herſelf ready to receive you as a huſband.

Why the banns have been publiſhed, and nobody has forbidden them, 'tis true. But you know either of the parties may change their minds even after they enter the church.

You think too lightly of this matter. To carry your addreſſes ſo far—and then to deſert her—and for her ſiſter too!—It will be ſuch an affront to the family, that they can never put up with it.

I don't think ſo: for as to my transfer⯑ring my paſſion from her to her ſiſter, ſo much the better▪—for then, you know, I don't carry my af⯑fections out of the family.

Nay, but prithee be ſerious, and think better of it.

I have thought better of it already, you ſee. Tell me honeſtly, Lovewell! Can you blame me? Is there any compariſon between them?

As to that now—why that—that is juſt—juſt as it may ſtrike different people. There are many admirers of Miſs Sterling's vivacity.

Vivacity! a medley of Cheapſide pert⯑neſs, and Whitechapel pride.—No—no—if I do go ſo far into the city for a wedding-dinner, it ſhall be upon turtle at leaſt.

But I ſee no probability of ſucceſs; for granting that Mr. Sterling wou'd have conſented to it at firſt, he cannot liſten to it now. Why did not you break this affair to the family before?

Under ſuch embarraſſed circumſtances as I have been, can you wonder at my irreſolution or perplexity? Nothing but deſpair, the fear of loſing my dear Fanny, cou'd bring me to a declaration [33] even now: and yet, I think I know Mr. Sterling ſo well, that, ſtrange as my propoſal may appear, if I can make it advantageous to him as a money-tranſ⯑action, as I am ſure I can, he will certainly come into it.

But even ſuppoſe he ſhould, which I very much doubt, I don't think Fanny herſelf wou'd liſten to your addreſſes.

You are deceived a little in that parti⯑cular.

You'll find I am in the right.

I have ſome little reaſon to think other⯑wiſe.

You have not declared your paſſion to her already?

Yes, I have.

Indeed!—And—and—and how did ſhe receive it?

I think it is not very eaſy for me to make my addreſſes to any woman, without receiving ſome little encouragement.

Encouragement! did ſhe give you any encouragement?

I don't know what you call encourage⯑ment—but ſhe bluſhed—and cried—and deſired me not to think of it any more:—upon which I preſt her hand—kiſſed it—ſwore ſhe was an angel—and I cou'd ſee it tickled her to the ſoul.

And did ſhe expreſs no ſurpriſe at your declaration?

Why, faith, to ſay the truth, ſhe was a little ſurpriſed—and ſhe got away from me too, be⯑fore I cou'd thoroughly explain myſelf. If I ſhould not meet with an opportunity of ſpeaking to her, I muſt get you to deliver a letter from me.

I!—a letter!—I had rather have nothing—

Nay, you promiſed me your aſſiſtance—and I am ſure you cannot ſcruple to make yourſelf uſeful on ſuch an occaſion.—You may, without ſuſ⯑picion, [34] acquaint her verbally of my determined af⯑fection for her, and that I am reſolved to aſk her father's conſent.

As to that, I—your commands, you know—that is, if ſhe—Indeed, Sir John, I think you are in the wrong.

Well—well—that's my concern—Ha! there ſhe goes, by heaven! along that walk yonder, d'ye ſee? I'll go to her immediately.

You are too precipitate. Conſider what you are doing.

I wou'd not loſe this opportunity for the univerſe.

Nay, pray don't go! Your violence and eagerneſs may overcome her ſpirits.—The ſhock will be too much for her.

Nothing ſhall prevent me.—Ha! now ſhe turns into another walk.—Let me go!

I ſhall loſe her.—

Be ſure now to keep out of the way! If you interrupt us, I ſhall never forgive you.

'Sdeath! I can't bear this. In love with my wife! acquaint me with his paſſion for her! make his ad⯑dreſſes before my face!—I ſhall break out before my time.—This was the meaning of Fanny's uneaſineſs. She could not encourage him—I am ſure ſhe could not.—Ha! they are turning into the walk, and coming this way. Shall I leave the place?—Leave him to ſollicit my wife! I can't ſubmit to it.—They come nearer and nearer—If I ſtay it will look ſuſ⯑picious—It may betray us, and incenſe him—They are here—I muſt go—I am the moſt unfortunate fellow in the world.

Leave me, Sir John, I beſeech you leave me!—nay, why will you perſiſt to follow me with [35] idle ſollicitations, which are an affront to my cha⯑racter, and an injury to your own honour?

I know your delicacy, and tremble to offend it: but let the urgency of the occaſion be my excuſe! Conſider, Madam, that the future happineſs of my life depends on my preſent application to you! conſider that this day muſt determine my fate; and theſe are perhaps the only moments left me to incline you to warrant my paſſion, and to intreat you not to oppoſe the propoſals I mean to open to your father.

For ſhame, for ſhame, Sir John! Think of your previous engagements! Think of your own ſituation, and think of mine!—What have you diſ⯑covered in my conduct that might encourage you to ſo bold a declaration? I am ſhocked that you ſhould venture to ſay ſo much, and bluſh that I ſhould even dare to give it a hearing.—Let me be gone!

Nay, ſtay, Madam! but one moment!—Your ſenſibility is too great.—Engagements! what engagements have even been pretended on either ſide than thoſe of family-convenience? I went on in the trammels of matrimonial negotiation with a blind ſubmiſſion to your father and Lord Ogleby; but my heart ſoon claimed a right to be conſulted. It has devoted itſelf to you, and obliges me to plead earneſt⯑ly for the ſame tender intereſt in your's.

Have a care, Sir John! do not miſtake a depraved will for a virtuous inclination. By theſe common pretences of the heart, half of our ſex are made fools, and a greater part of yours deſpiſe them for it.

Affection, you will allow, is involuntary. We cannot always direct it to the object on which it ſhould fix—But when it is once inviolably attached, inviolably as mine is to you, it often creates recipro⯑cal affection.—When I laſt urged you on this ſubject, you heard me with more temper, and I hoped with ſome compaſſion.

You deceived yourſelf. If I forbore to exert a proper ſpirit, nay if I did not even expreſs the quickeſt reſentment of your behaviour, it was only in conſideration of that reſpect I wiſh to pay you, in honour to my ſiſter: and be aſſured, Sir, woman as I am, that my vanity could reap no pleaſure from a triumph, that muſt reſult from the blackeſt treachery to her.

One word, and I have done.

—Your impatience and anxiety, and the urgency of the occaſion, oblige me to be brief and explicit with you.—I appeal therefore from your delicacy to your juſtice.—Your ſiſter, I verily believe, neither entertains any real affection for me, or tenderneſs for you.—Your father, I am inclined to think, is not much concerned by means of which of his daughters the families are united.—Now as they cannot, ſhall not be connected, otherwiſe than by my union with you, why will you, from a falſe delicacy, oppoſe a meaſure ſo conducive to my happineſs, and, I hope, your own?—I love you, moſt paſſionately and ſin⯑cerely love you—and hope to propoſe terms agreeable to Mr. Sterling.—If then you don't abſolutely loath, abhor, and ſcorn me—if there is no other happier man—

Hear me, Sir! hear my final determina⯑tion.—Were my father and ſiſter as inſenſible as you are pleaſed to repreſent them;—were my heart for ever to remain diſengaged to any other—I could not liſten to your propoſals.—What! You on the very eve of a marriage with my ſiſter; I living under the ſame roof with her, bound not only by the laws of friendſhip and hoſpitality, but even the ties of blood, to contribute to her happineſs,—and not to conſpire againſt her peace—the peace of a whole family—and that my own too!—Away! away, Sir John!—At ſuch a time, and in ſuch circumſtances, your addreſſes only inſpire me with horror.—Nay, you muſt detain me no longer.—I will go.

Do not leave me in abſolute deſpair!—Give me a glimpſe of hope!

I cannot. Pray, Sir John!

Shall this hand be given to another?

No—I cannot endure it.—My whole ſoul is yours, and the whole happineſs of my life is in your power.

Ha! my ſiſter is here. Riſe for ſhame, Sir John!

Miſs Sterling!

I beg pardon, Sir!—You'll excuſe me, Madam!—I have broke in upon you a little unoppor⯑tunely, I believe—But I did not mean to interrupt you—I only came, Sir, to let you know that break⯑faſt waits, if you have finiſhed your morning's de⯑votions.

I am very ſenſible, Miſs Sterling, that this may appear particular, but—

Oh dear, Sir John, don't put yourſelf to the trouble of an apology. The thing explains itſelf.

It will ſoon, Madam!—In the mean time I can only aſſure you of my profound reſpect and eſteem for you, and make no doubt of convincing Mr. Sterling of the honour and integrity of my intentions. And—and—your humble ſervant, Ma⯑dam!

Reſpect?—Inſolence!—Eſteem?—Very fine truly!—And you, Madam! my ſweet, delicate, innocent, ſentimental ſiſter! will you convince my papa too of the integrity of your intentions?

Do not upbraid me, my dear ſiſter! Indeed, I don't deſerve it. Believe me, you can't be more offended at his behaviour than I am, and I am ſure it cannot make you half ſo miſerable.

Make me miſerable! You are mightily deceived, Madam! It gives me no ſort of uneaſineſs, I aſſure you.—A baſe fellow!—As for you, Miſs! the pretended ſoftneſs of your diſpoſition, your artful good-nature, never impoſed upon me. I always knew you to be fly, and envious, and deceitful.

Indeed you wrong me.

Oh, you are all goodneſs, to be ſure!—Did not I find him on his knees before you? Did not I ſee him kiſs your ſweet hand? Did not I hear his proteſtations? Was not I witneſs of your diſ⯑ſembled modeſty?—No—no, my dear! don't imagine that you can make a fool of your elder ſiſter ſo eaſily.

Sir John, I own, is to blame; but I am above the thoughts of doing you the leaſt injury.

We ſhall try that, Madam!—I hope, Miſs, you'll be able to give a better account to my papa and my aunt—for they ſhall both know of this matter, I promiſe you.

How unhappy I am! my diſtreſſes multiply upon me.—Mr. Lovewell muſt now become acquainted with Sir John's behaviour to me—and in a manner that may add to his uneaſineſs.—My father, inſtead of being diſpoſed by fortunate circumſtances to for⯑give any tranſgreſſion, will be previouſly incenſed againſt me.—My ſiſter and my aunt will become irreconcilably my enemies, and rejoice in my diſgrace.—Yet, at all events, I am determined on a diſcovery. I dread it, and am reſolved to haſten it. It is ſur⯑rounded with more horrors every inſtant, as it ap⯑pears every inſtant more neceſſary.

SCENE I. A hall.

THIS way, if you pleaſe, gentlemen! my maſter is at breakfaſt with the fa⯑mily at preſent—but I'll let him know, and he will wait on you immediately.

Mighty well, young man, mighty well.

Pleaſe to favour me with your names, gentlemen.

