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THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL; A COMEDY; AS IT IS PERFORMED AT THE THEATRES-ROYAL IN LONDON AND DUBLIN.

LONDON. PRINTED FOR J. BEW, IN PATER-NOSTER-ROW. M,DCC,LXXXI.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

[]
MEN.
  • SIR PETER TEAZLE,
  • SIR OLIVER SURFACE,
  • JOSEPH SURFACE,
  • CHARLES,
  • ROWLEY,
  • SIR BENJAMIN BACKBITE.
  • CRABTREE,
  • MOSES,
  • SNAKE,
  • TRIP,
  • SIR TOBY BUMPER,
  • GENTLEMEN,
  • SERVANT TO JOSEPH SURFACE,
  • SERVANT TO LADY SNEERWELL.
WOMEN.
  • LADY TEAZLE,
  • MARIA,
  • LADY SNEER WELL,
  • MRS. CANDOUR,
  • MAID TO LADY TEAZLE.

[]THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

ACT I.

SCENE Lady SNEERWELL'S Houſe.

Lady SNEERWELL and SNAKE diſcovered at a tea-table.
Lady SNEERWELL.

THE paragraphs, you ſay, Mr. Snake, were all inſerted.

Snake.

They were, Madam; and as I copied them myſelf in a ſeigned hand, there can be no ſuſpicion from whence they came.

L. Sneerwell.

Did you circulate the report of Lady Brittle's intrigue with Captain Boaſtall?

Snake.

That's in as fine a train as your Ladyſhip could wiſh; in the common courſe of things, I think it muſt reach Mrs. Clacket's ears within twenty-four hours, and then the buſineſs, you know, is as good as done.

L. Sneerwell.

Why yes, Mrs. Clacket has talents, and a great deal of induſtry.

Snake.

True Madam, and has been tolerably ſucceſsful in her day; to my knowledge ſhe has been the cauſe of ſix matches being broken off, and three ſons diſinherited; of four forced elopments, as many cloſe confinements, nine ſeparate maintenances, and two divorces; —nay, I have more than once traced her cauſing a tete a tete in the Town and Country Magazine, [4] when the parties never ſaw one another before in the whole courſe of their lives.

L. Sneerwell.

Why yes, ſhe has genius, but her manner is too groſs.

Snake.

True, Madam; ſhe has a fine tongue, and a bold invention; but then her colouring is too dark, and the outlines rather too extravagant; ſhe wants that delicacy of hint, and mellowneſs of ſneer, which diſtinguiſhes your Ladyſhip's ſcandal.

L. Sneerwell.

You are partial, Snake.

Snake.

Not in the leaſt; every body will allow that Lady Sneerwell can do more with a word or look than many others with the moſt laboured detail, even though they accidentally happen to have a little truth on their ſide to ſupport it.

L. Sneerwell.

Yes, my dear Snake, and I'll not deny the pleaſure I feel at the ſucceſs of my ſchemes;

(both riſe)

wounded myſelf, in the early part of my life, by the envenomed tongue of ſlander, I confeſs nothing can give me greater ſatisfaction, than reducing others to the level of my own injured reputation.

Snake.

True, Madam; but there is one affair, in which you have lately employed me, wherein, I confeſs, I am at a loſs to gueſs at your motives.

L. Sneerwell.

I preſume you mean with regard to my friend Sir Peter Teazle, and his family.

Snake.

I do; here are two young men, to whom Sir Peter has acted as guardian ſince their father's death; the eldeſt poſſeſſing the moſt amiable character, and univerſally well ſpoken of; the youngeſt the moſt diſſipated, wild, extravagant young fellow in the world; the former an avowed admirer of your Ladyſhip, and apparently your favourite; the latter attached to Maria, Sir Peter's ward, and confeſſedly admired by her: Now, [5] on the face of theſe circumſtances, it is utterly unaccountable to me, why you, the widow of a city Knight, with a large fortune, ſhould not immediately cloſe with the paſſion of a man of ſuch character and expectation as Mr. Surface; and more ſo, why you are ſo uncommonly earneſt to deſtroy the mutual attachment ſubſiſting between his brother Charles and Maria.

L. Sneerwell.

Then at once, to unravel this myſtery, I muſt inform you, that love has no ſhare whatever in the intercourſe between Mr. Surface and me.

Snake.

No!—

L. Sneerwell.

No! his real views are to Maria, or her fortune, while in his brother he finds a favoured rival; he is, therefore, obliged to maſk his real intentions, and profit by my aſſiſtance.

Snake.

Yet ſtill I am more puzzled why you ſhould intereſt yourſelf for his ſucceſs.

L. Sneerwell.

Heavens! how dull you are! can't you ſurmiſe a weakneſs I have hitherto through ſhame concealed even from you? Muſt I confeſs it that Charles, that profligate, that libertine, that bankrupt in fortune and reputation, that he it is for whom I am thus anxious and malicious; and to gain whom I would ſacrifice every thing.

Snake.

Now, indeed, your conduct appears conſiſtent; but pray how came you and Mr. Surface ſo confidential?

L. Sneerwell.

For our mutual intereſt; he pretends to, and recommends ſentiment and liberality, but I know him to be artful, cloſe and malicious. In ſhort, a ſentimental knave, while with Sir Peter, and indeed with moſt of his acquaintances he paſſes for a youthful miracle of virtue, good ſenſe, and benevolence.

Snake.
[6]

Yes, I know Sir Peter vows he has not his fellow in England, and has praiſed him as a man of character and ſentiment.

L. Sneerwell.

Yes; and with the appearance of being ſentimental, he has brought Sir Peter to favour his addreſſes to Maria, while poor Charles has no friend in the houſe, though I fear he has a powerful one in Maria's heart, againſt whom we muſt direct our ſchemes.

Enter SERVANT.
Servant.

Mr. Surface, Madam.

L. Sneerwell.

Shew him up

(exit Servant)

he generally calls about this hour—I don't wonder at people's giving him to me for a lover.

Enter JOSEPH SURFACE.
Joſeph.

Lady Sneerwell, good morning to you— Mr. Snake your moſt obedient.

L. Sneerwell.

Snake has juſt been rallying me upon our attachment, but I have told him our real views; I need not tell you how uſeful he has been to us, and believe me, our confidence has not been ill placed.

Joſeph.

Oh, Madam, 'tis impoſſible for me to ſuſpect a man of Mr. Snake's merit and accompliſhments.

L. Sneerwell.

Oh, no compliments; but tell me when you ſaw Maria, or what's more material to us, your brother.

Joſeph.

I have not ſeen either ſince I left you, but I can tell you they never met; ſome of your ſtories have had a good effect in that quarter.

L. Sneerwell.

The merit of this, my dear Snake, belongs to you; but do your brother's diſtreſſes increaſe?

Joſeph.

Every hour! I am told he had another execution [7] in his houſe yeſterday—in ſhort, his diſſipation and extravagance exceeds any thing I ever heard.

L. Sneerwell.

Poor Charles!

Joſeph.

Aye, Poor Charles indeed! notwithſtanding his extravagance one cannot help pitying him; I wiſh it was in my power to be of any eſſential ſervice to him; for the man who does not feel for the diſtreſſes of a brother, even though merited by his own miſconduct, deſerves to be—

L. Sneerwell.

Now you are going to be moral, and forget you are among friends.

Joſeph.

Gad, ſo I was, ha! ha!—I'll keep that ſentiment till I ſee Sir Peter, ha! ha! however it would certainly be a generous act in you to reſcue Maria from ſuch a libertine, who, if he is to be reclaimed at all, can only be ſo by a perſon of your ſuperior accompliſhments and underſtanding.

Snake.

I believe Lady Sneerwell, here's company coming; I'll go and copy the letter I mentioned to your Ladyſhip. Mr. Surface, your moſt obedient.

[Exit Snake.
Joſeph.

Mr. Snake, your moſt obedient. I wonder Lady Sneerwell, you would put any confidence in that fellow.

L. Sneerwell.

Why ſo?

Joſeph.

I have diſcovered he has of late had ſeveral conferences with old Rowley, who was formerly my father's ſteward; he has never, you know, been a friend of mine.

L. Sneerwell.

And do you think he would betray us?

Joſeph.

Not unlikely; and take my word for it, Lady Sneerwell, that fellow has not virtue enough to be faithful to his own villanies.

[8] Enter MARIA.
L. Sneerwell.

Ah, Maria, my dear, how do you do? What's the matter?

Maria.

Nothing, Madam, only this odious lover of mine, Sir Benjamin Backbite, and his uncle Crabtree, juſt called in at my guardian's; but I took the firſt opportunity to ſlip out, and run away to your Ladyſhip.

L. Sneerwell.

Is that all?

Joſeph.

Had my brother Charles been of the party you would not have been ſo much alarmed.

L. Sneerwell.

Nay, now you are too ſevere; for I dare ſay the truth of the matter is, Maria heard you was here, and therefore came; but pray Maria, what particular objection have you to Sir Benjamin, that you avoid him ſo?

Maria.

Oh, Madam, he has done nothing; but his whole converſation is a perpetual libel upon all his acquaintance.

Joſeph.

Yes, and the worſt of it is, there is no advantage in not knowing him, for he would abuſe a ſtranger as ſoon as his beſt friend, and his uncle is as bad.

Maria.

For my part, I own wit looſes its reſpect with me, when I ſee it in company with malice;— what think you Mr. Surface?

Joſeph.

To be ſure, Madam,—to ſmile at a jeſt that plants a thorn in the breaſt of another, is to become a principal in the miſchief.

L. Sneerwell.

Paſh—there is no poſſibility of being witty without a little ill nature; the malice in a good thing is the barb that makes it ſtick.—What is your real opinion, Mr. Surface?

Joſeph.

Why my opinion is, that where the ſpirit [9] of railery is ſuppreſſed, the converſation muſt be naturally inſipid.

Maria.

Well I will not anſwer how far ſlander may be allowed, but in a man, I am ſure it is deſpicable.— We have pride, envy, rivalſhip, and a thouſand motives to depreciate each other; but the male ſlanderer, muſt have the cowardice of a woman, before he can traduce one.

Enter SERVANT.
Servant.

Mrs. Candour, Madam, if you are at leiſure, will leave her carriage.

L. Sneerwell.

Deſire her to walk up.

(Exit ſervant.)

Now, Maria, here's a character to your taſte; though Mrs. Candour is a little talkative, yet every body allows ſhe is the beſt natured ſort of woman in the world.

Maria.

Yes—with the very groſs affectation of good nature, ſhe does more miſchief than the direct malice of old Crabtree.

Joſeph.

Faith it's very true; and whenever I hear the current of abuſe running hard againſt the characters of my beſt friends I never think them in ſuch danger, as when Candour undertakes their defence.

L. Sneerwell.

Huſh! Huſh! here ſhe is.

Enter Mrs. CANDOUR.
Mrs. Candour.

Oh! my dear Lady Sneerwell; well, how do you do? Mr. Surface your moſt obedient.—Is there any news abroad? No! nothing good I ſuppoſe —No! nothing but ſcandal!—nothing but ſcandal!

Joſeph,

Juſt ſo indeed, Madam.

Mrs. Candour.

Nothing but ſcandal!—Ah, Maria how do you do child; what is every thing at an end between you and Charles? What, he is too extravagant. —Aye! the town talks of nothing elſe.

Maria.
[10]

I am ſorry, Madam, the town is ſo ill employed.

Mrs. Candour,

Aye, ſo am I child—but what can one do? we can't ſtop people's tongues:—They hint too, that your guardian and his Lady don't live ſo agreeably together as they did.

Maria.

I am ſure ſuch reports are without foundation.

Mrs. Candour.

Aye, ſo theſe things generally are: —It's like Mr. Faſhion's affair with Colonel Goterie; though, indeed, that affair was never rightly cleared up; and it was but yeſterday Miſs Prim aſſured me, that Mr. and Mrs. Honeymoon were now become mere man and wife, like the reſt of their acquaintance. She likewiſe hinted, that a certain widow in the next ſtreet, had got rid of her dropſy, and recovered her ſhape in a moſt ſurprizing manner.

Joſeph.

The licence of invention, ſome people give themſelves, is aſtoniſhing.

Mrs. Candour.

'Tis ſo—but how will you ſtop people's tongues? 'Twas but yeſterday Mrs. Clacket informed me, that our old friend, Miſs Prudely, was going to elope, and that her guardian caught her juſt ſtepping into the York Diligence, with her dancingmaſter. I was informed too, that Lord Flimſey caught his wife at a houſe of no extraordinary fame, and that Tom Saunter and Sir Harry Idle, were to meaſure ſwords on a ſimilar occaſion.—But I dare ſay there is no truth in the ſtory, and I would not circulate ſuch a report for the world.

Joſeph.

You report!—No, no, no.

Mrs. Candour.

No, no,—tale-bearers are juſt as bad as the tale-makers.

[11] Enter SERVANT.
Servant.

Sir Benjamin Backbite, and Mr. Crabtree.

[Exit ſervant.
Enter Sir BENJAMIN and CRABTREE.
Crabtree.

Lady Sneerwell, your moſt obedient humble ſervant. Mrs. Candour, I believe you don't know my nephew, Sir Benjamin Backbite; he has a very pretty taſte for poetry, and ſhall make a rebus or a cherard with any one.

Sir Benjamin.

Oh fie! uncle.

Crabtree.

In faith he will: did you ever hear the lines he made at Lady Ponto's route, on Miſs Frizzle's feathers catching fire; and the rebuſes—his firſt is the name of a fiſh; the next, a great naval commander, and—

Sir Benjamin.

Uncle, now prythee.

L. Sneerwell.

I wonder, Sir Benjamin you never publiſh any thing.

Sir Benjamin.

Why, to ſay the truth, 'tis very vulgar to print—and as my little productions are chiefly ſatyrs, and lampoons on particular perſons, I find they circulate better by giving copies in confidence to the friends of the parties;—however, I have ſome love elegies, which, when favoured by this Lady's ſmiles

(to Maria)

I mean to give to the public.

Crabtree.

'Foregad, Madam, they'll immortalize you

(to Maria)

you will be handed down to poſterity, like Petrarch's Laura, or Waller's Sachariſſa.

Sir Benjamin.

Yes, Madam, I think you'll like them

(to Maria)

when you ſhall ſee them on a beautiful quarto type, where a neat rivulet of text ſhall murmur through a meadow of margin;—'foregad they'll be the moſt elegant things of their kind.

Crabtree.
[12]

But, odſo, Ladies, did you hear the news?

Mrs. Candour.

What—do you mean the report of—

Crabtree.

No, Madam, that's not it—Miſs Nicely going to be married to her footman.

Mrs. Candour.

Impoſſible!

Sir Benjamin.

'Tis very true, indeed Madam, every thing is fixed, and the wedding liveries beſpoke.

Crabtree.

Yes, and they do ſay there were very preſſing reaſons for it.

Mrs. Candour.

I heard ſomething of this before.

L. Sneerwell.

Oh! it cannot be; and I wonder they'd report ſuch a thing of ſo prudent a Lady.

Sir Benjamin.

Oh! but Madam, that is the very reaſon that it was believed at once, for ſhe has always been ſo very cautious and reſerved, that every body was ſure there was ſome reaſon for it at bottom.

Mrs. Candour.

It is true, there is a ſort of puny, ſickly reputation, that would outlive the robuſter character of an hundred prudes.

Sir Benjamin.

True, Madam, there are Valetudinarians in reputation, as well as conſtitution, who being conſcious of their weak part, avoid the leaſt breath of air, and ſupply their want of ſtamina by care and circumſpection.

Mr. Candour.

I believe this may be ſome miſtake; you know, Sir Benjamin, very trifling circumſtances have often given riſe to the moſt ingenious tales.

Crabtree.

Very true;—but odſo, Ladies did you hear of Miſs Letitia Piper's loſing her lover and her character at Scarborough.—Sir Benjamin you remember it.

Sir Benjamin.

Oh, to be ſure, the moſt whimſical circumſtance.

L. Sneerwell.

Pray let us hear it.

Crabtree.
[13]

Why, one evening, at Lady Spadille's aſſembly, the converſation happened to turn upon the difficulty of breeding Nova-Scotia ſheep in this country; no, ſays a lady preſent, I have ſeen an inſtance of it, for a couſin of mine, Miſs Letitia Piper had one that produced twins. What, what, ſays old Lady Dundizzy (whom we all know is as deaf as a poſt) has Miſs Letitia Piper had twins.—This, you may eaſily imagine, ſet the company in a loud laugh; and the next morning it was every where reported, and believed that Miſs Letitia Piper had actually been brought to bed of a fine boy and girl.

Omnes.

Ha, ha, ha, ha.

Crabtree.

'Tis true upon my honour.—Oh, Mr. Surface, how do you do; I hear your uncle, Sir Oliver is expected in town; ſad news upon his arrival, to hear how your brother has gone on.

Joſeph.

I hope no buſy people have already prejudiced his uncle againſt him—he may reform.

Sir Benjamin.

True, he may; for my part, I never thought him ſo utterly void of principle as people ſay—and though he has loſt all his friends, I am told nobody is better ſpoken of amongſt the Jews.

Crabtree.

'Foregad, if the Old Jewry was a ward, Charles would be an Alderman, for he pays as many annuities as the [...]iſh Tontine; and when he is ſick, they have prayers for his recovery in all their Synagogues.

Sir Benjamin.

Yet no man lives in greater ſplendor. They tell me, when he entertains his friends, he can ſit down to dinner with a dozen of his own ſecurities, have a ſcore of tradeſmen waiting in the antichamber, and an officer behind every gueſt's chair.

