[]

THE LADY's REVENGE: OR, The ROVER Reclaim'd. A COMEDY. As it is Acted at the THEATRE ROYAL in Covent-Garden.

Interdum tamen, & vocem Comaedia tollit.
HOR. de Art. Poet.

LONDON: Printed for J. BRINDLEY at the King's-Arms, New Bond-Street, Bookbinder to her Majeſty, and his Royal Highneſs the Prince of Wales. And Sold by A. DODD, without Temple-Bar; J. ROBERTS, in Warwick-Lane; J. WILFORD, behind the Chapter-Houſe, St. Paul's Church-Yard; and E. NUTT, at the Royal-Exchange. M.DCC.XXXIV.

TO His ROYAL HIGHNESS The PRINCE.

[]
SIR,

THE Advantage, which a Nation reaps from an Encouragement given, by Princes, to Letters in general, cannot be unknown to your Royal Highneſs, whoſe extenſive Knowledge in all Parts of Hiſtory, would make it the higheſt Piece of Preſumption in me to pretend to quote Authorities to ſhew, what Alterations [] the Study or Neglect of Letters have cauſed in the ſame People.

Your Royal Highneſs's Goodneſs in being graciouſly pleaſed to accept the Dedication of the following Scenes, ſhews not only how much your Royal Highneſs has at Heart the Advancement of Learning in general, but of that Branch in particular, whoſe End is to expoſe the Vices, and ridicule the Follies of Mankind.

I could have wiſh'd this firſt Attempt had been an Offering more worthy of the high Protection it receives from your Royal Highneſs's Name. But Comedy, tho' not the nobleſt Production of the Mind, is not [] the leaſt unuſeful; and it is ſufficient if there is a Tendency towards doing Good, in any Work, to make that Work appear deſerving in your Royal Highneſs's Eye.

This being the only Merit I pretend to, I beg Leave, as the moſt grateful Heart always feels more than it can expreſs, to be allow'd to return my moſt dutiful Acknowledgments by an inward Conſciouſneſs of that profound Truth, Reſpect, and Gratitude, with which I am,

SIR,
Your Royal Highneſs's Moſt Obliged, Moſt Dutiful, and Moſt Devoted humble Servant, W. POPPLE.

PREFACE TO THE READER.

[]

THE diſcontinuing the acting of a Play, that has been well received by the Town in general, at a Time when it might have gone on, makes it neceſſary to give ſome Account of what has paſt ſince the firſt Night of its Repreſentation, and of the Motives that made the Author put a Stop to its Run.

A Report having been maliciouſly raiſed, and induſtriouſly ſpread all over the Town, that the Play was a Party Play, and ſupported by the Court, and therefore to be oppoſed, Numbers of Perſons came into the Houſe with an Intent, (as the Term is) to damn it at all Events.

[] Thus determin'd, they took hold of every little Slip that,

—Aut Incuria fudit
Aut humana parum cavit Natura—

and were very clamorous: However, the Play having had a fair Hearing, went off with infinitely more Applauſe than Blame.

The Second Night the particular Things objected to, being taken out, the Play was acted from Beginning to End, without one ſingle Mark of Diſpleaſure in the Audience.

The Third Night it went off in the ſame Manner, to the moſt numerous and ſplendid Audience that could be ſeen.

The Fourth Night a Set of about eight or ten young Fellows went to the Bedford Coffee-Houſe in the Piazza, and declared publickly that they came purpoſely to damn the Play, and would not leave the Play-houſe till they had compaſſed their Ends. The ſame Declaration they repeated when in the Houſe to ſome Gentlemen that wero there, [] Friends (but unknown to them) to the Author.

Accordingly Mr. Ryan coming on to ſpeak the Prologue, they began their Uproar, but were ſoon ſilenced, and the Prologue was heard with Applauſe: The Play beginning, they began again, and were ſo loud that Mr. Ryan acquainted them, that as he could not imagine there was any thing in the Play they could except againſt, he was apprehenſive he had the Misfortune to diſpleaſe them. Mr. Quin then came on, and told them he found the Houſe was divided, and as the Majority was for hearing the Play, he hop'd thoſe who were not, would go out. The Houſe on that were unanimous, and cry'd, Turn them out, Turn them out, but they ſaved the Audience the Trouble of doing it, and retired under the general Hiſs of every Perſon then preſent: After which the Play went on without the leaſt Diſturbance.

The Author having reflected that Malice, tho' it could do the Play no Hurt, might affect Mr. Rich, by keeping Perſons [] from the Houſe, who have no great Reliſh for Noiſe, choſe rather to diſcontinue the further acting of the Play, and to refer himſelf to the Judgment of every impartial Reader, to whom he freely commits it, being determin'd as frankly to acknowledge any real Fault found with it, as to juſtify it, if cenſur'd without Reaſon.