Let Mr. Sterling know, that Mr. Serjeant Flower, and two other gentlemen of the bar, are come to wait on him according to his appointment.

I will, Sir.

And harkee, young man!

Deſire my ſervant—Mr. Serjeant Flower's ſervant—to bring in my green and gold ſaddle-cloth and piſtols, and lay them down here in the hall with my portmanteau.

I will, Sir.

Well, gentlemen! the ſetting theſe mar⯑riage articles falls conveniently enough, almoſt juſt on the eve of the circuits.—Let me ſee—the Home, the Midland, and Weſtern,—ay, we can all croſs the country well enough to our ſeveral deſtinations.—Traverſe, when do you begin at Hertford?

The day after to-morrow.

That is commiſſion-day with us at War⯑wick too.—But my clerk has retainers for every cauſe in the paper, ſo it will be time enough if I am there the next morning.—Beſides, I have about half a dozen caſes that have lain by me ever ſince the ſpring aſſizes, and I muſt tack opinions to them [40] before I ſee my country-clients again—ſo I will take the evening before me—and then currente calamo, as I ſay—eh, Traverſe!

True, Mr. Serjeant—and the eaſieſt thing in the world too—for thoſe country attornies are ſuch ignorant dogs, that in caſe of the deviſe of an eſtate to A. and his heirs for ever, they'll make a query, whether he takes in fee or in tail.

Do you expect to have much to do on the Home circuit theſe aſſizes?

Not much niſi prius buſineſs, but a good deal on the crown ſide, I believe.—The goals are brimfull—and ſome of the felons in good circum⯑ſtances, and likely to be tolerable clients.—Let me ſee! I am engag'd for three highway robberies, two murders, one forgery, and half a dozen larcenies, at Kingſton.

A pretty decent goal-delivery!—Do you expect to bring off Darkin, for the robbery on Put⯑ney-Common? Can you make out your alibi?

Oh, no! the crown witneſſes are ſure to prove our identity. We ſhall certainly be hanged: but that don't ſignify.—But, Mr. Serjeant, have you much to do?—any remarkable cauſe on the Midland this circuit?

Nothing very remarkable,—except two rapes, and Rider and Weſtern at Nottingham, for crim. con.—but, on the whole, I believe a good deal of buſineſs.—Our aſſociate tells me, there are above thirty venires for Warwick.

Pray, Mr. Serjeant, are you concerned in Jones and Thomas at Lincoln?

I am—for the plaintiff.

And what do you think on't?

A nonſuit.

I thought ſo.

Oh, no manner of doubt on't—luce cla⯑rius—we have no right in us—we have but one chance.

What's that?

Why, my Lord Chief does not go the circuit this time, and my brother Puzzle being in the commiſſion, the cauſe will come on before him.

Ay, that may do, indeed, if you can but throw duſt in the eyes of the defendant's council.

True.—Mr. Trueman, I think you are concerned for Lord Ogleby in this affair?

I am, Sir—I have the honour to be re⯑lated to his Lordſhip, and hold ſome courts for him in Somerſetſhire,—go the Weſtern circuit—and at⯑tend the ſeſſions at Exeter, merely becauſe his Lord⯑ſhip's intereſt and property lie in that part of the kingdom.

Ha!—and pray, Mr. Trueman, how long have you been called to the bar?

About nine years and three quarters.

Ha!—I don't know that I ever had the pleaſure of ſeeing you before.—I wiſh you ſucceſs, young gentleman!

Oh, Mr. Serjeant Flower, I am glad to ſee you—Your ſervant, Mr. Serjeant! gentlemen, your ſervant!—Well, are all matters concluded? Has that ſnail-paced conveyancer, old Ferret of Gray's Inn, ſettled the articles at laſt? Do you approve of what he has done? Will his tackle hold? tight and ſtrong?—Eh, maſter Serjeant?

My friend Ferret's ſlow and ſure, Sir—But then, ſerius aut citius, as we ſay,—ſooner or later, Mr. Sterling, he is ſure to put his buſineſs out of hand as he ſhould do.—My clerk has brought the writings, and all other inſtruments along with him, and the ſettlement is, I believe, as good a ſettlement as any ſettlement on the face of the earth!

But that damn'd mortgage of 60,000l.—There don't appear to be any other incumbrances, I hope?

I can anſwer for that, Sir—and that will be cleared off immediately on the payment of the firſt part of Miſs Sterling's portion—You agree, on your part, to come down with 80,000l.—

Down on the nail.—Ay, ay, my money is ready to-morrow if he pleaſes—he ſhall have it in India-bonds, or notes, or how he chuſes.—Your lords, and your dukes, and your people at the court-end of the town ſtick at payments ſometimes—debts unpaid, no credit loſt with them—but no fear of us ſubſtantial fellows—eh, Mr. Serjeant!—

Sir John having laſt term, according to agreement, levied a fine, and ſuffered a recovery, has thereby cut off the entail of the Ogleby eſtate for the better effecting the purpoſes of the preſent intended marriage; on which above-mentioned Ogleby eſtate, a jointure of 2000l. per ann. is ſecured to your eldeſt daughter, now Elizabeth Sterling, ſpinſter, and the whole eſtate, after the death of the aforeſaid Earl, deſcends to the heirs male of Sir John Melvil on the body of the aforeſaid Eliza⯑beth Sterling lawfully to be begotten.

Very true—and Sir John is to be put in immediate poſſeſſion of as much of his Lordſhip's Somerſetſhire eſtate, as lies in the manors of Hog⯑more and Cranford, amounting to between two and three thouſands per ann. and at the death of Mr. Sterling, a further ſum of ſeventy thouſand—

Ah, Sir John! Here we are—hard at it—paving the road to matrimony—Firſt the lawyers, then comes the doctor—Let us but diſpatch the long-robe, we ſhall ſoon ſet Pudding-ſleeves to work, I warrant you.

I am ſorry to interrupt you, Sir—but I hope that both you and theſe gentlemen will excuſe me—having ſomething very particular for your private ear, I took the liberty of following you, and [43] beg you will oblige me with an audience imme⯑diately.

Ay, with all my heart—Gentlemen, Mr. Serjeant, you'll excuſe it—Buſineſs muſt be done, you know.—The writings will keep cold till to-mor⯑row morning.

I muſt be at Warwick, Mr. Sterling, the day after.

Nay, nay, I ſhan't part with you to-night, gentlemen, I promiſe you—My houſe is very full, but I have beds for you all, beds for your ſervants, and ſtabling for all your horſes.—Will you take a turn in the garden, and view ſome of my improve⯑ments before dinner? Or will you amuſe yourſelves on the green, with a game of bowls and a cool tankard?—My ſervants ſhall attend you—Do you chuſe any other refreſhment?—Call for what you pleaſe;—do as you pleaſe;—make yourſelves quite at home, I beg of you.—Here,—Thomas, Harry, William, wait on theſe Gentlemen!—

And now, Sir, I am entirely at your ſervice.—What are your commands with me, Sir John?

After having carried the negotiation between our families to ſo great a length, after having aſſented ſo readily to all your propoſals, as well as received ſo many inſtances of your chearful compli⯑ance with the demands made on our part, I am extremely concerned, Mr. Sterling, to be the invo⯑luntary cauſe of any uneaſineſs.

Uneaſineſs! what uneaſineſs?—Where buſi⯑neſs is tranſacted as it ought to be, and the parties underſtand one another, there can be no uneaſineſs. You agree, on ſuch and ſuch conditions to receive my daughter for a wife; on the ſame conditions I agree to receive you as a ſon-in-law; and as to all the reſt, it follows of courſe, you know, as regularly as the pay⯑ment of a bill after acceptance.

Pardon me, Sir; more uneaſineſs has ariſen than you are aware of. I am myſelf, at this inſtant, in a ſtate of inexpreſſible embarraſſment; Miſs Sterling, I know, is extremely diſconcerted too; and unleſs you will oblige me with the aſſiſtance of your friendſhip, I foreſee the ſpeedy progreſs of diſ⯑content and animoſity through the whole family.

What the deuce is all this? I don't under⯑ſtand a ſingle ſyllable.

In one word then—it will be abſolutely impoſſible for me to fulfill my engagements in regard to Miſs Sterling.

How, Sir John? Do you mean to put an affront upon my family? What! refuſe to—

Be aſſured, Sir, that I neither mean to affront, nor forſake your family.—My only fear is, that you ſhould deſert me; for the whole happineſs of my life depends on my being connected with your family by the neareſt and tendereſt ties in the world.

Why, did not you tell me, but a moment ago, that it was abſolutely impoſſible for you to marry my daughter?

True.—But you have another daughter, Sir—

Well?

Who has obtained the moſt abſolute dominion over my heart. I have already declared my paſſion to her; nay, Miſs Sterling herſelf is alſo apprized of it, and if you will but give a ſanction to my preſent addreſſes, the uncommon merit of Miſs Sterling will no doubt recommend her to a perſon of equal, if not ſuperior rank to myſelf, and our families may ſtill be allied by my union with Miſs Fanny.

Mighty fine, truly! Why, what the plague do you make of us, Sir John? Do you come to market for my daughters, like ſervants at a ſtatute-fair? Do you think that I will ſuffer you, or any man in the world, to come into my houſe, like the [45] Grand Signior, and throw the handkerchief firſt to one, and then to t'other, juſt as he pleaſes? Do you think I drive a kind of African ſlave-trade with them? and—

A moment's patience, Sir! Nothing but the exceſs of my paſſion for Miſs Fanny ſhou'd have induced me to take any ſtep that had the leaſt appear⯑ance of diſreſpect to any part of your family; and even now I am deſirous to atone for my tranſgreſſion, by making the moſt adequate compenſation that lies in my power.

Compenſation! what compenſation can you poſſibly make in ſuch a caſe as this, Sir John?

Come, come, Mr. Sterling; I know you to be a man of ſenſe, a man of buſineſs, a man of the world. I'll deal frankly with you; and you ſhall ſee that I do not deſire a change of meaſures for my own gratification, without endeavouring to make it advantageous to you.

What advantage can your inconſtancy be to me, Sir John?

I'll tell you, Sir.—You know that by the articles at preſent ſubſiſting between us, on the day of my marriage with Miſs Sterling, you agree to pay down the groſs ſum of eighty thouſand pounds.

Well!

Now if you will but conſent to my waving that marriage—

I agree to your waving that marriage? Im⯑poſſible, Sir John!

I hope not, Sir; as on my part, I will agree to wave my right to thirty thouſand pounds of the fortune I was to receive with her.

Thirty thouſand, d'ye ſay?

Yes, Sir; and accept of Miſs Fanny with fifty thouſand, inſtead of fourſcore.

Fifty thouſand—

Inſtead of fourſcore.