Joſeph.

This may be entertaining to you, gentlemen; [14] —but you pay very little regard to the feelings of a brother.

Maria.

Their malice is intolerable.

(Aſide.)

Lady Sneerwell, I muſt wiſh you a good morning; I'm not very well.

[Exit Maria.
Mrs. Candour.

She changes colour.

L. Sneerwell.

Do, Mrs. Candour, follow her.

Mrs. Candour.

To be ſure I will;—poor dear girl, who knows what her ſituation may he?

[Mrs. Candour follows her.
L. Sneerwell.

'Twas nothing, but that ſhe could not bear to hear Charles reflected on, notwithſtanding their difference.

Sir Benjamin.

The young lady's penchant is obvious.

Crabtree.

Come, don't let this diſhearten you— follow her, and repeat ſome of your odes to her, and I'll aſſiſt you.

Sir Benjamin.

Mr. Surface, I did not come to hurt you, but depend on't your brother is utterly undone.

Crabtree.

Oh! undone as ever man was—can't raiſe a guinea.

Sir Benjamin.

Every thing is ſold, I am told, that was moveable.

Crabtree.

Not a moveable left except ſome old bottles, and ſome pictures, and they ſeem to be framed in the wainſcot, egad.

Sir Benjamin.

I am ſorry to hear alſo ſome bad ſtories of him.

Crabtree.

Oh! He has done many mean things, that's certain.

Sir Benjamin.

But, however, he's your brother.

Crabtree.

Aye! as he's your brother—we'll tell you more another opportunity.

Sir Benjamin.
[15]

Yes! as he's your brother—well tell you more another opportunity.

[Exeunt Crabtree and ſir Benjamin.
L. Sneerwell.

'Tis very hard for them, indeed, to leave a ſubject they have not quite run down.

Joſeph.

And I fancy their abuſe was no more acceptable to your ladyſhip, than to Maria.

L. Sneerwell.

I doubt her affections are further engaged than we imagine;—but the family are to be here this afternoon, ſo you may as well dine where you are, we ſhall have an opportunity of obſerving her further;—in the mean time I'll go and and plot miſchief, and you ſhall ſtudy.

[Exeunt.

SCENE Sir PETER TEAZLE'S Houſe.

Sir PETER.

WHEN an old batchelor marries a young wiſe, what is he to expect?—'Tis now about ſix months ſince my Lady Teazle made me the happieſt of men—and I have been the moſt miſerable dog ever ſince.—We tifted a little going to church, and fairly quarrelled before the bells were done ringing. I was more than once nearly choaked with gall during the honey moon, and had loſt every ſatisfaction in life, before my friends had done wiſhing me joy.—And yet, I choſe with caution a girl bred wholly in the country, who had never known luxury, beyond one ſilk gown, or diſſipation beyond the annual gala of a race ball.— Yet, now ſhe plays her part in all the extravagant fopperies of the town, with as good a grace is if ſhe had never ſeen a buſh, or a graſs plot out of Groſvenor-Square. —I am ſneered at by all my acquaintance— [16] paragraphed in the news-papers—ſhe diſſipates my fortune, and contradicts all my humours.—And yet, the worſt of it is, I doubt I love her, or I ſhould never bear all this—but I am determined never to be weak enough to let her know it—No! no! no!

Enter ROWLEY.
Rowley.

Sir Peter, your ſervant, how do you find yourſelf to-day?

Sir Peter.

Very bad, Maſter Rowley, very bad indeed.

Rowley.

I'm ſorry to hear that—what has happened to make you uneaſy ſince yeſterday?

Sir Peter.

A pretty queſtion truly to a married man.

Rowley.

Sure my Lady is not the cauſe!

Sir Peter.

Why has any one told you ſhe was dead?

Rowley.

Come, come, Sir Peter, notwithſtanding you ſometimes diſpute and diſagree, I am ſure you love her.

Sir Peter.

Aye, Maſter Rowley; but the worſt of it is, that in all our diſputes and quarrels, ſhe is ever in the wrong, and continues to thwart and vex me;— I am myſelf the ſweeteſt tempered man in the world, and ſo I tell her an hundred times a day.

Rowley.

Indeed, Sir Peter!

Sir Peter.

Yes—and then there's Lady Sneerwell, and the ſet ſhe meets at her houſe, encourage her to diſobedience; and Maria, my ward, ſhe too preſumes to have a will of her own, and refuſes the man I propoſe for her; deſigning, I ſuppoſe to beſtow herſelf and fortune upon that profligate his brother.

Rowley.

You know, Sir Peter, I have often taken the liberty to differ in opinion with you, in regard to theſe two young men, for Charles, my life on't will [17] retrieve all one day or other.—Their worthy father, my once honoured maſter, at his years, was full as wild and extravagant as Charles now is; but at his death he did not leave a more benevolent heart to lament his loſs.

Sir Peter.

You are wrong, Mr. Rowley, you are very wrong;—by their father's will, you know, I became guardian to theſe young men, which gave me an opportunity of knowing their different diſpoſitions; but their uncle's Eaſtern liberality ſoon took them out of my power, by giving them an early independence. —But for Charles, whatever good qualities he might have inherited, they are long ſince ſquandered away with the reſt of his fortune;—Joſeph, indeed, is a pattern for the young men of the age—a youth of the nobleſt ſentiments, and acts up to the ſentiments he profeſſes.

Rowley.

Well, well; Sir Peter, I ſhan't oppoſe your opinion at preſent, though I am ſorry you are prejudiced againſt Charles, as this may probably be the moſt critical period of his life, for his uncle, Sir Oliver, is arrived, and now in town.

Sir Peter.

What! my old friend, Sir Oliver, is he arrived? I thought you had not expected him this month.

Rowley.

No more we did, Sir, but his paſſage has been remarkably quick.

Sir Peter.

I ſhall be heartily glad to ſee him—'tis ſixteen years ſince old Noll and I met—But does he ſtill enjoin us to keep his arrival a ſecret from his nephews?

Rowley.

He does, Sir, and is determined, under a feigned character, to make trial of their different diſpoſitions.

Sir Peter.
[18]

Ah! there is no need of it, for Joſeph, I am ſure is the man.—But hark'ye, Rowley, does Sir Oliver know that I am married?

Rowley.

He does, Sir, and intends ſhortly to wiſh you joy.

Sir Peter.

What, as we wiſh health to a friend in a conſumption.—But I muſt have him at my houſe— do you conduct him, Rowley, I'll go and give orders for his reception

(going)

We uſed to rail at matrimony together—he has ſtood firm to his text.—But Rowley, don't give him the leaſt hint that my wife and I diſagree, for I would have him think (Heaven forgive me) that we are a happy couple.

Rowley.

Then you muſt be careful not to quarrel whilſt he is here.

Sir Peter.

And ſo we muſt—but that will be impoſſible! —Zounds, Rowley, when an old batchelor marries a young wife, he deſerves—aye, he deſerves —no—the crime carries the puniſhment along with it.

End of the FIRST ACT.

ACT II.

SCENE Sir PETER TEAZLE'S Houſe

Sir PETER.

LADY Teazle, Lady Teazle, I won't bear it.

L. Teazle.

Very well, ſir Peter, you may bear it or not, juſt as you pleaſe; but I know I ought to have my own way in every thing, and what's more, I will.

Sir Peter.

What, madam! is there no reſpect due to the authority of a huſband?

L. Teazle.

Why, don't I know that no woman of faſhion does as ſhe is bid after her marriage.—Though [19] I was bred in the country, I'm no ſtranger to that: if you wanted me to be obedient, you ſhould have adopted me, and not married me—I'm ſure you were old enough.

Sir Peter.

Aye, there it is—Oons, madam, what right have you to run me into all this extravagance?

L. Teazle.

I'm ſure I am not more extravagant than a woman of quality ought to be.

Sir Peter.

'Slife, madam, I'll have no more ſums ſquandered away upon ſuch unmeaning luxuries; you have as many flowers in your dreſſing room, as would turn the Pantheon into a green-houſe; or make a Féte Champetre at a maſ—

L. Teazle.

Lord, ſir Peter, am I to blame that flowers don't blow in cold weather; you muſt blame the climate, and not me—I'm ſure, for my part, I wiſh it was ſpring all the year round, and that roſes grew under our feet.

Sir Peter.

Zounds, madam, I ſhould not wonder at your extravagance, if you had been bred to it—Had you any of theſe things before you married me?

L. Teazle.

Lord, ſir Peter, how can you be angry at thoſe little elegant expences?

Sir Peter.

Had you any of thoſe little elegant expences when you married me?

L. Teazle.

For my part, I think you ought to be pleaſed your wife ſhould be thought a woman of taſte.

Sir Peter.

Zounds. madam, you had no taſte when you married me.

L. Teazle.

Very true, indeed; and after having married you, I never ſhould pretend to taſte again.

Sir Peter.

Very well, very well, madam; you have entirely forgot what your ſituation was when I firſt ſaw you.

L. Teazle.
[20]

No, no, I have not; a very diſagreeable ſituation it was, or I'm ſure I never ſhould have married you.

Sir Peter.

You forget the humble ſtate I took you from—the daughter of a poor country 'ſquire—when I came to your father's, I found you ſitting at your tambour, in a linen gown, a bunch of keys to your ſide, and your hair combed ſmoothly over a roll.

L. Teazle.

Yes, I remember very well;—my daily occupations were to overlook the dairy, ſuperintend the poultry, make extracts from the family receipt book, and combany aunt Deborah's lap dog.

Sir Peter.

Oh! I am glad to find you have ſo good a recollection.

L. Teazle.

My evening employments were to draw patterns for ruffles, which I had not materials to make up; play at Pope Joan with the curate; read a ſermon to my aunt Deborah, or perhaps be ſtuck up at an old ſpinnet to trum my father to ſleep after a fox-chace.

Sir Peter.

Then you was glad to take a ride out behind the buttler, upon the old dock'd coach-horſe.

L. Teazle.

No, no, I deny the butler and the coach-horſe.

Sir Peter.

I ſay you did. This was your ſituation— Now, madam, you muſt have your coach, viz-a-viz, and three powdered coachmen to walk before your chair; and in ſummer, two white cats to draw you to Kenſington-Gardens; and inſtead of your living in that hole in the country, I have brought you home here, made a woman of fortune of you, a woman of quality —in ſhort madam, I have made you my wife.

L. Teazle.

Well, and there is but one thing more you can now do to add to the obligation, and that is—

Sir Peter.
[21]

To make you my widow, I ſuppoſe.

L. Teazle.

Hem!—

Sir Peter.

Very well, madam, very well; I am much obliged to you for the hint.

L. Teazle.

Why then will you force me to ſay ſhocking things to you. But now we have finiſhed our morning converſation, I preſume I may go to my engagements at Lady Sneerwell's.

Sir Peter.

Lady Sneerwell!—a precious acquaintance you have made with her too, and the ſet that frequent her houſe.—Such a ſet, mercy on us!—Many a wretch who has been drawn upon a hurdle, has done leſs miſchief than thoſe barterers of forged lies, coiners of ſcandal, and clippers of reputation.

L. Teazle.

How can you be ſo ſevere; I'm ſure they are all people of faſhion, and very tenacious of reputation.

Sir Peter.

Yes, ſo tenacious of it, they'll not allow it to any but themſelves.

L. Teazle.

I vow, ſir Peter, when I ſay an ill-natured thing I mean no harm by it, for I take it for granted they'd do the ſame by me.

Sir Peter.

They've made you as bad as any of them.

L. Teazle.

Yes—I think I bear my part with a tolerable grace—

Sir Peter.

Grace! indeed—

L. Teazle.

Well, but ſir Peter, you know you promiſed to come.

Sir Peter.

Well, I ſhall juſt call in to look after my own character.

L. Teazle.

Then, upon my word, you muſt make haſte after me, or you'll be too late.

[Exit L. Teazle.
Sir Peter.

I have got much by my intended expoſtulation [22] —What a charming air ſhe has!—what a neck and how pleaſingly ſhe ſhews her contempt of my authority!— Well, though I can't make her love me, 'tis ſome pleaſure to teaze her a little, and I think ſhe never appears to ſuch advantage, as when ſhe is doing every thing to vex and plague me.

SCENE Lady SNEERWELL'S Houſe.

Enter Lady SNEERWELL, CRABTREE, Sir BENJAMIN, JOSEPH, Mrs. CANDOUR, and MARIA.
Lady SNEERWELL.

NAY, poſitively we'll have it.

Joſeph.

Aye, aye, the epigram, by all means.

Sir Benjamin.

Oh! Plague on it, it's mere nonſenſe.

Crabtree.

Faith, Ladies, 'twas excellent for an extempore.

Sir Benjamin.

But Ladies, you ſhould be acquainted with the circumſtances—You muſt know that one day laſt week, as Lady Bab Curricle was taking the duſt in Hyde Park, in a ſort of duodecimo phaeton, ſhe deſires me to write ſome verſes on her ponies; upon which I took out my pocket book, and in a moment produced the following:—

" Sure never were ſeen two ſuch beautiful ponies,
" Other horſes are clowns, and theſe macaronies;
" To give them this title I'm ſure can't be wrong,
" Their legs are ſo ſlim, and their tails are ſo long.
Crabtree.

There, Ladies,—done in the crack of a whip—and on horſeback too!

Joſeph.

Oh! a very Phoebus mounted—

Mrs. Candour.

I muſt have a copy.

[23] Enter Lady TEAZLE.
L. Sneerwell.

Lady Teazle, how do you do [...]—I hope we ſhall ſee ſir Peter.

L. Teazle.

I believe he will wait on your Ladyſhip preſently.

L. Sneerwell.

Maria, my love, you look grave; come, you ſhall ſit down to picquet with Mr. Surface.

Maria.

I take very little pleaſure in cards—but I'll do as your ladyſhip pleaſes.

L. Teazle.

I wonder he ſhould ſit down to cards with Maria—I thought he would have taken an opportunity of ſpeaking to me before ſir Peter came.

[Aſide.
Mrs. Candour.

Well, now I'll forſwear his ſociety.

[Aſide.
L. Teazle.

What's the matter, Mrs. Candour?

Mrs. Candour.

Why, they are ſo cenſorious they won't allow our friend, Miſs Vermilion, to be handſome.

L. Sneerwell.

Oh, ſurely ſhe's a pretty woman.

Crabtree.

I'm glad you think ſo.

Mrs. Candour.

She has a charming freſh colour.

L. Teazle.

Yes, when it is freſh put on.

Mrs. Candour.

Well, I'll ſwear it's natural, for I've ſeen it come and go.

L. Teazle.

Yes, it comes at night, and goes again in the morning.

Sir Benjamin.

True, madam, it not only goes and comes, but what's more, egad her maid can fetch and carry it.

Mrs. Candour.

Well,—and what do you think of her ſiſter.

Crabtree.

What, Mrs. Evergreen—'foregad, ſhe's ſix and fifty if ſhe's a day.

Mrs. Candour.
[24]

Nay, I'll ſwear two or three and ſixty is the outſide—I don't think ſhe looks more.

Sir Benjamin.

Oh, there's no judging by her looks, unleſs we could ſee her face.

L. Sneerwell.

Well, if Mrs. Evergreen does take ſome pains to repair the ravages of time, ſhe certainly effects it with great ingenuity, and ſurely that's better than the careleſs manner in which the widow Oaker chalks her wrinkles.

Sir Benjamin.

Nay, now my Lady Sneerwell, you are too ſevere upon the widow—Come, it is not that ſhe paints ſo ill, but when ſhe has finiſhed her face, ſhe joins it ſo badly to her neck, that ſhe looks like a mended ſtatue, in which the conniſſeur may ſee at once that the head is modern, though the trunk's antique.

Crabtree.

What do you think of Miſs Simper?

Sir Benjamin.

Why ſhe has pretty teeth.

L. Teazle.

Yes, and upon that account never ſhuts her mouth, but keeps it always a-jar, as it were thus

(ſhews her teeth.)
Omnes.

Ha, ha, ha.

L. Teazle.

And yet, I vow that's better than the pains Mrs. Prim takes to conceal her loſſes in front;— ſhe draws her mouth till it reſembles the apperture of a poor box, and all her words appear to ſlide out edgeways as it were, thus—

"How do you do madam?—Yes, madam."

L. Sneerwell.

Ha, ha, ha, very well, Lady Teazle; I vow you appear to be a little ſevere.

L. Teazle.

In defence of a friend, you know, it is but juſt.—But here comes Sir Peter to ſpoil our pleaſantry.

Enter Sir PETER.
Sir Peter.

Ladies your ſervant—mercy upon [25] me!—the whole ſet—a character dead at every ſentence.

Mrs. Candour.

They won't allow good qualities to any one—not even good nature to our friend Mrs. Purſey.

Crabtree.

What! the old fat dowager that was at Mrs. Quadrille's laſt night.

Mrs. Candour.

Her bulk is her misfortune; and when ſhe takes ſuch pains to get rid of it, you ought not to reflect on her.

L. Sneerwell.

That's very true, indeed.

L. Teazle.

Yes.—I'm told ſhe abſolutely lives upon acids and ſmall whey, laces herſelf with pullies;— often in the hotteſt day in ſummer, you ſhall ſee her on a little ſquat poney, with her hair platted and turned up like a drummer, and away ſhe goes puffing round the ring in a full trot.

Sir Peter.

Mercy on me! this is her own relation; a perſon they dine with twice a week.