The Author cannot conclude, without declaring how much he thinks himſelf obliged to every Actor for the Care taken in the acting it, and more particularly to thoſe who having the principal Parts to perform, had an Opportunity to exert themſelves, as they did, in the moſt ſatisfactory Manner.

PROLOGUE.

[]
WHEN Love's taught Dangers animate the Stage,
Your Ears, ye Fair! let the ſoft Scenes engage:
Let each bright Liſt'ner mark the Wiles we ſhow,
And catch dumb Caution, from the pictur'd Woe.
—Guiltleſs of Farce, to Night, the meaning Player
Courts not your Laughter—but, alarms your Care.
Man, the Deceiver! veils his cruel Art:
And ſkreens himſelf, within th' attempted Heart.
There, to ungenerous Empire, climbs, ere long:
Help'd by the Confidence, he means to wrong!
—This, to detect, we act his Falſhood o'er:
And, the Deluder, known, betrays no more.
Such, the beſt Buſineſs of the Comick Muſe!
Love has a thouſand Leſſons, to infuſe:
—Not always Lightneſs ſhou'd ungrace the Scene.—
To laugh at Folly, but indulges Spleen.
Coxcombs, and Fops, in harmleſs Error ſtray:
And trip, undangerous out of Paſſion's Way.
Miſers, and Sots, leſs, Mirth, than Pity, move:
And, Dullneſs brings an Antidote, for Love.
—But, there's a Traitor, arm'd, in am'rous Mail!
Born, to attempt, and, faſhion'd to prevail!
Diſguis'd in Softneſs—by deep Arts endear'd:
And, always dang'rous—becauſe, never fear'd.
[] Him, in our Glaſs of Life, to Night, we ſhow:
Nor ſtoop the condeſcending Scene, too low.
Hence, if too grave, for Comedy, we ſeem,
Think us but ſuited to our ſerious Theme.—
—'Tis no light Loſs, when charming Woman falls!
On our Defence, the Sex's Merit calls.—
We, who the Pictures of a World impart,
Neglect not what concerns its faireſt Part.
All Danger, to that Sex, thus frankly ſhown,
At the ſame Time, does Honour to our own.
Nor let Neglect of Laughter move the Pit,
To dread, in Conſequence, a Dearth of Wit.
Unmeaning Mirth may live, in empty Noiſe:
But, ſolid Converſe ſwells our ſofter Joys.
—Once, in an Age of Tumbling, Dance, and Song,
Suppoſe not two ſhort Hours of Senſe, too long!
—Not even the Faſhion Change of Taſte denies!
Oft MERRY here,—let us be, ſometimes—WISE!

EPILOGUE.

[]
BAulk'd, as I am,—my Heart's beſt Hope, miſcarried,
Try'd, caſt, and ſentenc'd to be hang'd;—that's married!
Ere I'm turn'd off, I think it but my Duty,
To warn, in my laſt Speech, faſt-falling Beauty.
Firſt, Maidens! let my ſad Example teach ye,
To put no Truſt in Man—'till he can reach ye.
For, ſhou'd you ſtrive, too near, his Strength ſo mighty,
That, down you come, at once—and, then—Good Night t'ye!
Next, O ye Wives! truſt not in Beauty's Merit:
But, to your Body's Influence, add your Spirit.
With your Eye's Lightning, mix a Tongue, that thunders:
Believe me—Love, ſo double-arm'd, works Wonders!
—Yet, if nor Charms, nor Eloquence, can ſave ye;—
But, your good Man will break the Faith he gave ye:
Be you before-hand with him.—That Reproving
Will make him own there's Guilt, in too light loving.
And for you, Widows,—you're too wiſe, ſor teaching,
But, ſuff'ring Malefactors muſt be preaching.
[] So, take one Word of Council, in your Calling:
Tho' you're too brave, I know, to fear a Falling.
—From your old Yoke, ſet free, admit no new one,
Unleſs with ſome, poor, briſk, young, kind, and true one.—
The conſcious Youth, long, mindful of your Favour,
Will make up all Defects, with good Behaviour.—
Loth, that his Wants his Gratitude ſhou'd ſmother;
What he can't bring you, one Way—comes another.
And, now, good People! what I've, more, to ſay t'ye,
Shou'd be, a doleful Tune, and ſigh, and pray t'ye.
—But, doleful Tunes, of late, are grown ſo common,
They move more Sorrow, than a dying Woman!
And, Sighs, and Prayers, are beſt, when made in private,
As you all know, who have good Ends to drive at.
What ſhall I do, then?—ſhall I hang, and tarry?
Or, bold, in ſaving Faith, go on, and marry?
'Tis, both Ways, bad!—But, I've, at once, bethought me,
Of a ſweet Leſſon, dear Revenge has taught me!
—I'll ſtay, and ſee Sir Harry in his Fetters:
Nor be ſo rude, to ſwing, before my Betters.
Paſs but his Honey-moon of Sunſhine Weather,
And He, and I, may, then, go, hang, together!