Why,—why,—there may be ſomething in that.—Let me ſee; Fanny with fifty thouſand inſtead of Betſey with fourſcore—But how can this be, Sir John?—For you know I am to pay this money into the hands of my Lord Ogleby; who, I believe—between you and me, Sir John,—is not overſtocked with ready money at preſent; and threeſcore thou⯑ſand of it, you know, is to go to pay off the preſent incumbrances on the eſtate, Sir John.

That objection is eaſily obviated.—Ten of the twenty thouſand, which would remain as a ſurplus of the fourſcore, after paying off the mort⯑gage, was intended by his Lordſhip for my uſe, that we might ſet off with ſome little eclat on our marri⯑age; and the other ten for his own.—Ten thouſand pounds therefore I ſhall be able to pay you imme⯑diately; and for the remaining twenty thouſand you ſhall have a mortgage on that part of the eſtate which is to be made over to me, with whatever ſecurity you ſhall require for the regular payment of the intereſt, 'till the principal is duly diſcharged.

Why—to do you juſtice, Sir John, there is ſomething fair and open in your propoſal; and ſince I find you do not mean to put an affront upon the family—

Nothing was ever farther from my thoughts, Mr. Sterling.—And after all, the whole affair is nothing extraordinary—ſuch things happen every day—and as the world has only heard generally of a treaty between the families, when this marriage takes place, nobody will be the wiſer, if we have but diſcretion enough to keep our own counſel.

True, true; and ſince you only transfer from one girl to the other, it is no more than transferring ſo much ſtock, you know.

The very thing.

Odſo! I had quite forgot. We are reckon⯑ing without our hoſt here. There is another diffi⯑culty—

You alarm me. What can that be?

I can't ſtir a ſtep in this buſineſs without conſulting my ſiſter Heidelberg.—The family has very great expectations from her, and we muſt not give her any offence.

But if you come into this meaſure, ſurely ſhe will be ſo kind as to conſent—

I don't know that—Betſey is her darling, and I can't tell how far ſhe may reſent any ſlight that ſeems to be offered to her favourite niece.—However, I'll do the beſt I can for you.—You ſhall go and break the matter to her firſt, and by that time that I may ſuppoſe that your rhetorick has prevailed on her to liſten to reaſon, I will ſtep in to reinforce your argu⯑ments.

I'll fly to her immediately: you pro⯑miſe me your aſſiſtance?

I do.

Ten thouſand thanks for it! and now ſucceſs attend me!

Harkee, Sir John!

Not a word of the thirty thouſand to my ſiſter, Sir John.

Oh, I am dumb, I am dumb, Sir.

You remember it is thirty thouſand.

To be ſure I do.

But Sir John!—one thing more.

My Lord muſt know nothing of this ſtroke of friendſhip between us.

Not for the world.—Let me alone! let me alone!

—And when every thing is agreed, we muſt give each other a bond to be held faſt to the bargain.

To be ſure. A bond by all means! a bond, or whatever you pleaſe.

I ſhould have thought of more conditions—he's in a humour to give me every thing—Why, what mere children are your fellows of quality; that cry for a plaything one minute, and throw it by the next! as changeable as the weather, and as uncertain as the ſtocks.—Special fellows to drive a bargain! and yet they are to take care of the intereſt of the nation tru⯑ly!—Here does this whirligig man of faſhion offer to give up thirty thouſand pounds in hard money, with as much indifference as if it was a china orange.—By this mortgage, I ſhall have a hold on his Terra⯑firma, and if he wants more money, as he certainly will,—let him have children by my daughter or no, I ſhall have his whole eſtate in a net for the benefit of my family.—Well; thus it is, that the children of citizens, who have acquired fortunes, prove per⯑ſons of faſhion; and thus it is, that perſons of faſhion, who have ruined their fortunes, reduce the next gene⯑ration to cits.

SCENE changes to another apartment.

This is your gentle-looking, ſoft-ſpeak⯑ing, ſweet-ſmiling, affable Miſs Fanny for you!

My Miſs Fanny! I diſclaim her. With all her arts ſhe never could inſinuat herſelf into my good graces—and yet ſhe has a way with her, that deceives man, woman, and child, except you and me, niece.

O ay; ſhe wants nothing but a crook in her hand, and a lamb under her arm, to be a per⯑fect picture of innocence and ſimplicity.

Juſt as I was drawn at Amſter⯑dam, when I went over to viſit my huſband's relati⯑ons.

And then ſhe's ſo mighty good to ſer⯑vants—pray, John, do this—pray, Tom, do that—thank [49] you, Jenny—and then ſo humble to her relations—to be ſure, Papa!—as my Aunt pleaſes—my Siſter knows beſt—But with all her demureneſs and humility ſhe has no objection to be Lady Melvil, it ſeems, nor to any wickedneſs that can make her ſo.

She Lady Melville? Compoſe your⯑ſelf, Niece! I'll ladyſhip her indeed:—a little cree⯑pin, cantin—She ſhan't be the better for a farden of my money. But tell me, child, how does this in⯑triguing with Sir John correſpond with her partiality to Lovewell? I don't ſee a concatunation here.

There I was deceived, Madam. I took all their whiſperings and ſtealing into corners to be the mere attraction of vulgar minds; but, behold! their private meetings were not to contrive their own inſipid happineſs, but to conſpire againſt mine.—But I know whence proceeds Mr. Lovewell's reſentment to me. I could not ſtoop to be familiar with my fa⯑ther's clerk, and ſo I have loſt his intereſt.

My ſpurrit to a T.—My dear child!

—Mr. Heidelberg loſt his election for member of parliament, becauſe I would not demean myſelf to be ſlobbered about by drunken ſhoemakers, beaſtly cheeſemongers, and greaſy butchers and tallow-chandlers. However, Niece, I can't help dif⯑furing a little in opinion from you in this matter. My experunce and ſagucity makes me ſtill ſuſpect, that there is ſomething more between her and that Lovewell, notwithſtanding this affair of Sir John—I had my eye upon them the whole time of break⯑faſt.—Sir John, I obſerved, looked a little confound⯑ed, indeed, though I knew nothing of what had paſſed in the garden. You ſeemed to ſit upon thorns too: but Fanny and Mr. Lovewell made quite ano⯑ther-gueſs ſort of a figur; and were as perfet a pictur of two diſtreſt lovers, as if it had been drawn by Raphael Angelo.—As to Sir John and Fanny, I want a matter of fact.

Matter of fact, Madam! Did not I come unexpectedly upon them? Was not Sir John kneeling at her feet, and kiſſing her hand? Did not he look all love, and ſhe all confuſion? Is not that matter of fact? And did not Sir John, the moment that Papa was called out of the room to the lawyer⯑men, get up from breakfaſt, and follow him imme⯑diately? And I warrant you that by this time he has made propoſals to him to marry my ſiſter—Oh, that ſome other perſon, an earl, or a duke, would make his addreſſes to me, that I might be revenged on this monſter!

Be cool, child! you ſhall be Lady Melvil, in ſpite of all their caballins, if it coſts me ten thouſand pounds to turn the ſcale. Sir John may apply to my brother, indeed; but I'll make them all know who governs in this fammaly.

As I live, Madam, yonder comes Sir John. A baſe man! I can't endure the ſight of him. I'll leave the room this inſtant.

Poor thing! Well, retire to your own chamber, child; I'll give it him, I warrant you; and by and by I'll come, and let you know all that has paſt between us.

Pray do, Madam!—

—A vile wretch!

Your moſt obedient humble ſervant, Madam!

Your ſervant, Sir John!

Miſs Sterling's manner of quitting the room on my approach, and the viſible coolneſs of your behaviour to me, Madam, convince me that ſhe has acquainted you with what paſt this morning.

I am very ſorry, Sir John, to be made acquainted with any thing that ſhould induce me to change the opinon, which I could always wiſh to entertain of a perſon of quallaty.

It has always been my ambition to merit the beſt opinion from Mrs. Heidelberg; and when ſhe comes to weigh all circumſtances, I flatter my⯑ſelf—

You do flatter yourſelf, if you ima⯑gine that I can approve of your behaviour to my niece, Sir John.—And give me leave to tell you, Sir John, that you have been drawn into an action much beneath you, Sir John; and that I look upon every injury offered to Miſs Betty Sterling, as an affront to myſelf, Sir John.

I would not offend you for the world, Madam! but when I am influenced by a partiality for another, however ill-founded, I hope your diſ⯑cernment and good ſenſe will think it rather a point of honour to renounce engagements, which I could not fulfil ſo ſtrictly as I ought; and that you will excuſe the change in my inclinations, ſince the new object, as well as the firſt, has the honour of being your niece, Madam.

I diſclaim her as a niece, Sir John; Miſs Sterling diſclaims her as a ſiſter, and the whole fammaly muſt diſclaim her, for her monſtrus baſe⯑neſs and treachery.

Indeed ſhe has been guilty of none, Madam. Her hand and heart are, I am ſure, en⯑tirely at the diſpoſal of yourſelf, and Mr. Sterling.

And if you ſhould not oppoſe my inclinations, I am ſure of Mr. Sterling's conſent, Madam.

Indeed!

Quite certain, Madam.

So! they ſeem to be coming to terms already. I may venture to make my ap⯑pearance.

To marry Fanny?

Yes, Madam.

My brother has given his conſent, you ſay?

In the moſt ample manner, with no other reſtriction than the failure of your concurrence, Madam.—

—Oh, here's Mr. Sterling, who will confirm what I have told you.

What! have you conſented to give up your own daughter in this manner, brother?

Give her up! no, not give her up, ſiſter; only in caſe that you—Zounds, I am afraid you have ſaid too much, Sir John.

Yes, yes. I ſee now that it is true enough what my niece told me. You are all plot⯑tin and caballin againſt her.—Pray, does Lord Ogleby know of this affair?

I have not yet made him acquainted with it, Madam.

No, I warrant you. I thought ſo.—And ſo his Lordſhip and myſelf truly, are not to be conſulted 'till the laſt.

What! did not you conſult my Lord? Oh, fie for ſhame, Sir John!

Nay, but Mr. Sterling—

We, who are the perſons of moſt conſequence and experunce in the two fammalies, are to know nothing of the matter, 'till the whole is as good as concluded upon. But his Lordſhip, I am ſure, will have more generoſaty than to coun⯑tenance ſuch a perceeding—And I could not have expected ſuch behavour from a perſon of your quallaty, Sir John.—And as for you, brother—

Nay, nay, but hear me, ſiſter!

I am perfetly aſhamed of you—Have you no ſpurrit? no more concern for the ho⯑nour of our fammaly than to conſent—

Conſent?—I conſent!—As I hope for mer⯑cy, I never gave my conſent. Did I conſent, Sir John?

Not abſolutely, without Mrs. Heidel⯑berg's concurrence. But in caſe of her appro⯑bation—

Ay, I grant you, if my ſiſter approved.—But that's quite another thing, you know.—

Your ſiſter approve, indeed!—I thought you know her better, brother Sterling!—What! approve of having your eldeſt daughter re⯑turned upon your hands, and exchanged for the younger?—I am ſurprized how you could liſten to ſuch a ſcandalus propoſal.