(Aſide.
Mrs. Candour.

I vow you ſhan't be ſo ſevere upon the dowager; for let me tell you, great allowances are to be made for a woman who ſtrives to paſs for a flirt at ſix and thirty.

L. Sneerwell.

Though ſurely ſhe's handſome ſtill; and for the weakneſs in her eyes, conſidering how much ſhe reads by candle-light, 'tis not to be wondered at.

Mrs. Candour.

Very true; and for her manner, I think it very graceful, conſidering ſhe never had any education; for her mother you know, was a Welch milliner, and her father a ſugar-baker at Briſtol.

Sir Benjamin.

Aye, ye are both of ye too good natured.

Mrs. Candour.

Well, I never will join in the ridicule of a friend; ſo I tell my couſin Ogle, and ye all know what pretenſions ſhe has [...] beauty.

Crabtree.
[26]

She has the oddeſt countenance—a collection of features from all corners of the globe.

Sir Benjamin.

She has, indeed, an Iriſh front.

Crabtree.

Caledonian locks.

Sir Benjamin.

Dutch noſe.

Crabtree.

Auſtrian lips.

Sir Benjamin.

The complexion of a Spaniard.

Crabtree.

And teeth a la Chinoiſe.

Sir Benjamin.

In ſhort, her face reſembles a table drote at Spa, where no two gueſts are of a nation.

Crabtree.

Or a Congreſs at the cloſe of a general war, where every member ſeems to have a different intereſt, and the noſe and chin are the only parties likely to join iſſue.

Sir Benjamin.

Ha, ha, ha.

L. Sneerwell.

Ha, ha,—Well, I vow you are a couple of provoking toads.

Mrs. Candour.

Well, I vow you ſhan't carry the laugh ſo—let me tell you that, Mrs. Ogle.

Sir Peter.

Madam, madam, 'tis impoſſible to ſtop thoſe good gentlemens tongues; but when I tell you, Mrs. Candour, that the lady they are ſpeaking of is a particular friend of mine, I hope you will be ſo good as not to undertake her defence.

L. Sneerwell.

Well ſaid, Sir Peter, but you are a cruel creature, too phlegmatic yourſelf for a with and too peeviſh to allow it to others.

Sir Peter.

True wit, madam, is more nearly allied to good nature than you are aware of.

L. Teazle.

True, Sir Peter; I believe they are ſo near a-kin that they can never be united.

Sir Benjamin.

or rather, madam, ſuppoſe them to be man and wife, one ſo ſeldom ſees them together.

L. Teazle.
[27]

But Sir Peter is ſuch an enemy to ſcandal I believe he would have it put down by Parliament.

Sir Peter.

'Foregad, Madam, if they conſidered the ſporting with reputations of as much conſequence as poaching on manors, and paſſed an act for the preſervation of fame, they would find many would thank them for the bill.

L. Sneerwell.

Oh lud!—Sir Peter would deprive us of our privileges.

Sir Peter.

Yes, madam; and none ſhould then have the liberty to kill characters, and run down reputations, but privileged old maids, and diſappointed widows.

L. Sneerwell.

Go, you monſter!

Mrs. Candour.

But ſurely you would not be ſo ſevere on thoſe who only report what they hear?

Sir Peter.

Yes, madam, I would have law for them too; and wherever the drawer of the lie was not to be found, the injured party ſhould have a right to come on any of the endorſers.

Crabtree.

Well, I verily believe there never was a ſcandalous ſtory without ſome foundation.

Sir Peter.

Nine out of ten are formed on ſome malicious invention, or idle repreſentation.

L. Sneerwell.

Come, Ladies, ſhall we ſit down to cards in the next room?

Enter a SERVANT, who whiſpers Sir PETER.
Sir Peter.

I'll come directly—I'll ſteal away unperceived.

[Aſide.
L. Sneerwell.

Sir Peter, you're not leaving us.

Sir Peter.

I beg pardon, Ladies, 'tis particular buſineſs, and I muſt—but I leave my character behind me.

[Exit Sir Peter.
Sir Benjamin.

Well, certainly Lady Teazle, that [28] Lord of your's is a ſtrange being; I could tell you ſome ſtories of him would make you laugh heartily, if he was not your huſband.

L. Teazle.

Oh, never mind that—This way.

[They walk up, and exeunt.
Joſeph.

You take no pleaſure in this ſociety.

Maria.

How can I? If to raiſe a malicious ſmile at the misfortunes and infirmities of thoſe who are unhappy, be a proof of wit and humour, Heaven grant me a double portion of dulneſs.

Joſeph.

And yet, they have no malice in their hearts.

Maria.

Then it is the more inexcuſable, ſince nothing but an ungovernable depravity of heart, could tempt them to ſuch a practice.

Joſeph.

And is it poſſible, Maria, that you can thus feel for others, and yet be cruel to me alone?— Is hope to be denied the tendereſt paſſion?

Maria.

Why will you perſiſt to perſecute me on a ſubject on which you have long ſince known my ſentiments.

Joſeph.

Oh, Maria, you would not be thus deaf to me, but that Charles, that libertine, is ſtill a favoured rival.

Maria.

Ungenerouſly urged, but whatever my ſentiments are, with regard to that unfortunate young man, be aſſured I ſhall not conſider myſelf more bound to give him up, becauſe his misfortunes have loſt him the regards—even of a brother—[Going out.

Joſeph.

Nay, Maria, you ſhall not leave me with a ſrown; by all that's honeſt I ſwear—

(Kneels, and ſees Lady Teazle entering behind)

Ah! Lady Teazle, ah! you ſhall not ſtir—

(to Maria)

I have the greateſt regard in the world for Lady Teazle, but if Sir Peter was once to ſuſpect—

Maria.
[29]

Lady Teazle!—

L. Teazle.

What is all this, child? You are wanting in the next room

(Exit Maria)

—What is the meaning of all this?—What! did you take her for me?

Joſeph.

Why, you muſt know—Maria—by ſome means ſuſpecting—the—great regard I entertain for your Ladyſhip—was—was—threatening—if I did not deſiſt, to acquaint Sir Peter—and I—I—was juſt reaſoning with her—

L. Teazle.

You ſeem to have adopted a very tender method of reaſoning—pray do you uſually argue on your knees?

Joſeph.

Why, you know ſhe's but a child, and I thought a little bombaſt might be uſeful to keep her ſilent.—But, my dear Lady Teazle, when will you come and give me your opinion of my library?

L. Teazle.

Why, really I begin to think it not ſo proper, and you know I admit you as a lover no farther than faſhion dictates.

Joſeph.

Oh, no more;—a mere Platonic Ciciſbeo, that every Lady is entitled to.

L. Teazle.

No further—and though Sir Peter's treatment may make me uneaſy, it ſhall never provoke me—

Joſeph.

To the only revenge in your power.

L. Teazle,

Go, you inſinuating wretch—but we ſhall be miſſed, let us join the company.

Joſeph.

I'll follow your Ladyſhip.

L. Teazle.

Don't ſtay long, for I promiſe you Maria ſhan't come to hear any more of your reaſoning

[Exit Lady Teazle.
Joſeph.

A pretty ſituation I am in—by gaining the wife I ſhall loſe the heireſs.—I at firſt intended to [30] make her Ladyſhip only the inſtrument in my deſigns on Maria, but—I don't know how it is—I am become her ſerious admirer. I begin now to wiſh I had not made a point of gaining ſo very good a character, for it has brought me into ſo many confounded rogueries, that I fear I ſhall be expoſed at laſt.

[Exit Joſeph.

SCENE Sir PETER TEAZLE'S Houſe.

Enter Sir OLIVER and ROWLEY.
Sir Oliver.

Ha, ha, and ſo my old friend is married at laſt, eh Rowley,—and to a young wife out of the country, ha, ha, ha! That he ſhould buff to old batchelors ſo long, and ſink into a huſband at laſt.

Rowley.

But let me beg of you, ſir, not to rally him upon the ſubject, for he cannot bear it, though he has been married theſe ſeven months.

Sir Oliver.

Then he has been juſt half a year on the ſtool of repentance. Poor Sir Peter!—But you ſay he has entirely given up Charles—never ſees him, eh.

Rowley.

His prejudice againſt him is aſtoniſhing, and I believe is greatly aggravated by a ſuſpicion of a connexion between Charles and Lady Teazle, and ſuch a report I know has been circulated and kept up, by means of Lady Sneerwell, and a ſcandalous party who aſſociate at her houſe; where, as I am convinced, if there is any partiality in the caſe, that Joſeph is the favourite.

Sir Oliver.

Ay, ay, I know there are a ſet of miſchievous prating goſſips, both male and female, who murder characters to kill him, and rob a young fellow of his good name, before he has ſenſe enough to know [31] the value of it.—but I am not to be prejudic [...] againſt my nephew by any ſuch, I promiſe you. —No, no, if Charles has done nothing falſe or mean, I ſhall compound for his extravagance.

Rowley.

I rejoice, ſir, to hear you ſay ſo, and am happy to find the ſon of my old maſter has one friend left however.

Sir Oliver.

What! ſhall I forget, Mr. Rowley, when I was at his years myſelf;—egad, neither my brother or I were very prudent youths, and yet, I believe you have not ſeen many better men than your old maſter was.

Rowley.

'Tis that reflection I build my hopes on— and my life on't! Charles will prove deſerving of your kindneſs—But here comes Sir Peter.

Enter Sir PETER.
Sir Peter.

Where is he? where is Sir Oliver?—Ah, my dear friend I rejoice to ſee you!—You are welcome, indeed you are welcome,—you are welcome to England a thouſand,—and a thouſand times!—

Sir Oliver.

Thank you, thank, Sir Peter—and am glad to find you ſo well, believe me.

Sir Peter.

Ah, Sir Oliver!—It's ſixteen years ſince laſt we ſaw each other—many a bout we have had together in our time!

Sir Oliver.

Aye! I have had my ſhare—But what, I find you are married—hey old boy!—Well, well, it can't be helped, and ſo I wiſh you joy with all my heart.

Sir Peter.

Thank you, thank you—yes Sir Oliver, I have entered into that happy ſtate—but we won't talk of that now.

Sir Oliver.

That's true, Sir Peter, old friends [32] ſhould not begin upon grievances at their firſt meeting, no, no, no.

Rowley.
(Aſide to Sir Oliver.)

Have a care, Sir, —don't touch upon that ſubject.

Sir Oliver.

Well,—ſo one of my nephews, I find, is a wild young rogue.

Sir Peter.

Oh, my dear friend, I grieve at your diſappointment there—Charles is, indeed, a ſad libertine,— but no matter, Joſeph will make you ample amends— every body ſpeaks well of him.

Sir Oliver.

I am very ſorry to hear it; he has too good a character to be an honeſt fellow—every body ſpeaks well of him!—'pſhaw—then he has bowed as low to knaves and fools, as to the honeſt dignity of genius and virtue.

Sir Peter.

What the plague! are you angry with Joſeph for not making enemies?

Sir Oliver.

Why not, if he has merit enough to deſerve them.

Sir Peter.

Well, well, ſee him, and you'll be convinced how worthy he is—He's a pattern for all the young men of the age—He's a man of the nobleſt ſentiments.

Sir Oliver.

Oh! plague of his ſentiments—If he ſalutes me with a ſcrap of morality in his mouth I ſhall be ſick directly—but don't however miſtake me, Sir Peter, I don't mean to defend Charles's errors; but before I form my judgment of either of them, I intend to make a trial of their hearts, and my friend Rowley and I have planned ſomething for that purpoſe.

Sir Peter.

My life on Joſeph's honour.

Sir Oliver.

Well, well, give us a bottle of good [33] wine, and we'll drink your Lady's health, and tell you all our ſchemes.

Sir Peter.

Alons—done.

Sir Oliver.

And don't, Sir Peter, be too ſevere againſt your old friend's ſon;—Odds my life, I am not ſorry he has run a little out of the courſe—for my part, I hate to ſee prudence clinging to the green ſuckers of youth; 'tis like ivy round the ſaplin, and ſpoils the growth of the tree.

[Exeunt omnes.
End of the SECOND ACT.

ACT III.

SCENE Sir PETER'S Houſe.

Enter Sir PETER, Sir OLIVER, and ROWLEY.
Sir PETER.

WELL, well, we'll ſee this man firſt, and then have our wine afterwards.—But Rowley, I don't ſee the jeſt of your ſcheme.

Rowley.

Why, Sir, this Mr. Stanley was a near relation of their mother's, and formerly an eminent merchant in Dublin—he failed in trade, and is greatly reduced; he has applied by letter to Mr. Surface and Charles for aſſiſtance—from the former of whom he has received nothing but fair promiſes; while Charles in the midſt of his own diſtreſſes, is at preſent endeavouring to raiſe a ſum of money, part of which I know he intends for the uſe of Mr. Stanley.

Sir Oliver.

Aye—he's my brother's ſon.

Rowley.

Now, Sir, we propoſe, that Sir Oliver ſhall viſit them both, in the character of Mr. Stanley, as I [34] have informed them he has obtained leave of his creditors to wait on his friends in perſon—and in the younger, believe me, you'll find one, who, in the midſt of diſſipation and extravagance, has ſtill, as our immortal Bard expreſſes it. A tear for pity, and a hand open as day for melting charity.

Sir Peter.

What ſignifies his open hand and purſe, if he has nothing to give? But where is this perſon you were ſpeaking of?

Rowley.

Below, Sir, waiting your commands—you muſt know, Sir Oliver, this is a friendly Jew; one who, to do him juſtice, has done every thing in his power to aſſiſt Charles—who waits—

(Enter a ſervant)

deſire Mr. Moſes to walk up.

[Exit ſervant.
Sir Peter.

But how are you ſure he'll ſpeak truth?

Rowley.

Why Sir, I have perſuaded him, there's no proſpect of his being paid ſeveral ſums of money he has advanced for Charles, but through the bounty of Sir Oliver, who he knows is in town; therefore you may depend on his being faithful to his intereſt—Oh! here comes the honeſt Iſraelite—

Enter MOSES.

Sir Oliver, this is Mr. Moſes.—Mr. Moſes, this is Sir Oliver.

Sir Oliver.

I underſtand you have lately had great dealings with my nephew Charles.

Moſes.

Yes, Sir Oliver, I have done all I could for him—but he was ruined before he came to me for aſſiſtance.

Sir Oliver.

That was unlucky truly, for you had no opportunity of ſhewing your talent.

Moſes.

None at all; I had not the pleaſure of knowing his diſtreſſes, 'till he was ſome thouſands worſe than nothing.

Sir Oliver.
[35]

Unfortunate indeed! But I ſuppoſe you have done all in your power for him.

Moſes.

Yes, he knows that—This very evening I was to have brought him a gentleman from the city, who does not know him, and will advance him ſome monies.

Sir Peter.

What! a perſon that Charles has never borrowed money of before, lend him any in his preſent circumſtances.

Moſes.

Yes—

Sir Oliver.

What is the gentleman's name?

Moſes.

Mr. Premium, of Crutched Friars, formerly a broker.

Sir Peter.

Does he know Mr. Premium?

Moſes.

Not at all.

Sir Peter.

A thought ſtrikes me,—ſuppoſe, Sir Oliver you was to viſit him in that character; 'twill be much better than the romantic one of an old relation; you will then have an opportunity of ſ [...]ing Charles in all his glory.

Sir Oliver.

Egad, I like that idea better than the other, and then I may viſit Joſeph afterwards as old Stanley.

Rowley.

Gentlemen, this is taking Charles rather unawares; but Moſes, you underſtand Sir Oliver, and I dare ſay will be faithful.

Moſes.

You may depend upon me.—This is very near the time I was to have gone.

Sir Oliver.

I'll accompany you as ſoon as you pleaſe, Moſes, but hold—I had forgot one thing—how the plague ſhall I be able to paſs for a Jew?

Moſes.

There is no need—the principal is a Chriſtian.

Sir Oliver.

Is he? I am very ſorry for it—but [36] then again, am I not too ſmartly dreſſed to look like a money-lender?

Sir Peter.

Not at all—it would not be out of character if you went in your own chariot, would it Moſes?

Moſes.

Not in the leaſt.

Sir Oliver.

Well, but how muſt I talk? There's certainly ſome cant of uſury, or mode of treating; that I ought to know.

Sir Peter.

As I take it Sir Oliver, the great point is to be exorbitant in your demands.—Eh! Moſes?

Moſes.

Yes, dat is very great point.

Sir Oliver.

I'll anſwer for't I'll not be wanting in that, eight or ten per cent. on the loan at leaſt.

Moſes.

Oh! if you aſk him no more as dat, you'll be ciſcovered immediately.

Sir Oliver.

Hey, what the plague—how much then?

Moſes.

that depends upon the circumſtances—if he appears not very anxious for the ſupply, you ſhould require only forty or fifty per cent. but if you find him in great diſtreſs, and he wants money very bad—you muſt aſk double.

Sir Peter.

Upon my word, Sir Oliver,—Mr. Premium I mean—it's a very pretty trade you're learning.

Sir Oliver.

Truly I think ſo, and not unprofitable.

Moſes.

Then you know you have not the money yourſelf, but are forced to borrow it of a friend.

Sir Oliver.

Oh! I borrow it for him of a friend—do I?

Moſes.

Yes, and your friend's an unconſcionable dog—but you can't help dat.

Sir Oliver.

Oh! my friend's an unconſcionable dog—is he?

Moſes.

And then he himſelf has not the monies by him, but is forced to ſell ſtock at a great loſs.