I tell you, I never did liſten to it.—Did not I ſay that I would be governed entirely by my ſiſter, Sir John?—And unleſs ſhe agreed to your marrying Fanny—

I agree to his marrying Fanny? abominable! The man is abſolutely out of his ſenſes.—Can't that wiſe head of yours foreſee the conſe⯑quence of all this, brother Sterling? Will Sir John take Fanny without a fortune? No.—After you have ſettled the largeſt part of your property on your youngeſt daughter, can there be an equal portion left for the eldeſt? No.—Does not this overturn the whole ſyſtum of the fammaly? Yes, yes, yes. You know I was always for my niece Betſey's marrying a perſon of the very firſt quallaty. That was my maxum. And, therefore, much the largeſt ſettle⯑ment was of courſe to be made upon her.—As for Fanny, if ſhe could, with a fortune of twenty or thirty thouſand pounds, get a knight, or a member of parliament, or a rich common-council-man for a huſband, I thought it might do very well.

But if a better match ſhould offer itſelf, why ſhould not it be accepted, Madam?

What! at the expence of her elder ſiſter! Oh fie, Sir John!—How could you bear to hear of ſuch an indignaty, brother Sterling?

I! nay, I ſhan't hear of it, I promiſe you.—I can't hear of it indeed, Sir John.

But you have heard of it, brother Sterling. You know you have; and ſent Sir John [54] to propoſe it to me. But if you can give up your daughter, I ſhan't forſake my niece, I aſſure you. Ah! if my poor dear Mr. Heidelberg, and our ſweet babes had been alive, he would not have behaved ſo.

Did I, Sir John? nay ſpeak!—Bring me off, or we are ruined.

Why, to be ſure, to ſpeak the truth—

To ſpeak the truth, I'm aſhamed of you both. But have a care what you are about, brother! have a care, I ſay. The lawyers are in the houſe, I hear; and if every thing is not ſettled to my liking, I'll have nothing more to ſay to you, if I live theſe hundred years.—I'll go over to Hol⯑land, and ſettle with Mr. Vanderſpracken, my poor huſband's firſt couſin; and my own fammaly ſhall never be the better for a farden of my money, I promiſe you.

I thought ſo. I knew ſhe never would agree to it.

'Sdeath, how unfortunate! What can we do, Mr. Sterling?

Nothing.

What! muſt our agreement break off, the moment it is made then?

It can't be helped, Sir John. The family, as I told you before, have great expectations from my ſiſter; and if this matter proceeds, you hear yourſelf that ſhe threatens to leave us.—My brother Heidelberg was a warm man; a very warm man; and died worth a Plumb at leaſt; a Plumb! ay, I warrant you, he died worth a Plumb and a half.

Well; but if I—

And then, my ſiſter has three or four very good mortgages, a deal of money in the three per⯑cents. and old South-Sea annuities, beſides large concerns in the Dutch and French funds.—The [55] greateſt part of all this ſhe means to leave to our family.

I can only ſay, Sir—

Why, your offer of the difference of thirty thouſand, was very fair and handſome to be ſure, Sir John.

Nay, but I am even willing to—

Ay, but if I was to accept it againſt her will, I might loſe above a hundred thouſand; ſo, you ſee, the ballance is againſt you, Sir John.

But is there no way, do you think, of prevailing on Mrs. Heidelberg to grant her conſent?

I am afraid not.—However, when her paſ⯑ſion is a little abated—for ſhe's very paſſionate—you may try what can be done: but you muſt not uſe my name any more, Sir John.

Suppoſe I was to prevail on Lord Ogleby to apply to her, do you think that would have any influence over her?

I think he would be more likely to perſuade her to it, than any other perſon in the family. She has a great reſpect for Lord Ogleby. She loves a lord.

I'll apply to him this very day.—And if he ſhould prevail on Mrs. Heidelberg, I may depend on your friendſhip, Mr. Sterling?

Ay, ay, I ſhall be glad to oblige you, when it is in my power; but as the account ſtands now, you ſee it is not upon the figures. And ſo your ſervant, Sir John.

What a ſituation am I in!—Breaking off with her whom I was bound by treaty to marry; rejected by the object of my affections; and embroiled with this turbulent woman, who governs the whole family.—And yet oppoſition, inſtead of ſmothering, increaſes my inclination. I muſt have her. I'll apply imme⯑diately to Lord Ogleby; and if he can but bring [56] over the aunt to our party, her influence will overcome the ſcruples and delicacy of my dear Fanny, and I ſhall be the happieſt of mankind.

SCENE I. A room.

WHAT! will you ſend Fanny to town, ſiſter?

To-morrow morning. I've given orders about it already.

Indeed?

Poſitively.

But conſider, ſiſter, at ſuch a time as this, what an odd appearance it will have.

Not half ſo odd, as her behaviour, brother.—This time was intended for happineſs, and I'll keep no incendaries here to deſtroy it. I inſiſt on her going off to-morrow morning.

I'm afraid this is all your doing, Betſey.

No indeed, Papa. My aunt knows that it is not.—For all Fanny's baſeneſs to me, I am ſure I would not do, or ſay any thing to hurt her with you or my aunt for the world.

Hold your tongue, Betſey!—I will have my way.—When ſhe is packed off, every thing will go on as it ſhould do.—Since they are at their intrigues, I'll let them ſee that we can act with vigur on our part; and the ſending her out of the way ſhall be the purlimunary ſtep to all the reſt of my perceedings.

Well, but ſiſter—

It does not ſignify talking, brother Sterling, for I'm reſolved to be rid of her, and I will. [57] —Come along, child!

—The poſt⯑ſhay ſhall be at the door by ſix o'clock in the morn⯑ing; and if Miſs Fanny does not get into it, why I will, and ſo there's an end of the matter.

One word more, brother Sterling!—I expect that you will take your eldeſt daughter in your hand, and make a formal complaint to Lord Ogleby of Sir John Melvil's behaviour.—Do this, brother; ſhew a proper regard for the honour of your fammaly yourſelf, and I ſhall throw in my mite to the raiſing of it. If not—but now you know my mind. So act as you pleaſe, and take the conſe⯑quences.

The devil's in the woman for tyranny—mothers, wives, miſtreſſes, or ſiſters, they always will govern us.—As to my ſiſter Heidelberg, ſhe knows the ſtrength of her purſe, and domineers upon the credit of it.—"I will do this"—and "you ſhall do that"—and "you muſt do t'other, or elſe the fammaly ſhan't have a farden of"—

—So abſolute with her money!—but to ſay the truth, nothing but money can make us abſolute, and ſo we muſt e'en make the beſt of her.

SCENE changes to the garden.

What! Mademoiſelle Fanny to be ſent away!—Why?—Wherefore?—What's the meaning of all this?

Je ne ſcais pas.—I know noting of it.

It can't be; it ſhan't be. I proteſt againſt the meaſure. She's a fine girl, and I had much rather that the reſt of the family were annihilated [58] than that ſhe ſhould leave us.—Her vulgar father, that's the very abſtract of 'Change-Alley—the aunt, that's always endeavouring to be a fine lady—and the pert ſiſter, for ever ſhewing that ſhe is one, are horrid company indeed, and without her would be intolerable. Ah, la petite Fanchon! ſhe's the thing. Is n't ſhe, Cant?

Dere is very good ſympatie entre vous, and dat young lady, mi Lor.

I'll not be left among theſe Goths and Vandals, your Sterlings, your Heidelbergs, and Devilbergs—If the goes, I'll poſitively go too.

In de ſame poſt-chay, mi Lor? You have no object to dat I believe, nor Mademoiſelle neider too—ha, ha, ha.

Prithee hold thy fooliſh tongue, Cant. Does thy Swiſs ſtupidity imagine that I can ſee and talk with a fine girl without deſires?—My eyes are involuntarily attracted by beautiful objects—I fly as naturally to a fine girl—

As de fine girl to you, my Lor, ha, ha, ha; you fly togedre like un pair de pigeons.—

Like un pair de pigeons—

—Vousetes un ſot, Monſ. Canton—Thou art always dreaming of my intrigues, and never ſeeſt me badiner, but you ſuſpect miſchief, you old fool, you.

I am fool, I confeſs, but not always fool in dat, my Lor, he, he, he.

He, he, he.—Thou art incorrigible, but thy abſurdities amuſe one—Thou art like my rappee here,

a moſt ridiculous ſuperfluity, but a pinch of thee now and then is a moſt delicious treat.

You do me great honeur, my Lor.

'Tis fact, upon my Thou art properly my cephalick ſnuff, and art no bad medicine againſt megrims, vertigoes, and profound thinking—ha, ha, ha.

Your flatterie, my Lor, vil make me too prode.

The girl has ſome little partiality for me, to be ſure: but prithee, Cant, is not that Miſs Fanny yonder?

En veritè, 'tis ſhe, my Lor—'tis one of de pigeons,—de pigeons d'amour.

Don't be ridiculous, you old monkey.

I am monkeè, I am ole, but I have eye, I have ear, and a little underſtand, now and den.—

Taiſez vous bête!

Elle vous attend, my Lor.—She vil make a love to you.

Will ſhe? Have at her then! A fine girl can't oblige me more.—Egad, I find myſelf a little enjouée—come along, Cant! ſhe is but in the next walk—but there is ſuch a deal of this damned crinkum-crankum, as Sterling calls it, that one ſees people for half an hour before one can get to them—Allons, Monſ. Canton, allons donc!

My dear Fanny, I cannot bear your diſtreſs; it overcomes all my reſolutions, and I am prepared for the diſcovery.

But how can it be effected before my de⯑parture?

I'll tell you.—Lord Ogleby ſeems to enter⯑tain a viſible partiality for you; and notwithſtanding the peculiarities of his behaviour, I am ſure that he is humane at the bottom. He is vain to an exceſs; but withall extremely good-natured, and would do any thing to recommend himſelf to a lady.—Do you open the whole affair of our marriage to him imme⯑diately. It will come with more irreſiſtible perſuaſion [60] from you than from myſelf; and I doubt not but you'll gain his friendſhip and protection at once.—His influence and authority will put an end to Sir John's ſollicitations, remove your aunt's and ſiſter's un⯑kindneſs and ſuſpicions, and, I hope, reconcile your father and the whole family to our marriage.

Heaven grant it! Where is my Lord?

I have heard him and Canton ſince dinner ſinging French ſongs under the great walnut-tree by the parlour door. If you meet with him in the garden, you may diſcloſe the whole immediately.

Dreadful as the taſk is, I'll do it.—Any thing is better than this continual anxiety.

By that time the diſcovery is made, I will appear to ſecond you.—Ha! here comes my Lord.—Now, my dear Fanny, ſummon up all your ſpirits, plead our cauſe powerfully, and be ſure of ſucceſs.—

Ah, don't leave me!

Nay, you muſt let me.

Well; ſince it muſt be ſo, I'll obey you, if I have the power. Oh Lovewell!

Conſider, our ſituation is very critical. To-morrow morning is fixt for your departure, and if we loſe this opportunity, we may wiſh in vain for another.—He approaches—I muſt retire.—Speak, my dear Fanny, ſpeak, and make us happy!

Good heaven, what a ſituation am I in! what ſhall I do? what ſhall I ſay to him? I am all confuſion.

To ſee ſo much beauty ſo ſolitary, Madam, is a ſatire upon mankind, and 'tis fortunate that one man has broke in upon your reverie for the credit of our ſex.—I ſay one, Madam, for poor [61] Canton here, from age and infirmities, ſtands for nothing.

Noting at all, inteed.

Your Lordſhip does me great honour.—I had a favour to requeſt, my Lord!

A favour, Madam!—To be honoured with your commands, is an inexpreſſible favour done to me, Madam.

If your Lordſhip could indulge me with the honour of a moment's—What is the matter with me?

The girl's confus'd—he!—here's ſome⯑thing in the wind faith—I'll have a tete-a-tete with her—allez vous en!

I go—ah, pauvre Mademoiſelle! my Lor, have pitié upon de poor pigeone!

I'll knock you down Cant, if you're impertinent.

Den I mus avay—

—You are moſh pleaſe, for all dat.

I ſhall ſink with apprehenſion.

What a ſweet girl!—ſhe's a civiliz'd being, and atones for the barbariſm of the reſt of the family.

My Lord! I—

I look upon it, Madam, to be one of the luckieſt circumſtances of my life, that I have this moment the honour of receiving your commands, and the ſatisfaction of confirming with my tongue, what my eyes perhaps have but too weakly expreſſed—that I am literally—the humbleſt of your ſervants.

I think myſelf greatly honoured, by your Lordſhip's partiality to me; but it diſtreſſes me, that I am obliged in my preſent ſituation to apply to it for protection.

I am happy in your diſtreſs, Madam, becauſe it gives me an opportunity to ſhew my [...]. Beauty to me, is a religion, in which I was born and [62] bred a bigot, and would die a martyr.—I'm in tole⯑rable ſpirits, faith!

There is not perhaps at this moment a more diſtreſſed creature than myſelf. Affection, duty, hope, deſpair, and a thouſand different ſentiments, are ſtruggling in my boſom; and even the preſence of your Lordſhip, to whom I have flown for protec⯑tion, adds to my preplexity.

Does it, Madam?—Venus forbid!—My old fault; the devil's in me, I think, for perplexing young women.

Take courage, Madam! dear Miſs Fanny, explain.—You have a powerful advocate in my breaſt, I aſſure you—my heart, Madam—I am attached to you by all the laws of ſympathy, and delicacy.—By my honour, I am.

Then I will venture to unburthen my mind.—Sir John Melvil, my Lord, by the moſt miſplaced, and miſtimed declaration of affection for me, has made me the unhappieſt of women.

How, Madam! Has Sir John made his addreſſes to you?

He has, my Lord, in the ſtrongeſt terms. But I hope it is needleſs to ſay, that my duty to my father, love to my ſiſter, and regard to the whole fa⯑mily, as well as the great reſpect I entertain for your Lordſhip,

made me ſhudder at his ad⯑dreſſes.

Charming girl!—Proceed, my dear Miſs Fanny, proceed!

In a moment—give me leave, my Lord!—But if what I have to diſcloſe ſhould be received with anger or diſpleaſure—

Impoſſible, by all the tender powers!—Speak, I beſeech you, or I ſhall divine the cauſe be⯑fore you utter it.

Then, my Lord, Sir John's addreſſes are not only ſhocking to me in themſelves, but are more [63] particularly diſagreeable to me at this time, as—as—

As what, Madam?

As—pardon my confuſion—I am intirely devoted to another.

If this is not plain, the devil's in it—

But tell me, my dear Miſs Fanny, for I muſt know; tell me the how, the when, and the where—Tell me—

My Lor, my Lor, my Lor!—

Damn your Swiſs impertinence! how durſt you interrupt me in the moſt critical melting moment that ever love and beauty honoured me with?

I demande pardonne, my Lor! Sir John Melvil, my Lor, ſent me to beg you to do him the honour to ſpeak a little to your Lorſhip.

I'm not at leiſure—I'm buſy—Get away, you ſtupid old dog, you Swiſs raſcal, or I'll—

Fort bien, my Lor.—

By the laws of gallantry, Madam, this interruption ſhould be death; but as no puniſhment ought to diſturb the triumph of the ſofter paſſions, the criminal is pardoned and diſmiſſed—Let us return, Madam, to the higheſt luxury of exalted minds—a declaration of love from the lips of beauty.

The entrance of a third perſon has a little relieved me, but I cannot go thro' with it—and yet I muſt open my heart with a diſcovery, or it will break with its burthen.

What paſſion in her eyes! I am alarmed to agitation.

—I preſume, Madam, (and as you have flattered me, by making me a party concerned, I hope you'll excuſe the preſumption) that—

Do you excuſe my making you a party con⯑cerned, my Lord, and let me intereſt your heart in my behalf, as my future happineſs or miſery in a great meaſure depend—

Upon me, Madam?

Upon you, my Lord.

There's no ſtanding this: I have caught the infection—her tenderneſs diſſolves me.

And ſhould you too ſeverely judge of a raſh action which paſſion prompted, and modeſty has long concealed—

Thou amiable crea⯑ture—command my heart, for it is vanquiſhed—Speak but thy virtuous wiſhes, and enjoy them.

I cannot, my Lord—indeed, I cannot—Mr. Lovewell muſt tell you my diſtreſſes—and when you know them—pity and protect me!—

How the devil could I bring her to this? It is too much—too much—I can't bear it—I muſt give way to this amiable weakneſs—

My heart overflows with ſympathy, and I feel every tenderneſs I have inſpired—

How blind have I been to the deſolation I have made!—How could I poſſibly imagine that a little partial attention and ten⯑der civilities to this young creature ſhould have ga⯑thered to this burſt of paſſion! Can I be a man and withſtand it? No—I'll ſacrifice the whole ſex to her.—But here comes the father, quite apropos. I'll open the matter immediately, ſettle the buſineſs with him, and take the ſweet girl down to Ogleby-houſe to-morrow morning—But what the devil! Miſs Ster⯑ling too! What miſchief's in the wind now?

My Lord, your ſervant! I am attending my daughter here upon rather a diſagreeable affair. Speak to his Lordſhip, Betſey!

Your eyes, Miſs Sterling—for I always read the eyes of a young lady—betray ſome little emo⯑tion—What are your commands, Madam?

I have but too much cauſe for my emo⯑tion, my Lord!

I cannot commend my kinſman's beha⯑viour, Madam. He has behaved like a falſe knight, I muſt confeſs. I have heard of his apoſtacy. Miſs Fanny has informed me of it.

Miſs Fanny's baſeneſs has been the cauſe of Sir John's inconſtancy.

Nay, now, my dear Miſs Sterling, your paſſion tranſports you too far. Sir John may have entertain'd a paſſion for Miſs Fanny, but believe me, my dear Miſs Sterling, believe me, Miſs Fanny has no paſſion for Sir John. She has a paſſion, indeed, a moſt tender paſſion. She has opened her whole ſoul to me, and I know where her affections are placed.

Not upon Mr. Lovewell, my Lord; for I have great reaſon to think that her ſeeming at⯑tachment to him, is, by his conſent, made uſe of as a blind to cover her deſigns upon Sir John.

Lovewell! No, poor lad! She does not. think of him.

Have a care, my Lord, that both the families are not made the dupes of Sir John's artifice and my ſiſter's diſſimulation! You don't know her—indeed, my Lord, you don't know her—a baſe, inſi⯑nuating, perſidious!—It is too much—She has been beforehand with me, I perceive. Such unnatural be⯑haviour to me!—But ſince I ſee I can have no re⯑dreſs, I am reſolved that ſome way or other I will have revenge.

This is fooliſh work, my Lord▪

I have too much ſenſibility to bear the tears of beauty.

It is touching indeed, my Lord—and very moving for a father.

To be ſure, Sir!—You muſt be diſtreſt beyond meaſure!—Wherefore, to divert your too ex⯑quiſite [66] feelings, ſuppoſe we change the ſubject, and proceed to buſineſs.

With all my heart, my Lord!

You ſee, Mr. Sterling, we can make no union in our families by the propos'd marriage.

And very ſorry I am to ſee it, my Lord.

Have you ſet your heart upon being al⯑lied to our houſe, Mr. Sterling?

'Tis my only wiſh, at preſent, my omnium, as I may call it.

Your wiſhes ſhall be fulfill'd.

Shall they, my Lord!—but how—how?

I'll marry in your family.

What! my ſiſter Heidelberg?

You throw me into a cold ſweat, Mr. Sterling. No, not your ſiſter—but your daughter.

My daughter!

Fanny!—now the murder's out!

What you, my Lord?—

Yes—I, I, Mr. Sterling!

No, no, my Lord—that's too much.

Too much?—I don't comprehend you.

What, you, my Lord, marry my Fanny!—Bleſs me, what will the folks ſay?

Why, what will they ſay?

That you're a bold man, my Lord—that's all.

Mr. Sterling, this may be city wit for ought I know—Do you court my alliance?

To be ſure, my Lord.

Then I'll explain.—My nephew won't marry your eldeſt daughter—nor I neither—Your youngeſt daughter won't marry him—I will marry your youngeſt daughter—

What! with a younger daughter's fortune, my Lord?

With any fortune, or no fortune at all, Sir. Love is the idol of my heart, and the daemon intereſt ſinks before him. So, Sir, as I ſaid before, [67] I will marry your youngeſt daughter; your youngeſt daughter will marry me.—

Who told you ſo, my Lord?

Her own ſweet ſelf, Sir.

Indeed?

Yes, Sir: our affection is mutual; your advantage double and treble—your daughter will be a Counteſs directly—I ſhall be the happieſt of beings—and you'll be father to an Earl inſtead of a Baronet.

But what will my ſiſter ſay?—and my daugh⯑ter?

I'll manage that matter—nay, if they won't conſent, I'll run away with your daughter in ſpite of you.

Well ſaid, my Lord!—your ſpirit's good—I wiſh you had my conſtitution!—but if you'll ven⯑ture, I have no objection, if my ſiſter has none.

I'll anſwer for your ſiſter, Sir. Apropos! the lawyers are in the houſe—I'll have articles drawn, and the whole affair concluded to-morrow morning.

Very well: and I'll diſpatch Lovewell to London immediately for ſome freſh papers I ſhall want, and I ſhall leave you to manage matters with my ſiſter. You muſt excuſe me, my Lord, but I can't help laughing at the match—He! he! he! what will the folks ſay?