Sir Oliver.
[37]

He's forced to ſell ſtock at a great loſs, —well, really, that's very kind of him.

Sir Peter.

But hark'ye, Moſes, if Sir Oliver was to rail a little at the annuity bill, don't you think it would have a good effect?

Moſes.

Very much.

Rowley.

And lament that a young man muſt now come to years of diſcretion, before he has it in his power to ruin himſelf.

Moſes.

Aye! a great pity.

Sir Peter.

Yes, and abuſe the public for allowing merit to a bill, whoſe only object was to reſcue youth and inexperience from the rapacious gripe of uſury, and to give the young heir an opportunity of enjoying his fortune, without being ruined by coming into poſſeſſion.

Sir Oliver.

So—ſo,—Moſes ſhall give me further inſtructions as we go together.

Sir Peter.

You'll ſcarce have time to learn your trade, for Charles lives but hard by.

Sir Oliver.

Oh! never fear—my tutor appears ſo able, that tho Charles lived in the next ſtreet, it muſt be my own fault if I am not a compleat rogue before I have turned the corner.

[Exeunt Sir Oliver and Moſes.
Sir Peter.

So Rowley, you would have been partial, and given Charles notice of our plot.

Rowley.

No indeed, Sir Peter.

Sir Peter.

Well, I ſee Maria coming, I want to have ſome talk with her.

[Exit Rowley.
Enter MARIA.

So Maria, what is Mr. Surface come home with you?

Maria.

No, Sir, he was engaged.

Sir Peter.
[38]

Maria, I wiſh you were more ſenſible to his excellent qualities.—does not every time you are in his company convince you of the merit of that amiable young man?

Maria.

You know, Sir Peter, I have often told you, that of all the men who have paid me a particular attention, there is not one I would not ſooner prefer than Mr. Surface.

Sir Peter.

Aye, aye, this blindneſs to his merit, proceeds from your attachment to that profligate brother of his.

Maria.

This is unkind, you know, at your requeſt, I have forborn to ſee or correſpond with him, as I have long been convinced he is unworthy my regard; but while my reaſon condemns his vices, my heart ſuggeſts ſome pity for his misfortunes.

Sir Peter.

Ah! you had beſt reſolve to think of him no more, but give your heart and hand to a worthier object.

Maria.

Never to his brother.

Sir Peter.

Have a care, Maria, I have not yet made you know what the authority of a guardian is, don't force me to exert it.

Maria.

I know, that for a ſhort time, I am to obey you as my father,—but muſt ceaſe to think you ſo, when you would compell me to be miſerable.

[Exit in tears.
Sir Peter.

Sure never man was plagued as I am; I had not been married above three weeks, before her father, a hale, hearty man, died,—on purpoſe I believe to plague me with the care of his daughter: but here comes my help-mate, ſhe ſeems in mighty good humour; I wiſh I could teaze her into loving me a little.

[39] Enter LADY TEAZLE.
L. Teazle.

What's the matter, Sir Peter? What have you done to Maria? It is not fair to quarrel and I not by.

Sir Peter.

Ah, Lady Teazle, it is in your power to put me into good humour at any time.

L. Teazle.

Is it? I am glad of it—for I want you to be in a monſtrous good humour now; come do be good humoured, and let me have two hundred pounds.

Sir Peter.

What the plague! can't I be in a good humour without paying for it,—but look always thus, and you ſhall want for nothing.

(Pulls out a pocket-book.)

There, there's two hundred pounds for you,

(going to kiſs.)

now ſeal me a bond for the payment.

L. Teazle.

No, my note of hand will do as well.

[Giving her hand.
Sir Peter.

Well, well, I muſt be ſatisfied with that—you ſhan't much longer reproach me for not having made you a proper ſettlement—I intend ſhortly to ſurprize you.

L. Teazle.

Do you? You can't think, Sir Peter, how good humour becomes you; now you look juſt as you did before I married you.

Sir Peter.

Do I indeed?

L. Teazle.

Don't you remember when you uſed to walk with me under the elms, and tell me ſtories of what a gallant you were in your youth, and aſked me if I could like an old fellow, who could deny me nothing.

Sir Peter.

Aye, and you were ſo attentive and obliging to me then.

L. Teazle.

Aye, to be ſure I was, and uſed to take your part againſt all my acquaintance, and when my [40] couſin Sophy uſed to laugh at me, for thinking of marrying a man old enough to be my father, and call you an ugly, ſtiff, formal old batchelor, I contradicted her, and ſaid I did not think you ſo ugly by any means, and that I dar'd ſay, you would make a good ſort of a huſband.

Sir Peter.

That was very kind of you—Well, and you were not miſtaken, you have found it ſo, have not you?—But ſhall we always live thus happy?

L. Teazle.

With all my heart;—I'm—I don't care how ſoon we leave off quarrelling—provided you will own you are tired firſt.

Sir Peter.

With all my heart.

L. Teazle.

Then we ſhall be as happy as the day is long, and never, never,—never quarrel more.

Sir Peter.

Never—never—never—and let our future conteſt be, who ſhall be moſt obliging.

L. Teazle.

Aye!—

Sir Peter.

But, my dear Lady Teazle—my love —indeed you muſt keep a ſtrict watch over your temper —for you know, my dear, that in all our diſputes and quarrels you always begin firſt.

L. Teazle.

No, no, Sir Peter, my dear, 'tis always you that begins.

Sir Peter.

No, no,—no ſuch thing.

L. Teazle.

Have a care, this it not the way to live happy if your fly out thus.

Sir Peter.

No, no,—'tis you.

L. Teazle.

No—'tis you.

Sir Peter.

Zounds!—I ſay 'tis you.

L. Teazle.

Lord! I never ſaw ſuch a man in my life—juſt what my couſin Sophy told me.

Sir Peter.

Your couſin Sophy is a forward, ſaucy, impertinent minx.

L. Teazle.
[41]

You are a very great bear, I am ſure, to abuſe my relations.

Sir Peter.

But I am well enough ſerved for marrying you—a pert, forward, rural coquette, who had refuſed half the honeſt 'ſquires in the country.

L. Teazle.

I am ſure I was a great fool for marrying you—a ſtiff, crop, dangling old batchelor, who was unmarried at fifty, becauſe nobody would have him.

Sir Peter.

You was very glad to have me—you never had ſuch an offer before.

L. Teazle.

Oh, yes I had—there was Sir Tivey Terrier, who every body ſaid would be a better match; for his eſtate was full as good as yours, and—he has broke his neck ſince we were married.

Sir Peter.

Very—very well, madam,—you're an ungrateful woman; and may plagues light on me, if I ever try to be friends with you again—You ſhall have a ſeparate maintenance.

L. Teazle.

By all means a ſeparate maintenance.

Sir Peter.

Very well, madam,—Oh, very well. Aye, madam, and I believe the ſtories of you and Charles—of you and Charles, madam,—were not without foundation.

L. Teazle.

Take care, Sir Peter; take care what you ſay, for I won't be ſuſpected without a cauſe, I promiſe you.

Sir Peter.

A divorce!—

L. Teazle.

Aye, a divorce.

Sir Peter.

Aye, zounds! I'll make an example of myſelf for the benefit of all old batchelors.

L. Teazle.

Well, Sir Peter, I ſee you are going to be in a paſſion, ſo I'll leave you, and when you come properly to your temper, we ſhall be the happieſt [42] couple in the world; and never—never—quarrel more. Ha, ha, ha.

[Exit.
Sir Peter.

What the devil! can't I make her angry neither.—I'll after her—zounds—ſhe muſt not preſume to keep her temper.—No, no,—ſhe may break my heart—but damn it—I'm determined ſhe ſhan't keep her temper.

[Exit.

SCENE CHARLES'S Houſe.

Enter TRIP, Sir OLIVER, and MOSES.
Trip.

This way, gentlemen, this way.—Moſes, what's the gentleman's name?

Sir Oliver.

Mr. Moſes, what's my name?

Moſes.

Mr. Premium—

Trip.

Oh, Mr. Premium,—very well.

[Exit.
Sir Oliver.

To judge by the ſervant, one would not imagine the maſter was ruined.—Sure this was my brother's houſe.

Moſes.

Yes, Sir,—Mr. Charles bought it of Mr. Joſeph, with furniture, pictures, &c. juſt as the old gentleman left it—Sir Peter thought it a great piece of extravagance in him.

Sir Oliver.

In my mind, the others oeconomy in ſelling it to him, was more reprehenſible by half.

Enter TRIP.
Trip.

Gentlemen, my maſter is very ſorry he has company at preſent, and cannot ſee you.

Sir Oliver.

If he knew who it is that wanted to ſee him, perhaps he would not have ſent ſuch a meſſage.

Trip.

Oh! yes, I told him who it was—I did not forget my little Premium, no, no.

Sir Oliver.

Very well, Sir; and pray what may your name be?

Trip.
[43]

Trip, Sir, Trip, at your ſervice.

Sir Oliver.

Very well, Mr. Trip,—you have a pleaſant ſort of a place here, I gueſs.

Trip.

Pretty well—There are four of us, who paſs our time agreeably enough—Our wages indeed, are but ſmall, and ſometimes a little in arrear—We have but fifty guineas a year, and find our own bags and bouquets.

Sir Oliver.

Bags and bouquets!—halters and baſtinadoes!

Trip.

Oh, Moſes, hark'ye—did you get that little bill diſcounted for me?

Sir Oliver.

Wants to raiſe money too!—Mercy on me!—He has diſtreſſes, I warrant, like a Lord, and affects creditors and duns.

[Aſide.
Moſes.

'Twas not to be done, indeed, Mr. Trip.

[Gives the note.
Trip.

No! why I thought when my friend Bruſh had ſet his mark on it, it was as good as caſh.

Moſes.

No, indeed, it would not do.

Trip.

Perhaps you could get it done by way of annuity.

Sir Oliver.

An annuity!—A footman raiſe money by annuity!—Well ſaid luxury, egad.

[Aſide.
Moſes.

Well, but you muſt inſure your place.

Trip.

Oh! I'll inſure my life if you pleaſe.

Sir Oliver.

That's more than I would your neck.

[Aſide.
Trip.

Well, but I ſhould like to have it done before this damned regiſtry takes place, one would not wiſh to have one's name made public.

Moſes.

No, certainly—but there is nothing you could depoſit?

Trip.

Why, there's none of my maſter's cloaths will [44] fall very ſoon, I believe; but I can give a mortgage on ſome of his winter ſuits, with equity of redemption before Chriſtmas—or a poſt obit on his blue and ſilver. Now theſe, with a few pair of point ruffles, by way of ſecurity

(bell rings)

coming, coming, Gentlemen, if you'll walk this way, perhaps I may introduce you now.—Moſes, don't forget the annuity—I'll inſure my place, my little fellow.

Sir Oliver.

If the man is the ſhadow of the maſter, this is the temple of diſſipation indeed.

[Exeunt Trip, Sir Oliver, and Moſes.
CHARLES, CARELESS, Sir TOBY, and Gentlemen, diſcovered drinking.
Charles.

Ha, ha, ha,—'Fore Heaven you are in the right—the degeneracy of the age is aſtoniſhing, there are many of our acquaintance who are men of wit, genius, and ſpirit, but then they won't drink.

Carleſs.

True, Charles; they ſink into the more ſubſtantial luxuries of the table, and quite neglect the bottle.

Charles.

Right—beſides ſociety ſuffers by it; for, inſtead of the mirth and humour that uſed to mantle over a bottle of Burgundy, their converſation is become as inſipid as the Spa water they drink, which has all the pertneſs of Champaigne, without its ſpirit or flavour.

Sir Toby.

But what will you ſay to thoſe who prefer play to the bottle?—There's Harry, Dick and Careleſs himſelf, who are under a hazard regimen.

Charles.

'Pſha! no ſuch thing—What would you train a horſe for the courſe by keeping him from corn? —Let me throw upon a bottle of Burgundy and I never loſe, at leaſt I never feel my loſs, and that's the ſame thing.

1ſt. Gent.
[45]

True; beſides, 'tis wine that determines if a man be really in love.

Charles.

So it is—Fill up a dozen bumpers to a dozen beauties, and ſhe that floats at the top, is the girl that has bewitched you.

Careleſs.

But come, Charles, you have not given us your real favourite,

Charles.

Faith I have withheld her only in compaſſion to you, for if I give her, you muſt toaſt a round of her peers, which is impoſſible

(ſighs)

on earth.

Careleſs.

We'll toaſt ſome heathen deity, or celeſtial goddeſs to match her.

Charles.

Why then bumpers—bumpers all round —here's Maria—Maria—Sighs.

1ſt. Gent.

Maria—'Pſhaw—give us her ſir-name.

Charles.

'Pſhaw—hang her ſir-name, that's too formal to be regiſtered on love's kalender.

1ſt. Gent.

Maria, then—here's Maria.

Sir Toby.

Maria—come, here's Maria.

Charles.

Come, Sir Toby, have a care; you muſt give a beauty ſuperlative.

Sir Toby.

Then I'll give you—Here's—

Careleſs.

Nay, never heſitate—But Sir Toby has got a ſong, that will excuſe him.

Omnes.

The ſong—The ſong.

SONG.
Here's to the maiden of bluſhing fifteen,
Now to the widow of fifty;
Here's to the flaunting extravagant quean,
And then to the houſe-wife that's thrifty.
Let the toaſt paſs, drink to the laſs,
I warrant ſhe'll find an excuſe for the glaſs.
[46]
Here's to the charmer whoſe dimples we prize,
Now to the damſel with none ſir;
Here's to the maid with her pair of blue eyes,
And now to the nymph with but one ſir.
Let the toaſt paſs, &c.
Here's to the maid with her boſom of ſnow,
Now to her that's as brown as a berry;
Here's to the wife with her face full of woe,
And now to the damſel that's merry.
Let the toaſt paſs, &c.
For let them be clumſy, or let them be ſlim,
Young or ancient I care not a feather;
So fill us a bumper quite up to the brim,
And e'en let us toaſt them together.
Let the toaſt paſs, &c.
TRIP enters and whiſpers CHARLES.
Charles.

Gentlemen, I muſt beg your pardon,

(riſing)

I muſt leave you upon buſineſs—Careleſs take the chair.

Careleſs.

What! this is ſome wench—but we won't loſe you for her.

Charles.

No, upon my honour—It is only a Jew and a broker that are come by appointment.

Careleſs.

A Jew and a broker! we'll have 'em in.

Charles.

Then deſire Mr. Moſes to walk in.

Trip.

And little Premium too, Sir,

Careleſs.

Aye, Moſes and Premium.

(Exit Trip.)

Charles we'll give the raſcals ſome generous Burgundy.

Charles.

No, hang it—wine but draws forth the natural qualities of a man's heart, and to make them drink, would only be to whet their knavery.

[47] Enter Sir OLIVER and MOSES.

Walk in, Gentlemen, walk in; Trip give chairs; ſit down Mr. Premium, ſit down Moſes. Glaſſes Trip; come, Moſes, I'll give you a ſentiment. "Here's ſucceſs to uſury." Moſes, fill the gentleman a bumper.

Moſes.

"Here's ſucceſs to uſury."

Careleſs.

True, Charles; uſury is induſtry, and deſerves to ſucceed.

Sir Oliver.

Then here's "All the ſucceſs it deſerves."

Careleſs.

Oh, dam'me, ſir, that won't do; you demur to the toaſt, and ſhall drink it in a pint bumber at leaſt.

Moſes.

Oh, ſir, conſider Mr. Premium is a gentleman.

Carleſs.

And therefore loves good wine, and I'll ſee juſtice done to the bottle.—Fill Moſes, a quart.

Charles.

Pray, conſider gentlemen, Mr. Premium is a ſtranger.

Sir Oliver.

I wiſh I was out of their company.

[Aſide.
Careleſs.

Come along, my boys, if they won't drink with us we'll not ſtay with them; the dice are in the next room—You'll ſettle your buſineſs, Charles, and come to us.

Charles.

Aye, aye,—but Careleſs, you muſt be ready, perhaps I may have occaſion for you.

Careleſs.

Aye, aye, bill, bond, or annuity, 'tis all the ſame to me.

[Exit with the reſt.
Moſes.

Mr. Premium is a gentleman of the ſtrictect honour and ſecrecy, and always performs what he undertakes.— Mr. Premium, this is—

(formally.)
Charles.

'Pſhaw! hold your tongue—my friend Moſes, ſir, is a very honeſt fellow, but a little ſlow at expreſſion—I ſhall cut the matter very ſhort;— I'm an extravagant young fellow that wants to borrow [48] money; and you, as I take it are a prudent old fellow who has got money to lend—I am ſuch a fool as to give fifty per cent. rather than go without it; and you I ſuppoſe are rogue enough to take an hundred if you can get it. And now we underſtand one another, and may proceed to buſineſs without further ceremony.

Sir Oliver.

Exceeding frank, upon my word; I ſee you are not a man of compliments.

Charles.

No, Sir.

Sir Oliver.

Sir, I like you the better for it—However you are miſtaken in one thing; I have no money to lend, but I believe I could procure you ſome from a friend; but then he's a damn'd unconſcionable dog; is he not Moſes?

Moſes.

Yes, but you can't help that.

Sir Oliver.

And then he has not the money by him but muſt ſell ſtock at a great loſs, muſt not he Moſes?

Moſes.

Yes, indeed—you know I always ſpeak the truth, and ſcorn to tell a lye.

Charles.