What a fellow am I going to make a fa⯑ther of?—He has no more feeling than the poſt in his warehouſe—But Fanny's virtues tune me to rap⯑ture again, and I won't think of the reſt of the family.

I beg your Lordſhip's pardon, my Lord; are you alone, my Lord?

No, my Lord, I am not alone! I am in company, the beſt company.

My Lord!

I never was in ſuch exquiſite enchanting company ſince my heart firſt conceived, or my ſenſes taſted pleaſure.

Where are they, my Lord?

In my mind, Sir.

What company have you there, my Lord?

My own ideas, Sir, which ſo croud upon my imagination, and kindle it to ſuch a delirium of extaſy, that wit, wine, muſick, poetry, all combined, and each perfection, are but mere mortal ſhadows of my felicity.

I ſee that your Lordſhip is happy, and I rejoice at it.

You ſhall rejoice at it, Sir; my felicity ſhall not ſelfiſhly be confined, but ſhall ſpread its in⯑fluence to the whole circle of my friends. I need not ſay, Lovewell, that you ſhall have your ſhare of it.

Shall I, my Lord?—then I underſtand you—you have heard—Miſs Fanny has inform'd you—

She has—I have heard, and ſhe ſhall be happy—'tis determin'd.

Then I have reached the ſummit of my wiſhes—And will your Lordſhip pardon the folly?

O yes, poor creature, how could ſhe help it?—'Twas unavoidable—Fate and neceſſity.

It was indeed, my Lord—Your kindneſs diſtracts me.

And ſo it did the poor girl, faith.

She trembled to diſcloſe the ſecret, and de⯑clare her affections?

The world, I believe, will not think her affections ill placed.

You are too good, my Lord.—And do you really excuſe the raſhneſs of the ac⯑tion?

From my very ſoul, Lovewell.

Your generoſity overpowers me.—

—I was afraid of her meeting with a cold reception.

She's a fine girl, Lovewell.

Her beauty, my Lord, is her leaſt merit. She has an underſtanding—

Her choice convinces me of that.

That's your Lordſhip's good⯑neſs. Her choice was a diſintereſted one.

No—no—not altogether—it began with intereſt, and ended in paſſion.

Indeed, my Lord, if you were acquainted with her goodneſs of heart, and generoſity of mind, as well as you are with the inferior beauties of her face and perſon—

I am ſo perfectly convinced of their exiſtence, and ſo totally of your mind touching every amiable particular of that ſweet girl, that were it not for the cold unfeeling impediments of the law, I would marry her to-morrow morning.

My Lord!

I would, by all that's honourable in man, and amiable in woman.

Marry her!—Who do you mean, my Lord?

Miſs Fanny Sterling, that is—the Coun⯑teſs of Ogleby that ſhall be.

I am aſtoniſhed.

Why, could you expect leſs from me?

I did not expect this, my Lord.

Trade and accounts have deſtroyed your feeling.

No, indeed, my Lord.

The moment that love and pity en⯑tered my breaſt, I was reſolved to plunge into ma⯑trimony, and ſhorten the girl's tortures—I never do any thing by halves; do I, Lovewell?

No, indeed, my Lord—

—What an accident!

What's the matter, Lovewell? thou ſeem'ſt to have loſt thy faculties. Why don't you wiſh me joy, man?

O, I do, my Lord.

She ſaid, that you would explain what ſhe had not power to utter—but I wanted no inter⯑preter for the language of love.

But has your Lordſhip conſidered the conſequences of your reſolution?

No, Sir; I am above conſideration, when my deſires are kindled.

But conſider the conſequences, my Lord, to your nephew, Sir John.

Sir John has conſidered no conſe⯑quences himſelf, Mr. Lovewell.

Mr. Sterling, my Lord, will certainly re⯑fuſe his daughter to Sir John.

Sir John has already refuſed Mr. Ster⯑ling's daughter.

But what will become of Miſs Sterling, my Lord?

What's that to you?—You may have her, if you will.—I depend upon Mr. Sterling's city⯑philoſophy, to be reconciled to Lord Ogleby's being his ſon-in-law, inſtead of Sir John Melvil, Baronet. Don't you think that your maſter may be brought to that, without having recourſe to his calculations? Eh, Lovewell!

But, my Lord, that is not the queſ⯑tion.

Whatever is the queſtion, I'll tell you my anſwer.—I am in love with a fine girl, whom I reſolve to marry.

What news with you, Sir John?—You look all hurry and impatience—like a meſſenger after a battle.

After a battle, indeed, my Lord.—I have this day had a ſevere engagement, and wanting your Lordſhip as an auxiliary, I have at laſt muſter⯑ed [71] up reſolution to declare, what my duty to you and to myſelf have demanded from me ſome time.

To the buſineſs then, and be as con⯑ciſe as poſſible; for I am upon the wing—eh, Lovewell?

I find 'tis in vain, my Lord, to ſtruggle againſt the force of inclination.

Very true, Nephew—I am your wit⯑neſs, and will ſecond the motion—ſhan't I, Love⯑well?

Your Lordſhip's generoſity encourages me to tell you—that I cannot marry Miſs Sterling.

I am not at all ſurpriz'd at it—ſhe's a bitter potion, that's the truth of it; but as you were to ſwallow it, and not I, it was your buſineſs, and not mine—any thing more?

But this, my Lord—that I may be per⯑mitted to make my addreſſes to the other ſiſter.

O yes—by all means—have you any hopes there, Nephew?—Do you think he'll ſucceed, Lovewell?

I think not, my Lord.

I think ſo too, but let the fool try.

Will your Lordſhip favour me with your good offices to remove the chief obſtacle to the match, the repugnance of Mrs Heidelberg?

Mrs. Heidelberg▪—Had not you better begin with the young lady firſt? it will ſave you a great deal of trouble; won't it, Lovewell?—

—but do what you pleaſe, it will be the ſame thing to me—won't it, Lovewell?—

—Why don't you laugh at him?

I do, my Lord.

And you Lordſhip will endeavour to prevail on Mrs. Heidelberg to conſent to my mar⯑riage with Miſs Fanny?

I'll go and ſpeak to Mrs. Heidelberg, about the adorable Fanny, as ſoon as poſſible.

Your generoſity tranſports me.

Poor fellow, what a dupe! he little thinks who's in poſſeſſion of the town.

And your Lordſhip is not offended at this ſeeming inconſtancy.

Not in the leaſt. Miſs Fanny's charms will even excuſe infidelity—I look upon women as the ferae naturae,—lawfull game—and every man who is qualified, has a natural right to purſue them; Love⯑well as well as you, and I as well as either of you.—Every man ſhall do his beſt, without offence to any—what ſay you, kinſmen?

You have made me happy, my Lord.

And me, I aſſure you, my Lord.

And I am ſuperlatively ſo—allons donc—to horſe and away, boys!—you to your affairs, and I to mine—ſuivons l'amour!

SCENE I. Fanny's apartment.

WHY did you come ſo ſoon, Mr. Love⯑well? the family is not yet in bed, and Betty certainly heard ſomebody liſtening near the chamber-door.

My miſtreſs is right, Sir! evil ſpirits are abroad; and I am ſure you are both too good, not to expect miſchief from them.

But who can be ſo curious, or ſo wicked?

I think we have wickedneſs, and curioſity enough in this family, Sir, to expect the worſt.

I do expect the worſt.—Prithee, Betty, return to the outward door, and liſten if you hear [73] any body in the gallery; and let us know di⯑rectly.

I warrant you, Madam—the Lord bleſs you both!

What did my father want with you this evening?

He gave me the key of his cloſet, with orders to bring from London ſome papers relating to Lord Ogleby.

And why did not you obey him?

Becauſe I am certain that his Lordſhip has open'd his heart to him about you, and thoſe papers are wanted merely on that account—but as we ſhall diſcover all to-morrow, there will be no oc⯑caſion for them, and it would be idle in me to go.

Hark!—hark! bleſs me, how I tremble!—I feel the terrors of guilt—indeed, Mr. Lovewell, this is too much for me.

And for me too, my ſweet Fanny. Your apprehenſions make a coward of me.—But what can alarm you? your aunt and ſiſter are in their cham⯑bers, and you have nothing to fear from the reſt of the family.

I fear every body, and every thing, and every moment—My mind is in continual agitation and dread;—indeed, Mr. Lovewell, this ſituation may have very unhappy conſequences.

But it ſhan't—I would rather tell our ſtory this moment to all the houſe, and run the riſque of maintaining you by the hardeſt labour, than ſuffer you to remain in this dangerous per⯑plexity.—What! ſhall I ſacrifice all my beſt hopes and affections, in your dear health and ſafety, for the mean, and in ſuch a caſe, the meaneſt conſideration—of our fortune! Were we to be abandon'd by all our relations, we have that in our hearts and minds, will weigh againſt the moſt affluent circumſtances.—I ſhould not have propos'd the ſecrecy of our mar⯑riage, but for your ſake; and with hopes that the [74] moſt generous ſacrifice you have made to love and me, might be leſs injurious to you, by waiting a lucky moment of reconciliation.

Huſh! huſh! for heav'n ſake, my dear Lovewell, don't be ſo warm!—your generoſity gets the better of your prudence; you will be heard, and we ſhall be diſcovered.—I am ſatisfied, indeed I am.—Excuſe this weakneſs, this delicacy—this what you will.—My mind's at peace—indeed it is—think no more of it, if you love me!

That one word has charm'd me, as it al⯑ways does, to the moſt implicit obedience; it would be the worſt of ingratitude in me to diſtreſs you a moment.

I'm ſorry to diſturb you.

Ha! what's the matter?

Have you heard any body?

Yes, yes, I have, and they have heard you too, or I am miſtaken—if they had ſeen you too, we ſhould have been in a fine quandary.

Prithee don't prate now, Betty!

What did you hear?

I was preparing myſelf, as uſual, to take me a little nap.

A nap!

Yes, Sir, a nap; for I watch much better ſo than wide awake; and when I had wrap'd this handkerchief round my head, for fear of the ear⯑ach, from the key-hole I thought I heard a kind of a ſort of a buzzing, which I firſt took for a gnat, and ſhook my head two or three times, and went ſo with my hand—

Well—well—and ſo—

And ſo, Madam, when I heard Mr. Love⯑well a little loud, I heard the buzzing louder too—and pulling off my handkerchief ſoftly—I could hear this ſort of noiſe—

Well, and what did they ſay?

Oh! I cou'd not underſtand a word of what was ſaid.

The outward door is lock'd?

Yes; and I bolted it too, for fear of the worſt.

Why did you? they muſt have heard you, if they were near.

And I did it on purpoſe, Madam, and cough'd a little too, that they might not hear Mr. Lovewell's voice—when I was ſilent, they were ſilent, and ſo I came to tell you.

What ſhall we do?

Fear nothing; we know the worſt▪ it will only bring on our cataſtrophe a little too ſoon—but Betty might fancy this noiſe—ſhe's in the con⯑ſpiracy, and can make a man of a mouſe at any time.

I can diſtinguiſh a man from a mouſe, as well as my betters—I am ſorry you think ſo ill of me, Sir.

He compliments you, don't be a fool!—Now you have ſet her tongue a running, ſhe'll mutter for an hour.

I'll go and hearken my⯑ſelf.

I'll turn my back upon no girl, for ſincerity and ſervice.

Thou art the firſt in the world for both; and I will reward you ſoon, Betty, for one and the other.

I'm not marcenary neither—I can live on a little, with a good carreter.

All ſeems quiet—ſuppoſe, my dear, you go to your own room—I ſhall be much eaſier then—and to-morrow we will be prepared for the diſcovery.

You may diſcover, if you pleaſe; but, for my part, I ſhall ſtill be ſecret.

Should I leave you now,—if they ſtill are upon the watch, we ſhall loſe the advantage of our delay.—Beſides, we ſhould conſult upon to-morrow's buſineſs,—Let Betty go to her own room, and lock [76] the outward door after her; we can faſten this; and when ſhe thinks all ſafe, ſhe may return and let me out as uſual.

Shall I, Madam?

Do! let me have my way to-night, and you ſhall command me ever after.—I would not have you ſurprized here for the world.—Pray leave me! I ſhall be quite myſelf again, if you will oblige me.

I live only to oblige you, my ſweet Fanny! I'll be gone this moment.

Let us liſten firſt at the door, that you may not be intercepted.—Betty ſhall go firſt, and if they lay hold of her—

They'll have the wrong ſow by the ear, I can tell them that.

Softly—ſoftly—Betty! don't venture out, if you hear a noiſe.—Softly, I beg of you!—See, Mr. Lovewell, the effects of indiſcretion!

But love, Fanny, makes amends for all.

SCENE changes to a gallery, which leads to ſeveral bed-chambers.

This way, dear Madam, and then I'll tell you all.

Nay, but Niece—conſider a little—don't drag me out in this figur—let me put on my fly-cap!—if any of my Lord's fammaly, or the coun⯑ſellors at law, ſhould be ſtirring, I ſhould be per⯑digus diſconcarted.

But, my dear Madam, a moment is an age, in my ſituation. I am ſure my ſiſter has been plotting my diſgrace and ruin in that chamber—O ſhe's all craft and wickedneſs!

Well, but ſoftly, Betſey!—you are all in emotion—your mind is too much fluſtrated—you [77] can neither eat nor drink, nor take your natural reſt—compoſe yourſelf, child; for if we are not as wary⯑ſome as they are wicked, we ſhall diſgrace ourſelves and the whole fammaly.

We are diſgrac'd already, Madam—Sir John Melvil has forſaken me; my Lord cares for nobody but himſelf; or, if for any body, it is my ſiſter; my father, for the ſake of a better bargain, would marry me to a 'Change-broker; ſo that if you, Madam, don't continue my friend—if your for⯑ſake me—if I am to loſe my beſt hopes and conſo⯑lation—in your tenderneſs—and affect—ions—I had better—at once—give up the matter—and let my ſiſter enjoy—the fruits of her treachery—trample with ſcorn upon the rights of her elder ſiſter, the will of the beſt of aunts, and the weakneſs of a too intereſted father.

Don't Betſey—keep up your ſpurrit—I hate whimpering—I am your friend—depend upon me in every partickler—but be compoſed, and tell me what new miſchief you have diſcover'd.

I had no deſire to ſleep, and would not undreſs myſelf, knowing that my Machiavel ſiſter would not reſt till ſhe had broke my heart:—I was ſo uneaſy that I could not ſtay in my room, but when I thought that all the houſe was quiet, I ſent my maid to diſcover what was going forward; ſhe immediately came back and told me that they were in high conſultation; that ſhe had heard only, for it was in the dark, my ſiſter's maid conduct Sir John Melvil to her miſtreſs, and then lock the door.

And how did you conduct yourſelf in this dalimma?

I return'd with her, and could hear a man's voice, though nothing that they ſaid diſtinctly; and you may depend upon it, that Sir John is now in that room, that they have ſettled the matter, and [78] will run away together before morning, if we don't prevent them.

Why the brazen ſlut! has ſhe got her ſiſter's huſband (that is to be) lock'd up in her chamber! at night too?—I tremble at the thoughts▪

Huſh, Madam! I hear ſomething.

You frighten me—let me put on my fly cap—I would not be ſeen in this figur for the world.

'Tis dark, Madam; you can't be ſeen.

I proteſt there's a candle coming, and a man too.

Nothing but ſervants; let us retire a moment!

Be quiet Mr. Bruſh; I ſhall drop down with terror!

But my ſweet, and moſt amiable chamber⯑maid, if you have no love, you may hearken to a little reaſon; that cannot poſſibly do your virtue any harm.

But you will do me harm, Mr. Bruſh, and a great deal of harm too—pray let me go—I am ruin'd if they hear you—I tremble like an aſp.

But they ſhan't hear us—and if you have a mind to be ruin'd, it ſhall be the making of your fortune, you little ſlut, you!—therefore I ſay it again, if you have no love—hear a little reaſon!

I wonder at your impurence, Mr. Bruſh, to uſe me in this manner; this is not the way to keep me company, I aſſure you.—You are a town rake I ſee, and now you are a little in liquor, you fear nothing.

Nothing, by heav'ns, but your frowns, moſt amiable chamber-maid; I am a little electrified, that's the truth on't; I am not uſed to drink Port, and [79] your maſter's is ſo heady, that a pint of it overſets a claret-drinker.

Don't be rude! bleſs me!—I ſhall be ruin'd—what will become of me?

I'll take care of you, by all that's hon⯑ourable.

You are a baſe man to uſe me ſo—I'll cry out, if you don't let me go—that is Miſs Sterling's chamber, that Miſs Fanny's, and that Madam Hei⯑delberg's.

And that my Lord Ogleby's, and that my Lady what d'ye call'em: I don't mind ſuch folks when I'm ſober, much leſs when I am whimſical—rather above that too.

More ſhame for you, Mr. Bruſh!—you terrify me—you have no modeſty.

O but I have, my ſweet ſpider-bruſher!—for inſtance, I reverence Miſs Fanny—ſhe's a moſt delicious morſel and fit for a prince—with all my horrors of matrimony, I could marry her myſe;f—but for her ſiſter—

There, there, Madam, all in a ſtory!

Bleſs me, Mr. Bruſh!—I heard ſome⯑thing!

Rats, I ſuppoſe, that are gnawing the old timbers of this execrable old dungeon—If it was mine, I would pull it down, and fill your fine canal up with the rubbiſh; and then I ſhould get rid of two damn'd things at once.

Law! law! how you blaſpheme!—we ſhall have the houſe upon our heads for it.

No, no, it will laſt our time—but as I was faying, the eldeſt ſiſter—Miſs Jezabel—

Is a fine young lady for all your evil tongue.

No—we have ſmoak'd her already; and unleſs ſhe marries our old Swiſs, ſhe can have none of us—no, no, ſhe wont do—we are a little too nice.

You're a monſtrous rake, Mr. Bruſh, and don't care what you ſay.

Why, for that matter, my dear, I am a little inclined to miſchief; and if you won't have pity upon me, I will break open that door and raviſh Mrs. Heidelberg.

There's no bear⯑ing this—you profligate monſter!

Ha! I am undone!

Zounds! here ſhe is, by all that's mon⯑ſtrous.

A fine diſcourſe you have had with that fellow!

And a fine time of night it is to be here with that drunken monſter.

What have you, to ſay for yourſelf?

I can ſay nothing.—I am ſo frighten'd, and ſo aſham'd—but indeed I am vartuous—I am vartuous indeed.

Well, well—don't tremble ſo; but tell us what you know of this horrable plot here.

We'll forgive you, if you'll diſcover all.

Why, Madam—don't let me betray my fellow ſervants—I ſhan't ſleep in my bed, if I do.

Then you ſhall ſleep ſomewhere elſe to-morrow night.

O dear!—what ſhall I do?

Tell us this moment,—or I'll turn you out of doors directly.

Why our butler has been treating us below in his pantry—Mr. Bruſh forc'd us to make a kind of a holiday night of it.

Holiday! for what?

Nay I only made one.

Well, well; but upon what account?

Becauſe, as how, Madam, there was a change in the family they ſaid,—that his honour, Sir John—was to marry Miſs Fanny inſtead of your Ladyſhip.

And ſo you made a holiday for that.—Very fine!

I did not make it, Ma'am.

But do you know nothing of Sir John's being to run away with Miſs Fanny to-night?

No, indeed, Ma'am!

Nor of his being now locked up in my ſiſter's chamber?

No, as I hope for marcy, Ma'am.

Well, I'll put an end to all this directly—do you run to my brother Sterling—

Now, Ma'am!—'Tis ſo very late, Ma'am—

I don't care how late it is. Tell him there are thieves in the houſe—that the houſe is o'fire—tell him to come here immediately—go, I ſay!

I will, I will, though I'm frighten'd out of my wits.

Do you watch here, my dear; and I'll put myſelf in order, to face them. We'll plot 'em, and counter-plot 'em too.

I have as much pleaſure in this revenge, as in being made a counteſs!—Ha! they are un⯑locking the door.—Now for it!

Sir, Sir!—now's your time—all's clear.

Stay, ſtay—not yet—we are watch'd.

And ſo you are, Madam Betty!

What's the matter, Madam?

Nay, that you ſhall tell my father and aunt, Madam.

I am no tell-tale, Madam, and no thief they'll get nothing from me.

You have a great deal of courage, [82] Betty; and conſidering the ſecrets you have to keep, you have occaſion for it.

My miſtreſs ſhall never repent her good opinion of me, Ma'am.

What is all this? what's the matter? why am I diſturbed in this manner?

This creature, and my diſtreſſes, Sir, will explain the matter.

Now I'm prepar'd for the rancounter—well, brother, have you heard of this ſcene of wickedneſs?

Not I—but what is it? Speak!—I was got into my little cloſet—all the lawyers were in bed, and I had almoſt loſt my ſenſes in the confuſion of Lord Ogleby's mortgages, when I was alarm'd with a fooliſh girl, who could hardly ſpeak; and whether it's fire, or thieves, or murder, or a rape, I am quite in the dark.

No, no, there's no rape, brother!—all parties are willing, I believe.

Who's in that chamber?

My miſtreſs.

And who is with your miſtreſs?

Why, who ſhould there be?

Open the door then, and let us ſee!

The door is open, Madam.

I'll ſooner die than peach!

The door's lock'd; and ſhe has got the key in her pocket.

There's impudence, brother! piping hot from your daughter Fanny's ſchool!

But, zounds! what is all this about? You tell me of a ſum total, and you don't produce the particulars.