Aye, thoſe who ſpeak truth uſually do— And Sir, I muſt pay the difference, I ſuppoſe—Why look'ye Mr. Premium, I know that money is not to be had without paying for it.

Sir Oliver.

Well—but what ſecurity could you give—you have not any land I ſuppoſe.

Charles.

Not a mole-hill, nor a twig but what grows in bow-pots out at the windows.

Sir Oliver.

Nor any ſtock I preſume.

Charles.

None but live ſtock, and they are only a few pointers and ponies.—But pray, Sir, are you acquainted with any of my connections?

Sir Oliver.

To ſay the truth I am.

Charles.

Then you muſt have heard that I had a [49] rich old uncle in India, Sir Oliver Surface, from whom I have the greateſt expectations.

Sir Oliver.

That you have a wealthy uncle I have heard; but how your expectations will turn out, is more I believe, than you can tell.

Charles.

Oh yes, I'm told I am a monſtrous favourite, and that he intends leaving me every thing.

Sir Oliver.

Indeed! this is the firſt I have heard of it.

Charles.

Yes, yes, he intends making me his heir —Does he not, Moſes?

Moſes.

Oh yes, I'll take my oath of that.

Sir Oliver.

Egad, they'll perſuade me preſently that I am in Bengal.

(Aſide.)
Charles.

Now, what I propoſe, Mr. Premium, is to give you a poſt obiit on my uncle's life. Though indeed my uncle Noll has been very kind to me, and upon my ſoul I ſhall be ſincerely ſorry to hear any thing has happened to him.

Sir Oliver.

Not more than I ſhould I aſſure you. But the bond you mention happens to be the worſt ſecurity you could offer me, for I might live to be an hundred, and never recover the principal.

Charles.

Oh, yes you would, for the moment he dies, you come upon me for the money.

Sir Oliver.

Then I believe I would be the moſt unwelcome dun you ever had in your life.

Charles.

What, you are afraid, my little Premium, that my uncle is too good a life.

Sir Oliver.

No, indeed I am not; though I have heard he's as hale, and as hearty, as any man of his years in Chriſtendom.

Charles.

Oh, there you are miſinformed. No,—no, poor uncle Oliver? he breaks a pace. The climate, ſir, [50] has hurt his conſtitution, and I'm told he's ſo much altered of late, that his neareſt relations don't know him.

Sir Oliver.

No? ha, ha, ha; ſo much altered of late, that his relations would not know him. Ha, ha, ha, that's droll, egad.

Charles.

What you are pleaſed to hear he's on the decline, my little Premium.

Sir Oliver.

No, I am not;—no, no, no.

Charles.

Yes, you are, for it mends your chance.

Sir Oliver.

But I am told Sir Oliver is coming over,—nay, ſome ſay he is actually arrived.

Charles.

Oh, there you are miſinformed again— No—no ſuch thing—he is this moment in Bengal, What! I muſt certainly know better than you.

Sir Oliver.

Very true, as you ſay, you muſt know better than I; though I have it from very good authority— Have I not, Moſes?

Moſes.

Moſt undoubtedly.

Sir Oliver.

But, Sir, as I underſtand you want a few hundreds immediately, is there nothing that you would diſpoſe of?

Charles.

How do you mean?

Sir Oliver.

For inſtance, now; I have heard your father left behind him a great quantity of maſſy old plate.

Charles.

Yes, but that is gone long ago—Moſes can inform you how, better than I can.

Sir Oliver.

Good lack! all the family race cups, and corporation bowls gone!

(Aſide)

It was alſo ſuppoſed, that his library was one of the moſt valuable and compleat.

Charles.

Much too large and valuable for a private gentleman; for my part, I was always of a communicative diſpoſition, and thought it a pity to keep ſo much knowledge to myſelf.

Sir Oliver.
[51]

Mercy on me! knowledge that has run in the family. like a heir-loom.

(Aſide)

And pray how may they have been diſpoſed of?

Charles.

Oh you muſt aſk the auctioneer that— I don't believe even Moſes can direct you there.

Moſes.

No—I never meddle with books.

Sir Oliver.

The profligate!

(Aſide)

And is there nothing you can diſpoſe of?

Charles.

Nothing—unleſs you have a taſte for old family pictures. I have a whole room full of anceſtors above ſtairs.

Sir Oliver.

Why ſure you would not ſell your relations!

Charles.

Every ſoul of them to the beſt bidder.

Sir Oliver.

Not your great uncles and aunts.

Charles.

Aye, and my grandfathers and grandmothers.

Sir Oliver.

I'll never forgive him this.

(Aſide)

Why,—what—Do you take me for Shylock in the play, to raiſe money from me on your own fleſh and blood.

Charles.

Nay, don't be in a paſſion, my little Premium; what is it to you, if you have your money's worth.

Sir Oliver.

That's very true as you ſay—Well, well, I believe I can diſpoſe of the family canvaſs. I'll never forgive him this.

[Aſide.
Enter CARELESS.
Careleſs.

Come, Charles, what the Devil are you doing ſo long with the broker—we are waiting for you.

Charles.

Oh! Careleſs, you are juſt come in time, we are to have a ſale above ſtairs.—I am going to ſell all my anceſtors to little Premium.

Careleſs.
[52]

Burn your anceſtors.

Charles.

No, no, he may do that afterwards if he will. But Careleſs, you ſhall be auctioneer.

Careleſs.

With all my heart, I handle a hammer as well as a dice box—a-going—a-going.

Charles.

Bravo!—And Moſes you ſhall be appraiſer, if we want one.

Moſes.

Yes, I'll be the appraiſer.

Sir Oliver.

Oh the profligate!

[Aſide.
Charles.

But what's the matter, my little Premium? You don't ſeem to reliſh this buſineſs.

Sir Oliver.
(Affecting to laugh)

Oh, yes I do, vaſtly; ha, ha, ha, I—Oh the prodigal!

[Aſide.
Charles.

Very true, for when a man wants money, who the devil can he make free with if he can't with his own relations.

[Exit.
Sir Oliver.
(Following)

I'll never forgive him.

End of the THIRD ACT.

ACT IV.

Enter CHARLES, SIR OLIVER, CARELESS, and MOSES.
CHARLES.

WALK in gentlemen, walk in; here they are— the family of the Surfaces up to the Conqueſt.

Sir Oliver.

And in my opinion, a good collection.

Charles.

Aye, there they are, done in the true ſpirit and ſtyle of portrait painting, and not like your modern Raphael's, who will make your picture independent of yourſelf;—no, the great merit of theſe are, the inveterate likeneſs they bear to the originals. All ſtiff and awkward as they were, and like nothing in human nature beſides.

Sir Oliver.
[53]

Oh, we ſhall never ſee ſuch figures of men again.

Charles.

I hope not—You ſee, Mr. Premium, what a domeſtic man I am; here I ſit of an evening ſurrounded by my anceſtors—But come let us proceed to buſineſs—To your pulpit, Mr. Auctioneer.—Oh, here's a great chair of my father's that ſeems fit for nothing elſe.

Careleſs.

The very thing—but what ſhall I do for a hammer, Charles? an Auctioneer is nothing without a hammer.

Charles.

A hammer!

(looking round)

let's ſee, what have we here—Sir Richard, heir to Robert—a genealogy in full, egad—Here, Careleſs, you ſhall have no common bit of monogany, here's the family tree, and now you may knock down my anceſters with their own pedigree.

Sir Oliver.

What an unnatural rogue he is!— An expert facto paracide.

(Aſide.)
Careleſs.

Gad, Charles, this is lucky, for it will not only ſerve for a hammer, but a catalogue too if we ſhould want it.

Charles.

True—Come, here's my great uncle Sir Richard Ravelin, a marvelous good General in his day—he ſerved in all the Duke of Marlborough's wars, and got that cut over his eye at the battle of Malplaquet—He is not dreſſed out in feathers like our modern captains, but enveloped in wig and regimentals, as a General ſhould be.—What ſay you, Mr. Premium?

Moſes.

Mr. Premium would have you ſpeak.

Charles.

Why you ſhall have him for ten pounds, and I'm ſure that's cheap enough for a ſtaff officer.

Sir Oliver.
[54]

Heaven deliver me! his great uncle Sir Richard going for ten pounds—

(Aſide)

—Well, ſir, I take him at that price.

Charles.

Careleſs, knock down my uncle Richard.

Careleſs.

Going, going—a going—gone.

Charles.

This is a maiden ſiſter of his, my great aunt Deborah, done by Kneller, thought to be one of his beſt pictures, and eſteemed a very formidable likeneſs. There ſhe ſits, as a ſhepherdeſs feeding her flock.—You ſhall have her for five pounds ten. I'm ſure the ſheep are worth the money.

Sir Oliver.

Ah, poor aunt Deborah! a woman that ſet ſuch a value on herſelf, going for five pounds ten—

(Aſide)

—Well, ſir, ſhe's mine.

Charles.

Knock down my aunt Deborah, Careleſs.

Careleſs.

Gone.

Charles.

Here are two couſins of their's—Moſes, theſe pictures were done when beaux wore perewigs, and ladies their own hair.

Sir Oliver.

Yes, truly—head-dreſſes ſeem to have been ſomewhat lower in thoſe days.

Charles.

Here's a grandfather of my mother's, a judge well known on the weſtern circuit. What will you give for him?

Moſes.

Four guineas.

Charles.

Four guineas? why you don't bid the price of his wig. Premium, you have more reſpect for the Wool Sack, do let me knock him down at fifteen.

Sir Oliver.

By all means.

Careleſs.

Gone.

Charles.

Here are two brothers, William and Walter Blunt, Eſquires, both members of Parliament, [55] and great ſpeakers; and what's very extraordinary, I believe this is the firſt time they were ever bought or ſold.

Sir Oliver.

That's very extraordinary indeed!— I'll take them at your own price, for the honour of Parliament.

Charles.

Well ſaid Premium.

Careleſs

I'll knock 'em down at forty pounds— Going—going—gone.

Charles.

Here's a jolly, portly fellow, I don't know what relation he is to the family, but he was formerly Mayor of Norwich, let's knock him down at eight pounds.

Sir Oliver.

No. I think ſix is enough for a Mayor.

Charles.

Come, come, make it guineas, and I'll throw you the two Aldermen into the bargain.

Sir Oliver.

They are mine.

Charles.

Careleſs, knock down the Mayor and Aldermen.

Careleſs.

Gone.

Charles.

But hang it, we ſhall be all day at this rate; come, come, give me three hundred pounds, and take all on this ſide the room in a lump.— And that will be the beſt way.

Sir Oliver.

Well, well, any thing to accommodate you; they are mine.—But there is one portrait you have always paſſed over.

Careleſs.

What, that little ill-looking fellow over the ſettee.

Sir Oliver.

Yes, Sir, 'tis that I mean—but I don't think him ſo ill-looking a fellow by any means.

Charles.

That's the picture of my uncle Oliver— before he went abroad it was done, and is eſteemed a very great likeneſs.

Careleſs.
[56]

That your uncle Oliver! Then in my opinion you will never be friends, for he is one of the moſt ſtern looking rogues I ever beheld; he has an unforgiving eye, and a damn'd diſinheriting countenance. Don't you think ſo, little Premium?

Sir Oliver.

Upon my ſoul, I do not, Sir; I think it as honeſt a looking face as any in the room, dead or alive.—But I ſuppoſe your uncle Oliver goes with the reſt of the lumber.

Charles.

No hang it, the old gentleman has been very good to me, and I'll keep his picture as long as I have a room to put it in.

Sir Oliver.

The rogue's my nephew, after all—I forgive him every thing.

(Aſide)

but Sir, I have ſome how taken a fancy to that picture.

Charles.

I am ſorry for it, Maſter Broker, for you certainly won't have it—What the devil, have you not got enough of the family?

Sir Oliver.

I forgive him every thing.

(Aſide)

Look, Sir, I am a ſtrange ſort of a fellow, and when I take a whim in my head I don't value money: I'll give you as much for that as for all the reſt.

Charles.

Praythee don't be troubleſome—I tell you I won't part with it, and there's an end on't.

Sir Oliver.

How like his father the dog is—I did not perceive it before, but I think I never ſaw ſo ſtrong a reſemblance.

(Aſide)

Well, Sir, here's a draft for your ſum.

(giving a bill.)
Charles.

Why this bill is for eight hundred pounds.

Sir Oliver.

You'll not let Sir Oliver go, then.

Charles.

[...] all.

Sir [...]

[...] me your hand [57]

(preſſes it)

you are a damn'd honeſt fellow, Charles— O Lord! I beg pardon, Sir, for being ſo free—come along Moſes.

Charles.

But hark'ye, Premium, you'll provide good lodgings for theſe gentlemen,

(going.)
Sir Oliver.

I'll ſend for 'em in a day or two.

Charles.

And pray let it be a genteel conveyance, for I aſſure you moſt of 'em have been uſed to ride in their own carriages.

Sir Oliver.

I will for all but Oliver.

Charles.

For all but the honeſt little Nabob.

Sir Oliver.

You are fixed on that.

Charles.

Peremtorily.

Sir Oliver.

Ah the dear extravagant dog!

(Aſide)

Good day, Sir. Come Moſes.—Now let me ſee who dares call him profligate.

[Exit with Moſes.
Careleſs.

Why, Charles, this is the very prince of Brokers.

Charles.

I wonder where Moſes got acquainted with ſo honeſt a fellow.—But Careleſs, ſtep into the company; I'll wait on you preſently, I ſee old Rowley coming.

Careleſs.

But hark'ye, Charles, don't let that fellow make you part with any of that money to diſcharge muſty old debts. Tradeſmen, you know, are the moſt impertinent people in the world.

Charles.

True, and paying them would only be encouraging them.

Careleſs.

Well, ſettle your buſineſs, and make what haſte you can.

[Exit.
Charles.

Eight hundred pounds! Two-thirds of this are mine by right—five hundred and thirty odd pounds!—Gad, I never knew till now that my anceſtor were ſuch valuable acquaintance—Kind ladies [58] and gentlemen, I am your very much obliged, and moſt grateful humble ſervant.

(bowing to the pictures)
Enter ROWLEY.

Ah, old Rowley, you are juſt come in time to take leave of your old acquaintance.

Rowley.

Yes, ſir, I heard they were going.—But how can you expreſs ſuch ſpirits under all your misfortunes?

Charles.

That's the cauſe, Maſter Rowley; my misfortunes are ſo many, that I can't afford to part with my ſpirits.

Rowley.

And can you really take leave of your anceſtors with ſo much unconcern?

Charles.

Unconcern! what, I ſuppoſe you are ſurprized that I am not mere ſorrowful at loſing the company of ſo many worthy friends. It is very diſtreſſing to be ſure; but you ſee they never move a muſcle, then why the devil ſhould I?

Rowley.

Ah, dear Charles!—

Charles.

But come, I have no time for trifling;— here take this bill and get it changed, and carry an hundred pounds to poor Stanley, or we ſhall have ſomebody call that has a better right to it.

Rowley.

Ah, Sir I wiſh you would remember the proverb—

Charles.

"be juſt before you are generous."— Why fool would if I could, but juſtice is an old, lame, hobbling beldame, and I can't get her to keep pace with generoſity for the ſoul of me.

Rowley.

Do, dear Sir, reflect.

Charles.

That's very true, as you ſay—but Rowley, while I have, by Heavens I'll give—ſo damn your morality, and away to old Stanley with the money.

[Exeunt.
[59] And enter Sir OLIVER and MOSES.
Moſes.

Well, Sir, I think, as Sir Peter ſaid, you have ſeen Mr. Charles in all his glory—'tis great pity he's ſo extravagant.

Sir Oliver.

True, but he would not ſell my picture.—

Moſes.

And loves wine and women ſo much.

Sir Oliver.

But he would not ſell my picture.—

Moſes.

And games ſo deep.

Sir Oliver.

But he would not ſell my picture.— Oh, here comes Rowley.

Enter ROWLEY.
Rowley.

Well, Sir, I find you have made a purchaſe.

Sir Oliver.

Yes, our young rake has parted with his anceſtors like tapeſtry.

Rowley.

And he has commiſſioned me to return you an hundred pounds of the purchaſe money, but under your fictitious character of old Stanley. I ſaw a taylor and two noſiers dancing attendance, who, I know will go unpaid, and the two hundred pounds would juſt ſatisfy them.

Sir Oliver.

Well, well, I'll pay his debts and his benevolence too.—But now I'm no more a broker, and you ſhall introduce me to the elder brother as old Stanley.

Enter TRIP.
Trip.

Gentlemen, I'm ſorry I was not in the way to ſhew you out. Hark'ye Moſes.

[Exit with Moſes.
Sir Oliver.

There's a fellow, now—Will you believe it, that puppy intercepted the Jew on our coming, and wanted to raiſe money before he got to his maſter.

Rowley.

Indeed!

Sir Oliver.

And they are now planning an annuity buſineſs.—Oh, Mr. Rowley, in my time ſervants were [60] content with the follies of their maſters, when they were wore a little threadbare; but now they have their vices, like their birth-day cloaths, with their gloſs on.

[Exeunt.

SCENE the Apartments of JOSEPH SURFACE.

Enter JOSEPH and a SERVANT.
JOSEPH.

NO letter from Lady Teazle.

Servant.

No, Sir.

Joſeph.

I wonder ſhe did not write if ſhe could not come—I hope Sir Peter does not ſuſpect me—but Charles's diſſipation and extravagance are great points in my favour

(knocking at the door)

—ſee if it is her.

Servant.

'Tis Lady Teazle, ſir; but ſhe always orders her chair to the milliner's in the next ſtreet.

Joſeph.

Then draw that ſcreen—my oppoſite neighbour is a maiden Lady of ſo curious a temper—you need not wait.

(Exit ſervant)

—My Lady Teazle, I'm afraid begins to ſuſpect my attachment to Maria; but ſhe muſt not be acquainted with that ſecret till I have her more in my power.

Enter Lady TEAZLE.
L. Teazle.

What, ſentiment in ſoliloquy!—Have you been very impatient now? Nay, you look ſo grave,—I aſſure you I came as ſoon as I could.

Joſeph.

Oh! madam, punctuallity is a ſpecies of conſtancy—a very unfaſhionable cuſtom among ladies.

L. Teazle.

Nay, now you wrong me; I'm ſure you'd pity me if you knew my ſituation—

(both ſit)

— Sir Peter grows ſo peeviſh, and ſo ill natured, there's no enduring him; and then, to ſuſpect me with Charles.—

Joſeph.
[61]

I'm glad my ſcandalous friends keep up that report.

[Aſide.
L. Teazle.

For my part, I wiſh Sir Peter to let Maria marry him—Wou'dn't you Mr. Surface?

Joſeph.
(Aſide)

Indeed I would not.—Oh, to be ſure; and then my dear Lady Teazle would be convinced how groundleſs her ſuſpicions were, of my having any thoughts of the ſilly girl.

L. Teazle.

Then there's my friend Lady Sneerwell, has propagated malicious ſtories about me—and what's very provoking, all too without the leaſt foundation.

Joſeph.

Ah! there's the miſchief; for when a ſcandalous ſtory is believed againſt me, there's no comfort like the conſciouſneſs of having deſerved it.

L. Teazle.

And to be continually cenſured and ſuſpected, when I know the integrity of my own heart—it would almoſt prompt me to give him ſome grounds for it.

Joſeph.

Certainly, for when a huſband grows ſuſpicious, and withdraws his confidence from his wife, it then becomes a part of her duty to endeavour to out wit him.—You owe it to the natural privilege of your ſex.

L. Teazle.

Indeed!

Joſeph.

Oh, yes; for your huſband ſhould never be deceived in you, and you ought to be frail in compliment to his diſcernment.

L. Teazle.

This is the neweſt doctrine.

Joſeph.

Very wholeſome, believe me.

L. Teazle.

So, the only way to prevent his ſuſpicions, is to give him cauſe for them.

Joſeph.

Certainly.

L. Teazle.

But then the conſciouſneſs of my innocence.—

Joſeph.
[62]

Ah, my dear lady Teazle, 'tis that conſciouſneſs of your innocence that ruins you.—What is it that makes you imprudent in your conduct, and careleſs of the cenſures of the world? The conſciouſneſs of your innocence—What is it makes you regardleſs of forms, and inattentive to your huſband's peace? Why, the conſciouſneſs of your innocence.—Now my dear Lady Teazel, if you could only be prevailed upon to make a trifling faux pas, you cant imagine how circumſpect you would grow.

L. Teazle.

Do you think ſo?

Joſeph.

Depend upon it.—Your caſe at preſent, my dear Lady Teazle, reſembles that of a perſon in a plethora—you are abſolutely dying of too much health.

L. Teazle.

Why, indeed if my underſtanding could be convinced.

Joſeph.

Your underſtanding!—Oh, yes your underſtanding ſhould be convinced. Heaven forbid that I ſhould perſuade you to any thing that is wrong. No, no, I have too much honour for that.

L. Teazle.

Don't you think you may as well leave honour out of the queſtion?

(both riſe)
Joſeph.

Ah, I ſee, Lady Teazle, the effects of country education ſtill remain.

L. Teazle.

They do, indeed, and I begin to find myſelf imprudent; and if I ſhould be brought to act wrong, it would be ſooner from Sir Peter's ill treatment of me, than from your honourable logic, I aſſure you.

Joſeph.

Then by this hand which is unworthy—

(knowing, a ſervant enters)

—What do you want you ſcoundrell?

Servant.
[63]

I beg pardon, ſir—I thought you would not chuſe Sir Peter ſhould come up.

Joſeph.

Sir Peter!

L. Teazle.

Sir Peter! Oh, I'm undone!—What ſhall I do? Hide me ſomewhere, good Mr. Logic.

Joſeph.

Here, here, behind this ſcreen

(ſhe runs behind the ſcreen)

and now reach me a book.

(Sits down, and reads.)
Enter Sir PETER.
Sir Peter.

Aye, there he is, ever improving himſelf —Mr. Surface, Mr. Surface.

Joſeph.
(Affecting to gape.)

Oh, Sir Peter!—I rejoice to ſee you—I was got over a ſleepy book here— I am vaſtly glad to ſee you—I thank you for this call— I believe you have not been here ſince I finiſhed my library.—Books, books, you know, are the only thing I am a coxcomb in.

Sir Peter.

Very pretty, indeed,—why even your ſcreen is a ſource of knowledge—hung round with maps I ſee.

Joſeph.

Yes, I find great uſe in that ſcreen.

Sir Peter.

Yes, yes, ſo you muſt when you want to find any thing in a hurry.

Joſeph.

Yes, or to hide any thing in a hurry

[Aſide.
Sir Peter.

But my dear friend, I want to have ſome private talk with you.

Joſeph.

You need not wait.

[Exit ſervant.
Sir Peter.

Pray ſit down—

(both ſit)

—My dear friend I want to impart to you ſome of my diſtreſſes.— In ſhort, Lady Teazle's behaviour of late has given me very great uneaſineſs. She not only diſſipates and deſtroys my fortune, but I have ſtrong reaſons to believe ſhe has formed an attachment elſewhere.

Joſeph.

I am unhappy to hear it.

Sir Peter.
[64]

Yes, and between you and me, I believe I have diſcovered the perſon.

Joſeph.

You alarm me exceedingly.

Sir Peter.

I know you would ſympathize with me.

Joſeph.

Believe me, Sir Peter, ſuch a diſcovery would affect me—juſt as much as it does you.

Sir Peter.

What a happineſs to have a friend we can truſt, even with our family ſecrets.—Can't you gueſs who it is?

Joſeph.

I hav'n't the moſt diſtant idea.—It can't be Sir Benjamin Backbite.

Sir Peter.

No, no,—What do you think of Charles?

Joſeph.

My brother! impoſſible!—I can't think he would be guilty of ſuch baſeneſs and ingratitude.

Sir Peter.

Ah, the goodneſs of your own mind makes you ſlow to believe ſuch villainy.

Joſeph.

Very true, Sir Peter.—The man who is conſcious of his own integrity of heart, is very ſlow to credit another's baſeneſs.

Sir Peter.

And yet, that the ſon of my old friend ſhould practiſe againſt the honour of my family.

Joſeph.

Aye, there's the caſe, Sir Peter,—when ingratitude barbs the dart of injury, the wound feels double ſmart.

Sir Peter.

What noble ſentiments!—He never uſed a ſentiment, ungrateful boy! that I acted as guardian to, and who was brought up under my eye; and I never in my life refuſed him—my advice.

Joſeph.

I don't know, Sir Peter,—he may be ſuch a man—if it be ſo, he is no longer a brother of mine; I renounce him, I diſclaim him.—For the man who can break through the laws of hoſpitality, and ſeduce the wife or daughter of his friend, deſerves to be branded as a peſt to ſociety.

Sir Peter.
[56]

And yet, Joſeph, if I was to make it public, I ſhould only be ſneered and laughed at.

Joſeph.

Why, that's very true—No, no, you muſt not make it public, people would talk.—

Sir Peter.

Talk.—They'd ſay it was all my own fault; an old doating batchelor to marry a young giddy girl. They'd paragraph me in the news-papers, and make ballads on me.

Joſeph.

And yet, Sir Peter, I can't think that my Lady Teazle's honour.—

Sir Peter.

Ah, my good friend, what's her honour, oppoſed againſt the flattery of a handſome young fellow.—But Joſeph, ſhe has been upbraiding me of late, that I have not made her a ſettlement; and I think, in our laſt quarrel, ſhe told me ſhe ſhould not be very ſorry if I was dead. Now I have drafts of two deeds for your peruſal, and ſhe ſhall find, if I was to die, that I have not been inattentive to her welfare while living. By the one, ſhe will enjoy eight hundred pounds a year during my life; and by the other, the bulk of my fortune after my death.

Joſeph.

This conduct is truly generous.—I wiſh it mayn't corrupt my pupil.

[Aſide.
Sir Peter.

But, I would not have her as yet acquainted with the leaſt mark of my affection.

Joſeph.

Nor I—if you could help it.

Sir Peter.

And now I have unburthened myſelf to you, let us talk over your affair with Maria.

Joſeph.

Not a ſyllable upon the ſubject now,

(alarmed)

—Some other time; I am too much affected by your affairs to think of my own. For the man who can think of his own happineſs, while his friend is in diſtreſs, deſerves to be hunted as a monſter to ſociety.

Sir Peter.
[66]

I am ſure of your affection for her.

Joſeph.

Let me intreat you Sir Peter.—

Sir Peter.

And though you are ſo averſe to Lady Teazle's knowing it. I aſſure you ſhe is not your enemy, and I am ſenſibly chagrined you have made no furthur progreſs.

Joſeph.

Sir Peter, I muſt not hear you—The man who—

(enter ſervant)

What do you want ſirrah?

Servant.

Your brother, ſir, is at the door talking to a Gentleman; he ſays he knows you are at home, that Sir Peter is with you, and he muſt ſee you.

Joſeph.

I'm not at home.

Sir Peter.

Yes, yes, you ſhall be at home.

Joſeph.
(after ſome heſitation)

Very well, let him come up.

[Exit ſervant.
Sir Peter.

Now, Joſeph, I'll hide myſelf, and do you tax him about the affair with my Lady Teazle, and ſo draw the ſecret from him.

Joſeph.

O fie! Sir Peter,—what join in a plot to trepan my brother!

Sir Peter.

Oh aye, to ſerve your friend;—beſides, if he is innocent, as you ſay he is, it will give him an opportunity to clear himſelf, and make me very happy. Hark, I hear him coming—Where ſhall I go? Behind this ſcreen—What the devil! here has been one liſtner already, for I'll ſwear I ſaw a petticoat.

Joſeph.
(Affecting to laugh)

It's very ridiculous, ha! ha! ha!—a ridiculous affair, indeed—ha! ha! ha! Hark ye Sir Peter

(pulling him aſide)

though I hold a man of intrigue to be a moſt deſpicable character, yet you know it does not follow, that one is to be an abſolute Joſeph either. Hark ye, 'tis a little French [67] milliner, who calls upon me ſometimes, and hearing you were coming, and having ſome character to looſe, ſhe ſliped behind the ſcreen.

Sir Peter.

A French milliner!

(ſmiling)

cunning rogue! Joſeph—fly rogue—But zounds, ſhe has over heard every thing that has paſſed about my wife.

Joſeph.

Oh, never fear—Take my word it will never go farther for her.

Sir Peter.

Won't it?

Joſeph.

No, depend upon it.

Sir Peter.

Well, well, if it will go no farther— but—where ſhall I hide myſelf.

Joſeph.

Here, here, ſlip into this cloſet, and you may over hear every word.

L. Teazle.

Can I ſteal away.

(Peeping)
Joſeph.

Huſh! huſh! don't ſtir.

Sir Peter.

Joſeph, tax him home.

(Peeping)
Joſeph.

In, my dear Sir Peter.

L. Teazle.

Can't you lock the cloſet door?

Joſeph.

Not a word—You'll be diſcovered.

Sir Peter.

Joſeph, don't ſpare him.

Joſeph.

For Heaven's ſake lie cloſe—A pretty ſituation I am in, to part man and wife in this manner.

(Aſide.)
Sir Peter.

You're ſure the little French Milliner won't blab.

Enter CHARLES.
Charles.

Why, how now, brother, your fellow denied you, they ſaid you were not at home.—What, have you had a Jew wench with you?

Joſeph.

Neither, brother, neither.

Charles.

But where's Sir Peter? I thought he was with you.

Joſeph.
[68]

He was, brother; but hearing you was coming, he left the houſe.

Charles.

What, was the old fellow afraid I wanted to borrow money of him?

Joſeph.

Borrow! no brother; but I'm ſorry to hear you have given that worthy man cauſe for great uneaſineſs.

Charles.

Yes, I am told I do that to a great many worthy men—But how do you mean brother?

Joſeph.

Why he thinks you have endavoured to alienate the affections of Lady Teazle.

Charles.

Who, I alienate the affections of Lady Teazle!—Upon my word he accuſes me very unjuſtly. What has the old gentleman found out that he has got a young wife, or what is worſe, has the Lady found out that ſhe has got an old huſband.

Joſeph.

For ſhame, brother.

Charles.

'Tis true, I did once ſuſpect her Ladyſhip had a partiality for me, but upon my ſoul, I never gave her the leaſt encouragement, for you know my attachment was to Maria.

Joſeph.

This will make Sir Peter extremely happy. —But if ſhe had a partiality for you, ſure you would not have been baſe enough—

Charles.

Why, look ye, Joſeph, I hope I ſhall never deliberately do a diſhonourable action; but if a pretty woman ſhould purpoſely throw herſelf in my way, and as that pretty woman ſhould happen to be married to a man old enough to be her father.—

Joſeph.

What then?

Charles.

Why then, I believe I ſhould—have occaſion to borrow a little of your morality brother.

Joſeph.

Oh fie, brother—The man who can jeſt—

Charles.
[69]

Oh, that's very true, as you were going to obſerve.—But Joſeph, do you know that I am ſurprized at your ſuſpecting me with Lady Teazle, I thought you was always the favourite there.

Joſeph.

Me!—

Charles.

Why yes, I have ſeen you exchange ſuch ſignificant glances.

Joſeph.

'Pſhaw!

Charles.

Yes, I have; and don't you remember when I came in here, and caught her and you at—

Joſeph.

I muſt ſtop him

(Aſide.) (Stops his mouth)

Sir Peter has over-heard every word that you have ſaid.

Charles.

Sir Peter! where is he?—What, in the cloſet—'Foregad I'll have him out.

Joſeph.

No, no.

(Stopping him.)
Charles.

I will—Sir Peter Teazle come into court.

(Enter Sir Peter.)

What, my old guardian turn inquiſitor, and take evidence incog.

Sir Peter.

Give me your hand.—I own, my dear boy, I have ſuſpected you wrongfully, but you muſt not be angry at Joſeph, it was all my plot, and I ſhall think of you as long I live for what I overheard.

Charles.

Then 'tis well you did not hear more. Is it not Joſeph?

Sir Peter.

What you would have retorted on Joſeph, would you?

Charles.

And yet you might as well have ſuſpected him as me. Might not he Joſeph?

Enter SERVANT.
Servant.
(Whiſpering Joſeph)

—Lady Sneerwell, ſir, is juſt coming up, and ſays ſhe muſt ſee you.

Joſeph.

Gentlemen, I muſt beg your pardon, I have company waiting for me, give me leave to conduct you down ſtairs.

Charles.
[70]

No, no, ſpeak to 'em in another room; I have not ſeen Sir Peter a great while, and I want to talk with him.

Joſeph.

Well, I'll ſend away the perſon and return immediately. Sir Peter, not a word of the little French Milliner.

[Exit.
Sir Peter.

Ah, Charles, what a pity it is you don't aſſociate more with your brother, we might then have ſome hopes of your reformation, he's a young man of ſuch ſentiments.—Ah, there's nothing in the world ſo noble as a man of ſentiment.

Charles.

Oh, he's too moral by half, and ſo apprehenſive of his good name, that I dare ſay, he would as ſoon let a prieſt into his houſe as a wench.

Sir Peter.

No, no, you accuſe him wrongfully— Though Joſeph is not a rake, he is no ſaint.

Charles.

Oh! a perfect anchorite—a young hermit.

Sir Peter.

Huſh, huſh, don't abuſe him, or he may chance to hear of it again.

Charles.

Why, you won't tell him will you?

Sir Peter.

No, no, but—I have a great mind to tell him

(Aſide)

ſeems to heſitate)

—Hark'ye, Charles, have you a mind for a laugh at Joſeph?

Charles.

I ſhould like it of all things—let's have it.

Sir Peter.

Gad I'll tell him—I'll be even with Joſeph for diſcovering me in the cloſet.—

(Aſide.)

— Hark'ye Charles, he had a girl with him when I called.

Charles.

Who, Joſeph! impoſſible!

Sir Peter.

Yes, a little French Milliner

(takes him to the front)

and the beſt of the joke is, ſhe is now in the room.

Charles.

The devil ſhe is—Where?

Sir Peter.

Huſh, huſh—behind the ſcreen.

Charles.

I'll have her out.

Sir Peter.
[71]

No, no, no, no.

Charles.

Yes.

Sir Peter.

No.

Charles.

By the Lord I will.—So now for't. Both run up to the ſcreen—ſcreen falls, at the ſame time

JOSEPH enters.
Charles.

Lady Teazle, by all that's wonderful!

Sir Peter.

Lady Teazle, by all that's horrible!

Charles.

Sir Peter, this is the ſmarteſt French milliner I ever ſaw. But pray what's the meaning of all this? You ſeem to have been playing at hide and ſeek here, and for my part, I don't know who's in or who's out of the ſecret.—Madam, will you pleaſe to explain? —Not a word!—Brother, is it your pleaſure to illuſtrate? —Morality dum too!—Well, though I can make nothing of it, I ſuppoſe you can perfectly underſtand one another, good folks, and ſo I'll leave you. Brother I am ſorry you have given that worthy man ſo much cauſe for uneaſineſs—Sir Peter, there's nothing in the world ſo noble as a man of ſentiment.— Ha, ha, ha.