Sir John Melvil is lock'd up in your daughter's bed-chamber.—There is the particular!

The devil he is?—That's bad!

And he has been there ſome time too.

Ditto!

Ditto! worſe and worſe, I ſay. I'll raiſe the houſe, and expoſe him to my Lord, and the whole family.

By no means! we ſhall expoſe ourſelves, ſiſter!—the beſt way is to inſure privately—let me alone!—I'll make him marry her to-morrow morning.

Make him marry her! this is beyond all patience!—You have thrown away all your affec⯑tion; and I ſhall do as much by my obedience: un⯑natural fathers, make unnatural children.—My re⯑venge is in my own power, and I'll indulge it.—Had they made their eſcape, I ſhould have been expoſed to the deriſion of the world:—but the deriders ſhall be derided; and ſo—help! help, there! thieves! thieves!

Tit-for-tat, Betſey!—you are right, my girl.

Zounds! you'll ſpoil all—you'll raiſe the whole family,—the devil's in the girl.

No, no; the devil's in you, brother. I am aſham'd of your principles.—What! would you connive at your daughter's being lock'd up with her ſiſter's huſband? Help! thieves! thieves! I ſay.

Siſter, I beg you!—daughter, I command you.—If you have no regard for me, conſider your⯑ſelves!—we ſhall loſe this opportunity of ennobling our blood, and getting above twenty per cent. for our money.

What, by my diſgrace and my ſiſter's triumph! I have a ſpirit above ſuch mean conſide⯑rations; and to ſhew you that it is not a low-bred, vulgar 'Change-Alley ſpirit—help! help! thieves! thieves! thieves! I ſay.

Ay, ay, you may ſave your lungs—the houſe is in an uproar;—women at beſt have no diſ⯑cretion; but in a paſſion they'll fire a houſe, or burn themſelves in it, rather than not be revenged.

Eh, diable! vat is de raiſon of dis great noiſe, this tintamarre?

Aſk thoſe ladies, Sir; 'tis of their making.

Bruſh! Bruſh!—Canton! where are you?—What's the matter?

Where are you?

'Tis my Lord calls, Mr. Canton.

I com, mi Lor!—

A light! a light here!—where are the ſervants? Bring a light for me, and my brothers.

Lights here! lights for the gentlemen!

My brother feels, I ſee—your ſiſter's turn will come next.

Ay, ay, let it go round, Madam! it is the only comfort I have left.

This way, Sir! this way, gentlemen!

Well, but, Mr. Sterling, no dan⯑ger I hope.—Have they made a burglarious entry?—Are you prepar'd to repulſe them?—I am very much alarm'd about thieves at circuit-time.—They would be particularly ſevere with us gentlemen of the bar.

No danger, Mr. Sterling?—No treſpaſs, I hope?

None, gentlemen, but of thoſe ladies making.

You'll be aſham'd to know, gentle⯑men, that all your labours and ſtudies about this [85] young lady are thrown away—Sir John Melvil is at this moment lock'd up with this lady's younger ſiſter.

The thing is a little extraordinary, to be ſure—but, why were we to be frighten'd out of our beds for this? Could not we have try'd this cauſe to-morrow morning?

But, Sir, by to-morrow morning, per⯑haps, even your aſſiſtance would not have been of any ſervice—the birds now in that cage would have flown away.

I had rather loſe a limb than my night's reſt—what's the matter with you all?

Ay, ay, 'tis all over!—Here's my Lord too.

What is all this ſhrieking and ſcream⯑ing?—Where's my angelick Fanny. She's ſafe, I hope!

Your angelick Fanny, my Lord, is lock'd up with your angelick nephew in that chamber.

My nephew! then will I be excom⯑municated.

Your nephew, my Lord, has been plotting to run away with the younger ſiſter; and the younger ſiſter has been plotting to run away with your nephew: and if we had not watch'd them and call'd up the fammaly, they had been upon the ſcamper to Scotland by this time.

Look'ee, ladies!—I know that Sir John has conceiv'd a violent paſſion for Miſs Fanny; and I know too that Miſs Fanny has conceiv'd a violent paſſion for another perſon; and I am ſo well convinc'd of the rectitude of her affections, that I will ſupport them with my fortune, my honour, and my life.—Eh, ſhant I, Mr. Sterling?

what ſay you?—

To be ſure, my Lord.—Theſe bawling women have been the ruin of every thing.

But come, I'll end this buſineſs in a trice—if you, ladies, will compoſe yourſelves, and Mr. Sterling will inſure Miſs Fanny from violence, I will engage to draw her from her pillow with a whiſper thro' the keyhole.

The horrid creatures!—I ſay, my Lord, break the door open.

Let me beg of your delicacy not to be too precipitate!—Now to our experiment!

Now, what will they do?—my heart will beat thro' my boſom.

There's no occaſion for breaking open doors, my Lord; we have done nothing that we ought to be aſham'd of, and my miſtreſs ſhall face her enemies.—

There's impudence.

The myſtery thickens. Lady of the bed-chamber!

open the door, and intreat Sir John Melvil (for theſe ladies will have it that he is there,) to appear and anſwer to high crimes and miſ⯑demeanors.—Call Sir John Melvil into the court!

I am here, my Lord.

Heyday!

Aſtoniſhment!

What is all this alarm and confuſion? there is nothing but hurry in the houſe; what is the reaſon of it?

Becauſe you have been in that chamber; have been! nay you are there at this moment, as theſe ladies have proteſted, ſo don't deny it—

This is the cleareſt Alibi I ever knew, Mr. Serjeant.

Luce clarius.

Upon my word, ladies, if you have often theſe frolicks, it would be really entertaining to paſs a whole ſummer with you. But come,

open the door, and intreat your amiable miſtreſs to come forth, and diſpel all our doubts with her ſmiles.

Madam, you are wanted in this room.

You ſee ſhe's ready dreſs'd—and what confuſion ſhe's in!

Ready to pack off, bag and baggage!—her guilt confounds her!—

Silence in the court, ladies!

I am confounded, indeed, Madam!

Don't droop, my beauteous lilly! but with your own peculiar modeſty declare your ſtate of mind.—Pour conviction into their ears, and raptures into mine.

I am at this moment the moſt unhappy—moſt diſtreſt—the tumult is too much for my heart—and I want the power to reveal a ſecret, which to con⯑ceal has been the misfortune and miſery of my—my—

She faints; help, help! for the fair⯑eſt, and beſt of women!

O my dear miſtreſs!—help, help, there!—

Ha! let me fly to her aſſiſtance.

My Fanny in danger! I can contain no longer.—Prudence were now a crime; all other cares are loſt in this!—ſpeak, ſpeak, to me, my deareſt Fan⯑ny!—let me but hear thy voice, open your eyes, and bleſs me with the ſmalleſt ſign of life!

Lovewell!—I am eaſy.—

I am thunderſtuck!

I am petrify'd!

And I undone!

O Lovewell!—even ſupported by thee, I dare not look my father nor his Lordſhip in the face.

What now! did not I ſend you to London, Sir?

Eh!—What!—How's this?—by what right and title have you been half the night in that lady's bed-chamber?

By that right that makes me the happieſt of men; and by a title which I would not forego, for any the beſt of kings could give me.

I could cry my eyes out to hear his mag⯑nimity.

I am annihilated!

I have been choaked with rage and won⯑der; but now I can ſpeak.—Zounds, what have you to ſay to me?—Lovewell, you are a villain.—You have broke your word with me.

Indeed, Sir, he has not—You forbad him to think of me, when it was out of his power to obey you; we have been married theſe four months.

And he ſhan't ſtay in my houſe four hours. What baſeneſs and treachery! As for you, you ſhall repent this ſtep as long as you live, Madam.

Indeed, Sir, it is impoſſible to conceive the tortures I have already endured in conſequence of my diſobedience. My heart has continually upbraided me for it; and though I was too weak to ſtruggle with affection, I feel that I muſt be miſerable for ever with⯑out your forgiveneſs.

Lovewell, you ſhall leave my houſe di⯑rectly;—and you ſhall follow him, Madam.

And if they do, I will receive them into mine. Look ye, Mr. Sterling, there have been ſome [89] miſtakes, which we had all better forget for our own ſakes; and the beſt way to forget them is to forgive the cauſe of them; which I do from my ſoul.—Poor girl! I ſwore to ſupport her affection with my life and fortune;—'tis a debt of honour, and muſt be paid—you ſwore as much too, Mr. Sterling; but your laws in the city will excuſe you, I ſuppoſe; for you never ſtrike a ballance without errors excepted.

I am a father, my Lord; but for the ſake of all other fathers, I think I ought not to forgive her, for fear of encouraging other ſilly girls like herſelf to throw themſelves away without the conſent of their parents.

I hope there will be no danger of that, Sir. Young ladies with minds, like my Fanny's, would ſtartle at the very ſhadow of vice; and when they know to what uneaſineſs only an indiſcretion has expoſed her, her example, inſtead, of encouraging, will rather ſerve to deter them.

Indiſcretion, quoth a! a mighty pretty delicat word to expreſs diſobedience!

For my part, I indulge my own paſſions too much to tyrannize over thoſe of other people. Poor ſouls, I pity them. And you muſt forgive them too. Come, come, melt a little of your flint, Mr. Sterling!

Why, why—as to that, my Lord—to be ſure he is a relation of yours my Lord—what ſay you, ſiſter Heidelberg?

The girl's ruined, and I forgive her.

Well—ſo do I then.—Nay, no thanks—

there's an end of the matter.

But, Lovewell, what makes you dumb all this while?

Your kindneſs, my Lord—I can ſcarce believe my own ſenſes—they are all in a tumult of fear, joy, love, expectation, and gratitude; I ever was, and am now more bound in duty to your Lord⯑ſhip; [90] for you, Mr. Sterling, if every moment of my life, ſpent gratefully in your ſervice, will in ſome meaſure compenſate the want of fortune, you perhaps will not repent your goodneſs to me. And you, ladies, I flatter myſelf, will not for the future ſuſpect me of artifice and intrigue—I ſhall be happy to oblige, and ſerve you.—As for you, Sir John—

No apologies to me, Lovewell, I do not deſerve any. All I have to offer in excuſe for what has happened, is my total ignorance of your ſitua⯑tion. Had you dealt a little more openly with me, you would have ſaved me, and yourſelf, and that lady, (who I hope will pardon my behaviour) a great deal of uneaſineſs. Give me leave, however, to aſſure you, that light and capricious as I may have ap⯑peared, now my infatuation is over, I have ſenſibility enough to be aſhamed of the part I have acted, and honour enough to rejoice at your happineſs.

And now, my deareſt Fanny, though we are ſeemingly the happieſt of beings, yet all our joys will be dampt, if his Lordſhip's generoſity and Mr. Sterling's forgiveneſs ſhould not be ſucceeded by the indulgence, approbation, and conſent of theſe our beſt benefactors.