[Exit.
Joſeph.

Sir Peter, notwithſtanding appearances are againſt me—if—if you'll give me leave—I'll explain every thing to your ſatisfaction.

Sir Peter.

If you pleaſe, ſir.

Joſeph.

Lady Teazle knowing any—Lady Teazle— I ſay—knowing my pretenſions—to your ward—Maria —and—Lady Teazle—I ſay—knowing the jealouſy of my—of your temper—ſhe called in here— in order that ſhe—that I—might explain—what theſe pretenſions were—And—hearing you were coming— and—as I ſaid before—knowing the jealouſy of your temper—ſhe—my Lady Teazle—I ſay—went behind [72] the ſcreen—and—This is a full and clear account of the whole affair.

Sir Peter.

A very clear account truly! and I dare ſay the lady will vouch for the truth of every word of it.

L. Teazle.
(Advancing)

For not one ſyllable, Sir Peter.

Sir Peter.

What the devil! don't you think it worth your while to agree in the lie.

L. Teazle.

There's not one word of truth in what that Gentleman has been ſaying.

Joſeph.

Zounds, madam, you won't ruin me.

L. Teazle.

Stand out of the way, Mr. Hypocrite, I'll ſpeak for myſelf.

Sir Peter.

Aye, aye,—let her alone—ſhe'll make a better ſtory of it than you did.

L. Teazle.

I came here with no intention of liſtening to his addreſſes to Maria, and even ignorant of his pretenſions; but ſeduced by his inſidious arts, at leaſt to liſten to his addreſſes, if not to ſacrifice his honour, as well as my own, to his unwarrantable deſires.

Sir Peter.

Now I believe the truth is coming indeed.

Joſeph.

What! is the woman mad?

L. Teazle.

No, ſir, ſhe has recovered her ſenſes. Sir Peter, I cannot expect you will credit me; but the tenderneſs you expreſſed for me, when I am certain you did not know I was within hearing, has penetrated ſo deep into my ſoul, that could I have eſcaped the mortification of this diſcovery, my future life ſhould have convinced you of my ſincere repentance. As for that ſmooth tongued hypocrite, who [73] would have ſeduced the wife of his too credulous friend, while he pretended an honourable paſſion for his ward, I now view him in ſo deſpicable a light, that I ſhall never again reſpect myſelf for having liſtened to his addreſſes.

[Exit.
Joſeph.

Sir Peter—Notwithſtanding all this— Heaven is my witneſs—

Sir Peter.

That you are a villain—and ſo I'll leave you to your meditations—

Joſeph.

Nay, Sir Peter, you muſt not leave me— The man who ſhuts his ears againſt conviction—

Sir Peter.

Oh, damn your ſentiments—damn your ſentiments.

[Exit. Joſeph following.
End of the FOURTH ACT.

ACT V.

SCENE JOSEPH SURFACE'S Apartments.

Enter JOSEPH aud a SERVANT.
JOSEPH.

MR. Stanley!—why ſhould you think I would ſee Mr. Stanley; you know well enough he comes intreating for ſomething.

Servant.

They let him in before I knew of it; and old Rowley is with him.

Joſeph.

'Pſhaw, you blockhead; I am ſo diſtracted with my own misfortunes, I am not in a humour to ſpeak to any one—but ſhew the fellow up. [Exit ſervant.] Sure fortune never played a man of my policy ſuch a trick before—my character ruined with Sir Peter—my hopes of Maria loſt—I'm in a pretty humour to liſten to poor relations truly.—I ſhan't be be able to beſtow even a benevolent ſentiment on old [74] Stanley. Oh, here he comes; I'll retire, and endeavour to put a little charity in my face however.

[Exit.
Enter Sir OLIVER and ROWLEY.
Sir Oliver.

What, does he avoid us? That was him, was it not?

Rowley.

Yes, ſir; but his nerves are too weak to bear the ſight of a poor relation, I ſhould have come firſt to break the matter to him.

Sir Oliver.

A plague of his nerves—yet this is he whom Sir Peter extols as a man of a moſt benevolent way of thinking.

Rowley.

Yes, he has as much ſpeculative benevolence as any man in the kingdom, though he is not ſo ſenſual as to indulge himſelf in the exerciſe of it.

Sir Oliver.

Yet he has a ſtring of ſentiments, I ſuppoſe, at his finger's ends.

Rowley.

And his favourite one is, that charity begins at home.

Sir Oliver.

And his, I preſume, is of that domeſtic ſort, which never ſtirs abroad at all.

Rowley.

Well, ſir, I'll leave you to introduce yourſelf, as old Stanley; I muſt be here again to announce you in your real character.

Sir Oliver.

True, and you'll afterwards meet me at Sir Peter's.

Rowley.

Without loſing a moment.

[Exit Rowley.
Sir Oliver.

Here he comes—I don't like the complaiſance of his features.

Enter JOSEPH.
Joſeph.

Sir, your moſt obedient; I beg pardon for keeping you a moment—Mr. Stanley, I preſume.

Sir Oliver.

At your ſervice, ſir.

Joſeph.

Pray be ſeated Mr. Stanley, I intreat you, ſir.

Sir Oliver.
[75]

Dear ſir, there's no occaſion. Too ceremonious by half.

[Aſide.
Joſeph.

Though I have not the pleaſure of your acquaintance, I am very glad to ſee you look ſo well. —I think, Mr. Stanley you was nearly related to my mother.

Sir Oliver.

I was, ſir, ſo nearly, that my preſent poverty I fear may do diſcredit to her wealthy children, elſe I would not preſume to trouble you now.

Joſeph.

Ah, ſir, don't mention that—For the man who is in diſtreſs has ever a right to claim kindred with the wealthy; I am ſure I wiſh I was of that number, or that it was in my power to afford you even a ſmall relief.

Sir Oliver.

If your uncle Sir Oliver was here, I ſhould have a friend.

Joſeph.

I wiſh he was, you ſhould not want an advocate with him, believe me.

Sir Oliver.

I ſhould not need one, my diſtreſſes would recommend me. But I imagined his bounty had enabled you to be the agent of his charities.

Joſeph.

Ah, ſir, you are miſtaken; avarice, avarice,) Mr. Stanley is the vice of age; to be ſure it has been ſpread abroad that he has been very bountiful to me, but without the leaſt foundation, though I never choſe to contradict the report.

Sir Oliver.

And has he never remitted you bullion, rupees, or pagodas?

Joſeph.

Oh, dear ſir, no ſuch thing. I have indeed received ſome trifling preſents from him, ſuch as ſhawls, avadavats, and Indian crackers; nothing more, ſir.

Sir Oliver.

There's gratitude for twelve thouſand [76] pounds!

(Aſide.)

Shawls, avadavats, and Indian crackers!

Joſeph.

Then, there's my brother, Mr. Stanley; one would ſcarce believe what I have done for that unfortunate young man.

Sir Oliver.

Not I for one.

(Aſide.)
Joſeph.

Oh, the ſums I have lent him!—Well, 'twas an amiable weakneſs—I muſt own I can't defend it, though it appears more blameable at preſent, as it prevents me from ſerving you, Mr. Stanley, as my heart directs.

Sir Oliver.

Diſſembler—

(Aſide)

—then you cannot aſſiſt me.

Joſeph.

I am very unhappy to ſay it's not in my power at preſent; but you may depend upon hearing from me when I can be of any ſervice to you.

Sir Oliver.

Sweet ſir you are too good.

Joſeph.

Not at all, ſir; to pity without the power to relieve, is ſtill more painful than to aſk and be denied. Indeed, Mr. Stanley, you have me deeply affected. Sir, your moſt devoted; I wiſh you health and ſpirits.

Sir Oliver.

Your ever grateful and perpetual

(bowing low)

humble ſervant.

Joſeph.

I am extremely ſorry, ſir, for your misfortunes— Here, open the door.—Mr. Stanley your moſt devoted.

Sir Oliver.

Your moſt obliged ſervant. Charles you are my heir.

[Aſide, and exit.
Joſeph.

This is another of the evils that attend a man's having ſo good a character—It ſubjects him to the importunity of the neceſſitous—the pure and ſterling are of charity, is a very expenſive article in the [77] catalogue of a man's virtues; whereas the ſentimental French plate I uſe, anſwers the purpoſe full as well, and pays no tax.

(Going.)
Enter ROWLEY.
Rowley.

Mr. Surface, your moſt obedient; I wait on you from your uncle who is juſt arrived.

(Gives him a note.)
Joſeph.

How! Sir Oliver arrived!—Here, Mr. —call back Mr. Stanley.

Rowley.

It's too late, ſir, I met him going out of the houſe.

Joſeph.

Was ever any thing ſo unfortunate!

(Aſide)

—I hope my uncle has enjoyed good health and ſpirits.

Rowley.

Oh, very good, ſir; he bid me inform you he'll wait on you within this half hour.

Joſeph.

Preſent him my kind love and duty, and aſſure him I'm quite impatient to ſee him,

(Bowing.)
Rowley.

I ſhall, ſir.

[Exit Rowley.
Joſeph.

Pray do, ſir

(bows)

—This was the moſt curſed piece of ill-luck.

[Exit Joſeph.

SCENE Sir PETER TEAZLE'S Houſe.

Enter Mrs. CANDOUR, and MAID.
Maid.

Indeed, madam, my Lady will ſee no one at preſent.

Mrs. Candour.

Did you tell her it was her friend Mrs. Candour?

Maid.

I did, madam, and ſhe begs to be excuſed.

Mrs. Candour.

Go again, for I am ſure ſhe muſt be greatly diſtreſſed.

(Exit Maid)

How provoking to be kept waiting I am not miſtreſs of half the circumſtances; [78] —I ſhall have the whole affair in the newspapers, with the parties names at full length, before I have dropped the ſtory at a dozen houſes.

Enter Sir BENJAMIN BACKBITE.
Mrs. Candour.

Oh, Sir Benjamin, I am glad you are come; have you heard of Lady Teazle's affair? Well, I never was ſo ſurprized—and I am ſo diſtreſſed for the parties.

Sir Benjamin.

Nay, I can't ſay I pity Sir Peter, he was always ſo partial to Mr. Surface.

Mrs. Candour.

Mr. Surface! Why it was Charles.

Sir Benjamin.

Oh, no, madam, Mr. Surface was the gallant.

Mrs. Candour.

No, Charles was the lover; and Mr. Surface, to do him juſtice, was the cauſe of the diſcovery; he brought Sir Peter, and—

Sir Benjamin.

Oh, my dear madam, no ſuch thing; for I had it from one—

Mrs. Candour.

Yes, and I had it from one, that had it from one that knew—

Sir Benjamin.

And I had it from one—

Mrs. Candour.

No ſuch thing—But here comes my Lady Sneerwell, and perhaps ſhe may have heard the particulars.

Enter Lady SNEERWELL.
L. Sneerwell.

Oh, dear Mrs. Candour, here is a ſad affair about our friend Lady Teazle.

Mrs. Candour.

Why, to be ſure poor thing, I am much concerned for her.

L. Sneerwell.

I proteſt ſo am I—though I muſt confeſs ſhe was always too lively for me.

Mrs. Candour.

But ſhe had a great deal of good nature.

Sir Benjamin.
[79]

And had a very ready wit.

Mrs. Candour.

But do you know all the particulars.

(To Lady Sneerwell.)
Sir Benjamin.

Yet who could have ſuſpected Mr. Surface?

Mrs. Candour.

Charles you mean.

Sir Benjamin.

No, Mr. Surface.

Mrs. Candour.

Oh, 'twas Charles.

L. Sneerwell.

Charles!

Mrs. Candour.

Yes, Charles.

Sir Benjamin.

I'll not pretend to diſpute with you Mrs. Candour; but be it as it may, I hope Sir Peter's wounds won't prove mortal.

Mrs. Candour.

Sir Peter's wounds! what! did they fight! I never heard a word of that.

Sir Benjamin.

No!—

Mrs. Candour.

No!—

L. Sneerwell.

Nor I, a ſyllable; Do, dear Sir Benjamin, tell us.

Sir Benjamin.

Oh, My dear madam, then you don't know half the affair—Why—why—I'll tell you— Sir Peter, you muſt know, had a long time ſuſpected Lady Teazle's viſits to Mr. Surface.

Mrs. Candour.

To Charles you mean.

Sir Benjamin.

No, Mr. Surface—and upon going to his houſe, and finding Lady Teazle there, ſir, ſays Sir Peter, you are a very ungrateful fellow.

Mrs. Candour.

Aye, that was Charles.

Sir Benjamin.

Mr. Surface.—And old as I am, ſays he, I demand immediate ſatisfaction: upon this, they both drew their ſwords, and to it they ſell.

Mrs. Candour,

That muſt be Charles, for it is very unlikely that Mr. Surface ſhould fight him in his own houſe.

Sir Benjamin.
[80]

'Sdeath madam, not at all. Lady Teazle, upon ſeeing Sir Peter in ſuch danger ran out of the room in ſtrong hyſteries, and was followed by Charles, calling out for hartſhorn and water. They fought, and Sir Peter received a wound in his right ſide by the thruſt of a ſmall ſword.

Enter CRABTREE.
Crabtree.

Piſtols! Piſtols! Nephew.

Mrs. Candour.

Oh, Mr. Crabtree, I am glad you are come; now we ſhall have the whole affair.

Sir Benjamin.

No, no, it was a ſmall ſword, uncle.

Crabtree.

Zounds, nephew, I ſay it was a piſtol.

Sir Benjamin.

A thruſt in ſecond through the ſmall guts.

Crabtree.

A bullet lodged in the thorax.

Sir Benjamin.

But give me leave, dear uncle, it was a ſmall ſword.

Crabtree.

I tell you it was a piſtol—Won't you ſuffer any body to know any thing but yourſelf.— It was a piſtol, and Charles—

Mrs. Candour.

Aye! I knew it was Charles.

Sir Benjamin.

Mr. Surface, uncle.

Crabtree.

Why zounds, I ſay it was Charles, muſt no body ſpeak but yourſelf. I'll tell you how the whole affair was.

L. Sneerwell. Mrs. Candour.

Ah do, do pray tell us.

Sir Benjamin.

I ſee my uncle knows nothing at all about the matter.

Crabtree.

Mr. Surface you muſt know, Ladies, came late from Salt-hill, where he had been the evening before with a particular friend of his, who has a ſon at Eton; his piſtols were left on the bureau, [81] and unfortunately loaded, and on Sir Peter's taxing Charles—

Sir Benjamin.

Mr. Surface you mean.

Crabtree.

Do, pray, nephew, hold your tongue, and let me ſpeak ſometimes.—I ſay, Ladies, upon his taking Charles to account, and taxing him with the baſeſt ingratitude.—

Sir Benjamin.

Aye, Ladies, I told you Sir Peter taxed him with ingratitude.

Crabtree.

They agreed each to take a piſtol— They fired at the ſame inſtant—Charles's ball took place, and lodged in the thorax. Sir Peter's miſſed, and what is very extraordinary, the ball grazed againſt a little bronze Shakeſpeare that ſtood over the chimney, flew off through the window, at right angles, and wounded the poſt man, who was juſt come to the door with a double letter from Northamptonſhire.

Sir Benjamin.

I heard nothing of all this! I muſt own, Ladies, my uncle's account is more circumſtantial, though mine is the true one.

L. Sneerwell.

I am more intereſted in this affair than they imagine, and muſt have better information.

[Aſide and exit.
Sir Benjamin.

Lady Sneerwell's alarm is very eaſily accounted for.

Crabtree.

Why, yes; they do ſay—but that's neither here nor there.

Mrs. Candour.

But pray, where is Sir Peter now? I hope his wound won't prove mortal.

Crabtree.

He was carried home immediately, and has given poſitive orders to be denied to every body.

Sir Benjamin.

And I believe Lady Teazle is attending him.

Mrs. Candour.
[82]

I do believe ſo too.

Crabtree.

Certainly—I met one of the faculty as I came in.

Sir Benjamin.

Gad ſo! and here he comes.

Crabtree.

Yes, yes, that's the Doctor.

Mrs. Candour.

That certainly muſt be the phyſician —Now we ſhall get information.

Enter Sir OLIVER SURFACE.

Dear Doctor how is your patient?

Sir Benjamin.

I hope his wounds are not mortal.

Crabtree.

Is he in a fair way of recovery.

Sir Benjamin.

Pray, Doctor, was he not wounded by a thruſt of a ſword through the ſmall guts?

Crabtree.

Was it not by a bullet that lodged in the thorax.

Sir Benjamin.

Nay, pray anſwer me?

Crabtree.

Dear, dear Doctor ſpeak.

(All pulling him.)
Sir Oliver.

Hey, hey, good people, are you all mad?—Why what the devil is the matter?—a ſword through the ſmall guts, and a bullet lodged in the thorax! What would you all be at?

Sir Benjamin.

Then perhaps, ſir, you are not a Doctor.

Sir Oliver.

If I am, ſir, I am to thank you for my degree.

Crabtree.

Only a particular friend, I ſuppoſe.

Sir Oliver.

Nothing more, ſir.

Sir Benjamin.

Then I ſuppoſe, as you are a friend, you can be better able to give us ſome account of his wounds.

Sir Oliver.

Wounds!

Mrs. Candour.

What! havn't you heard he was wounded—The ſaddeſt accident.

Sir Benjamin.
[83]

A thruſt with a ſword through the ſmall guts.

Crabtree.

A bullet in the thorax.

Sir Oliver.

Good people, ſpeak one at a time, I beſeech you—You both agree, that Sir Peter is dangerouſly wounded.

Crabtree. Sir Benjamin.

Ay, ay, we both agree in that.

Sir Oliver.

Then I will be bold to ſay, Sir Peter is one of the moſt imprudent men in the world, for here he comes walking as if nothing had happened.

Enter Sir PETER.

My good friend, you are certainly mad to walk about in this condition; you ſhould go to bed, you that have had a ſword through your ſmall guts, and a bullet lodged in your thorax.

Sir Peter.

A ſword through my ſmall guts and a bullet lodged in my thorax!

Sir Oliver.

Yes theſe worthy people would have killed you without law or phyſic, and wanted to dub me a Doctor, in order to make me an accomplice.

Sir Peter.

What is all this!

Sir Benjamin.

Sir Peter, we are all very glad to find the ſtory of the duel is not true.

Crabtree.

And exceedingly ſorry for your other misfortunes.

Sir Peter.

So, ſo all over the town already.

(Aſide)
Mrs. Candour.

Though, as Sir Peter was ſo good a huſband, I pity him ſincerely.

Sir Peter.

Plague of your pity.

Crabtree.

As you continued ſo long a batchelor, you was certainly to blame to marry at all.

Sir Peter.
[84]

Sir, I deſire you'll conſider this is my own houſe.

Sir Benjamin.

However, you muſt not be offended at the jeſts you'll meet on this occaſion.

Crabtree.

It is no uncommon caſe, that's one thing.

Sir Peter.

I inſiſt upon being maſter here; in plain terms I deſire you'll leave my houſe immediately.

Mrs. Candour.

Well, well, ſir, we are going, and you may depend upon it, we ſhall make the beſt of the ſtory.

[Exit.
Sir Benjamin.

And tell how badly you have been treated.

Sir Peter.

Leave my houſe directly.

[Exit Sir Benjamin.
Crabtree.

And how patiently you bare it.

[Exit Crabtree.
Sir Peter.

Leave my houſe, I ſay,—Fiends, furies, there is no bearing it.

Enter ROWLEY.
Sir Oliver.

Well, Sir Peter, I have ſeen my Nephews.

Rowley.

And Sir Oliver is convinced, your judgment is right after all.

Sir Oliver.

Aye, Joſeph is the man.

Rowley.

Such ſentiments.

Sir Oliver.

And acts up to the ſentiments he profeſſes.

Rowley.

Oh, 'tis edification to hear him talk.

Sir Oliver.

He is a pattern for the young men of the age.—But how comes it Sir Peter, that you don't join in his praiſes?

Sir Peter.

Sir Oliver, we live in a damned wicked world, and the fewer we praiſe the better.

Sir Oliver.
[85]

Right, right, my old friend—But was you always ſo moderate in your judgement?

Rowley.

Do you ſay ſo, Sir Peter? You never was miſtaken in your life.

Sir Peter.

Oh, plague of your jokes—I ſuppoſe you are acquainted with the whole affair.

Rowley.

I am indeed, ſir.—I met Lady Teazle returning from Mr. Surface's ſo humbled, that ſhe deigned to beg even me to become here advocate.

Sir Peter.

What! does Sir Oliver know it too?

Sir Oliver.

Aye, aye, every circumſtance.

Sir Peter.

What! about the cloſet and the ſcreen.

Sir Oliver.

Yes, and the little French milliner too. I never laughed more in my life.

Sir Peter.

And a very pleaſant jeſt it was.

Sir Oliver.

This is your man of ſentiment, Sir Peter.

Sir Peter.

Oh, damn his ſentiments.

Sir Oliver.

You muſt have made a pretty appearance when Charles dragged you out of the cloſet.

Sir Peter.

Yes, yes, that was very diverting.

Sir Oliver.

And, egad Sir Peter, I ſhould like to have ſeen your face when the ſcreen was thrown down.

Sir Peter.

My face when the ſcreen was thrown down! oh yes!—There's no bearing this.

(Aſide.)
Sir Oliver.

come, come, my old friend, don't be vexed, for I can't help laughing for the ſoul of me. Ha! ha! ha!

Sir Peter.

Oh, laugh on—I am not vexed—no, no, it is the pleaſanteſt thing in the world. To be the ſtanding jeſt of all one's acquaintance, 'tis the happieſt ſituation imaginable.

Rowley.

See, ſir, yonder's my Lady Teazle coming this way, and in tears, let me beg of you to be reconciled.

Sir Oliver.
[86]

Well, well, I'll leave Rowley to mediate between you, and take my leave; but you muſt make haſte after me to Mr. Surface's, where I go, if not to reclaim a libertine, at leaſt to expoſe hypocriſy.

[Exit.
Sir Peter.

I'll be with you at the diſcovery; I ſhould like to ſee it, though it is a vile unlucky place for diſcoveries. Rowley

(looking out)

ſhe is not coming this way.

Rowley.

No, ſir, but ſhe has left the room door open, and writs your coming.

Sir Peter.

Well, certainly mortification is very becoming in a wife.—Don't you think I had better let her pine a little longer.

Rowley.

Oh, ſir, that's being too ſevere.

Sir Peter.

I don't think ſo; the letter I found from Charles was evidently intended for her.

Rowley.

Indeed, Sir Peter, you are much miſtaken,

Sir Peter.

If I was convinced of that—ſee, Maſter Rowley, ſhe looks this way—What a remarkable elegant turn of the head ſhe has—I have a good mind to go to her.

Rowley.

Do, dear ſir.

Sir Peter.

But when it is known that we are reconciled I ſhall be laughed at more than ever.

Rowley.

Let them laugh on, and retort their malice upon themſelves, by ſhewing them you can be happy in ſpite of their ſlander.

Sir Peter.

Faith, and ſo I will, Maſter Rowley, and my Lady Teazle and I may ſtill be the happieſt couple in the country.

Rowley.

Oh fie, Sir Peter he that lays aſide ſuſpicion—

Sir Peter.
[87]

My dear Rowley, if you have any regard for me, never let me hear you utter any thing like a ſentiment again; I have had enough of that to laſt me the remainder of my life.

[Exeunt.

SCENE JOSEPH'S Library.

Enter JOSEPH and Lady SNEERWELL.
L. Sneerwell.

Impoſſible! Will not Sir Peter be immediately reconciled to Charles, and no longer oppoſe his union with Maria.

Joſeph.

Can paſſion mend it.

L. Sneerwell.

No, nor cunning neither. I was a fool to league with ſuch a blunderer.

Joſeph.

Sure, my Lady Sneerwell, I am the greateſt ſufferer in this affair, and yet, you ſee, I bear it with calmneſs.

L. Sneerwell.

Becauſe the diſappointment does not reach your heart; your intereſt only was concerned. Had you felt for Maria, what I do for that unfortunate libertine your brother, you would not be diſſuaded from taking every revenge in your power.

Joſeph.

Why will you rail at me for the diſappointment.

L. Sneerwell.

Are you not the cauſe? Had you not a ſufficient field for your roguery in impoſing upon Sir Peter, and ſupplanting your brother, but you muſt endeavour to ſeduce his wife. I hate ſuch an avarice of crimes; 'tis an unfair monopoly, and never proſpers.

Joſeph.

Well, I own I am to blame—I have deviated from the direct rule of wrong, Yet, I cannot think circumſtances are ſo bad as your Ladyſhip apprehends.

L. Sneerwell.

No!

Joſeph.

You tell me you have made another trial [88] of Snake, that he ſtill proves ſteady to our intereſt, and that he is ready, if occaſion requires, to ſwear to a contract having paſſed between Charles and your Ladyſhip.

L. Sneerwell.

And what then?

Joſeph.

Why, the letters which have been ſo carefully circulated, will corroborate his evidence, and prove the truth of the aſſertion. But I expect my uncle every moment, and muſt beg your Ladyſhip to retire into the next room.

L. Sneerwell.

But if he ſhould find you out.

Joſeph.

I have no fear of that—Sir Peter won't tell for his own ſake, and I ſhall ſoon find out Sir Oliver's weak ſide.

L. Sneerwell.

Nay, I have no doubt of your abilities only be conſtant to one villainy at a time.

Joſeph.

Well, I will, I will.—

(Exit Lady Sneerwell)

—It is confounded hard though, to be baited by one's confederate in wickedneſs—

(knocking

—Who have we got here? My uncle Oliver, I ſuppoſe—Oh, old Stanley again! How came he here? He muſt not ſtay—

Enter Sir OLIVER.

I told you already, Mr. Stanley, that it was not in my power to relieve you.

Sir Oliver

But I hear, ſir, that Sir Oliver is arrived, and perhaps he might.

Joſeph.

Well, ſir; you cannot ſtay now, ſir; but any other time, ſir, you ſhall certainly be relieved.

Sir Oliver.

[...]h, Sir Oliver and I muſt be acquainted.

Joſeph.

I [...] upon your going. Indeed, Mr. [...], you can't ſtay.

Sir Olive [...].

Poſitively I muſt ſee Sir Oliver.

Joſeph.
[89]

Then poſitively you ſhan't ſtay.

[Puſhing him out.
Enter CHARLES.
Charles.

Hey day! what's the matter? Why, who the devil have we got here? What, my little Premium. Oh, brother, you muſt not hurt my little broker. But hark'ye Joſeph, what have you been borrowing money too.

Joſeph.

Borrowing money! no brother—We expect my uncle Oliver here every minute, and Mr. Stanley inſiſts upon ſeeing him.

Charles.

Stanley! Why his name is Premium.

Joſeph.

No, no! I tell you his name is Stanley.

Charles.

But I tell you again his name is Premium.

Joſeph.

It don't ſignify what his name is.

Charles.

No more it don't, as you ſay brother, for I ſuppoſe he goes by half a hundred names, beſides A. B. at the Coffee-houſes. But old Noll muſt not come and catch my little broker here neither.

Joſeph.

Mr. Stanley, I beg—

Charles.

And I beg Mr. Premium—

Joſeph.

You muſt go indeed, Mr. Stanley.

Charles.

Aye, you muſt go, Mr. Premium.

(Both puſhing him)
Enter Sir PETER, Lady TEAZLE, MARIA, and ROWLEY.
Sir Peter.

What, my old friend Sir Oliver! what's the matter?—In the name of wonder were there ever two ſuch ungracious nephews, to aſſault their uncle at his firſt viſit.

L. Teazle.

On my word, ſir, it was well we came to your reſcue.

Joſeph.

Charles!

Charles.

Joſeph!

Joſeph.
[90]

Now our ruin is complete.

Charles.

Very.

Sir Peter.

You find, Sir Oliver, your neceſſitous character of old Stanley could not protect you.

Sir Oliver.

No! nor Premium neither. The neceſſities of the former could not extract a ſhilling from that benevolent Gentleman there, and with the other I ſtood a worſe chance than my anceſtors, and had like to have been knocked down without being bid for. Sir Peter, my friend, and Rowley, look upon that elder Nephew of mine you both know what I have done for him, and how gladly I would have looked upon half my fortune as held only in truſt for him. Judge then, of my ſurpriſe and diſappointment, at finding him deſtitute of truth, charity, and gratitude.

Sir Peter.

Sir Oliver, I ſhould be as much ſurpriſed as you, if I did not already know him to be artful, ſelfiſh and hypocritical.

L. Teazle.

And if he pleads not guilty to all this, let him call upon me to finiſh his character.

Sir Peter.

Then I believe we need not add more, for if he knows himſelf, it will be a ſufficient puniſhment for him that he is known by the world.

Charles

If they talk this way to honeſty, what will they ſay to me by and by.

(Aſide.
Sir Oliver.

As for that profligate there—

(pointing to Charles.)
Charles.

Ay, now comes my turn; the damn'd family pictures will ruin me.

(Aſide.
Joſeph.

Sir Oliver, will you honour me with a hearing?

Charles.

Now if Joſeph would make one of his [91] long ſpeeches, I ſhould have time to recollect myſelf.

[Aſide.
Sir Peter.

I ſuppoſe you would undertake to juſtify yourſelf entirely.

Joſeph.

I truſt I could, Sir.

Sir Oliver.

'Pſhaw

(turns away from him)

and I ſuppoſe you could juſtify yourſelf too.

(To Charles.)
Charles.

Not that I know of, ſir.

Sir Oliver.

What, my little Premium was let too much into the ſecret.

Charles.

Why yes, ſir; but they were family ſecrets, and ſhould go no further.

Rowley.

Come, come, ſir Oliver, I am ſure you cannot look upon Charles's follies with anger.

Sir Oliver.

No, nor with gravity neither.—Do you know, ſir Peter, the young rogue has been ſelling me his anceſtors: I have bought judges and ſtaff officers by the foot, and maiden aunts as cheap as old china.

(During this ſpeech, Charles laughs behind his hat.)
Charles.

Why, that I have made free with the family canvas is true, my anceſtors may riſe in judgment againſt me, there's no denying it, but believe me when I tell you (and upon my ſoul I would not ſay it, if it was not ſo) if I don't appear mortified at the expoſure of my follies, it is, becauſe I feel at this moment the warmeſt ſatisfaction, at ſeeing you my liberal benefactor.

(embraces him.)
Sir Oliver.

Charles, I forgive you; give me your hand again, the little ill-looking fellow over the ſettee has made your peace for you.

Charles.

Then, ſir, my gratitude to the original is ſtill increaſed.

L. Teazle.
[92]

Sir Oliver, here is another, with whom I dare ſay Charles is no leſs anxious to be reconciled.

Sir Oliver.

I have heard of that attachment before, and with the Lady's leave—if I conſtrue right, that bluſh—

Sir Peter.

Well, child, ſpeak for yourſelf.

Maria.

I have little more to ſay, than that I wiſh him happy, and for any influence I might once have had over his affections, I moſt willingly reſign them to one who has a better claim to them.

Sir Peter.

Hey! what's the matter now? While he was a rake and a profligate, you would hear of nobody elſe; and now that he is likely to reform, you won't have him. What's the meaning of all this.

Maria.

His own heart, and Lady Sneerwell can beſt inform you.

Charles.

Lady Sneerwell!

Joſeph.

I am very ſorry, brother, I am obliged to ſpeak to this point, but juſtice demands it from me; and Lady Sneerwell's wrongs can no longer be concealed.

Enter Lady SNEERWELL.
Sir Peter.

Another French milliner!—I believe he has one in every room in the houſe.

L. Sneerwell.

Ungrateful Charles! Well you may ſeem confounded and ſurprized, at the indelicate ſituation to which your perfidy has reduced me.

Charles.

Pray uncle is this another of your plots? for, as I live, this is the firſt I ever heard of it.

Joſeph.

There is but one witneſs, I believe, neceſſary to the buſineſs.

Sir Peter.

And that witneſs is Mr. Snake—you were perfectly in the right in bringing him with you. [...].

Rowley.
[93]

Deſire Mr. Snake to walk in.—It is rather unlucky, madam, that he ſhould be brought to confront, and not ſupport your Ladyſhip

Enter SNAKE.
L. Sneerwell.

I am ſurprized! what, ſpeak villain! have you too conſpired againſt me?

Snake.

I beg your Ladyſhip ten thouſand pardons; I muſt own you paid me very liberally for the lying queſtions, but I have unfortunately been offered double for ſpeaking the truth.

Sir Peter.

Plot and counter-plot—I give your Ladyſhip much joy of your negociation.

L. Sneerwell.

May the torments of deſpair and diſappointment light upon you all.

(going.)
L. Teazle.

Hold, Lady Sneerwell; before you go, give me leave to return you thanks, [...]or the trouble you and this gentleman took, in writing letters in my name to Charles, and anſwering them yourſelf;— and, at the ſame time, I muſt beg you will preſent my compliments to the ſcandalous college, of which you are preſident, and inform them, that Lady Teazle, licentiate, returns the diploma they granted her, as ſhe leaves off practice, and kills characters no longer.

L. Sneerwell.

You too, madam! Provoking inſolent! may your huſband live theſe fifty years.

[Exit.
L. Teazle.

Oh, Lord—what a malicious creature it is!

Sir Peter.

Not for her laſt wiſh I hope.

L. Teazle.

Oh, no, no, no.

Sir Peter.

Well, ſir—what have you to ſay for yourſelf?

(to Joſeph.)
Joſeph.

Sir, I am ſo confounded that Lady Sneerwell ſhould impoſe upon us all, by ſuborning Mr. [94] Snake, that I know not what to ſay—but—leſt her malice ſhould prompt her to injure my brother— I had better follow her.

[Exit.
Sir Peter.

Moral to the laſt.

Sir Oliver.

Marry her, Joſeph, marry her if you can—Oil and Vinegar—you'll do very well together.

Rowley.

Mr. Snake, I believe, we have no further occaſion for you.

Sir Peter.

Well,—averſe to ſentiments, as I am yet I cannot help obſerving, that when a knave ſucceeds in his deſigns upon credulity, he can boaſt of nothing more than having been a while miſtaken for an honeſt man; but it would be better, for the continuance and completion of his happineſs, were he to become, for life, and in reality, what he has only ſeemed to be.

FINIS.
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Zitationsvorschlag für dieses Objekt
TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 5465 The school for scandal a comedy as it is performed at the Theatres Royal in London and Dublin. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-620E-7