EPILOGUE

[]
Spoken by Mrs. YOUNGER.
WHAT odd Concluſions ſenſeleſs Poets make;
Half-witted Rogues, ſo groſly to miſtake!
Grant, that, to lay the Scruples of my Betters,
'Twas right to marry off us tender Creatures:
But why thus ſent away from charming London!
Where Folks can thrive—after they've once been undone.
How many Men raiſe Fortunes by their Fall!
Compound their Debts, and get the Devil and all.
And Women too, as ſome among you know,
Oft from their Fall receive the riſing Blow.
Buried alive with Creatures underbred,
I muſt do filthy Things to get my Bread.
Theſe Hands, that us'd to pat Sir Harry's Cheek,
Muſt milk a Cow, at leaſt ten Times a Week.
Theſe Feet that hardly cou'd the Pavement bear,
Ne'er more ſhall be reliev'd by Coach or Chair;
This Face, no longer guarded by a Fan,
The ſcorching Sun, and Oven's Blaze muſt tan.
[]
I that till Ten, in Bed each Morning lay,
Muſt feed my Huſband's Lambs by Break of Day;
Born for Intrigue, my Talent I muſt bury,
Employ'd between my Kitchen and my Dairy.
Be dreſt but once a Week, and if I ſhou'd
Meet with ſome young Fox-hunter in a Wood,
Tom, who knows all my Tricks, wou'd ſpoil our Game,
Thraſh me, perhaps; and call me—what I am.
The Farm be hang'd.—A Woman of my Spirit
Confin'd to dirty Work!—I cannot bear it.
I'll e'en ſtay here.—My Beauty, or my Wit
May get a Keeper Lord, or Huſband Cit.
At worſt, I'll be a Court-end Milliner;
A Shop, and a Firſt Floor, can't fail me there.
Where Beaux may find, if they're for Lace or Love,
Myſelf below—and a clear Stage above.

Dramatis Perſonae.

[]
Sir Harry Lovejoy.
Mr. Ryan.
Heartly.
Mr. Walker.
Sir Lively Brainleſs.
Mr. Chapman.
Tom.
Mr. Salway.
Lady Traffick.
Mrs. Hallam.
Angelina.
Mrs. Buchanan.
Laetitia Lovejoy.
Mrs. Bullock.
Betty.
Mrs. Younger.
Jenny.
Miſs Norſa.
Scene, London. Time, from Morning to Evening.

[] THE LADY's REVENGE: OR, The ROVER Reclaim'd.

ACT I.

Sir Harry diſcover'd, drinking Tea.

A Lovely Morn! How gay the Proſpect from this Window! The Park is now in all its Glory. How ſweet the Air! Methinks, I feel myſelf renew'd. Let me indulge a while. This vernal Breath awakes my Senſes, gives Vigour to my Underſtanding. O Joy, thou neceſſary Friend to Human Minds! Without thee, what were Life, attended even with all its Sweets! And yet how ſmall a Part of Life doſt thou fill up!

[Pauſes, and ſips Tea].

What a ſubjected Thing is Man!—How ſoon he changes? A Breath of Wind too hot or cold; an ill-digeſted Meal, a Wiſh unſatisfy'd, in a Moment ſhall deſtroy this happy Turn of Mind.—And then—the Morn no [2] longer lovely, the Proſpect dull—taſteleſs the Air!—If it was not for dear Woman.

Enter Tom.
Tom.

Sir, Mr. Heartly is come to Town, and deſires to know when he may wait on you.

Sir Har.

Ha! Heartly come to Town! I am glad on't. Here, Tom, my Service, and tell him the ſooner he comes the better.—An honeſt Fellow, this Heartly, but a little too ſcrupulous. He denies himſelf the Pleaſures of Life, from a Notion, that unleſs the Law has preſcrib'd the Manner of uſing them, they ought not to be enjoy'd.

Enter Laetitia.
Laet.

Good Morrow, Brother; I want ſome Diſcourſe with you: But you are ſo eternally taken up, there's not an Hour free, to give Audience to a Siſter. I come to talk with you, about your Behaviour of late.

Sir Har.

Pr'ythee, Laetitia, don't affect Gravity. It becomes you as ill—

Laet.

As it does you. But this is an Affair that requires a ſerious Anſwer, which I deſire therefore you'll give me. What do you mean by your Addreſſes to Angelina? Do you really love her; or is it mere Gallantry?

Sir Har.

Before I give you a ſerious Anſwer, I muſt deſire to know the Reaſon of your aſking.

Laet.

I won't tell him Angelina has diſcover'd her Paſſion for him to me; that would be unfair; nor ſhou'd I like to be ſerv'd ſo myſelf.

[aſide.]

—Nay, nothing but Curioſity. You ſeem, of late, contrary to your uſual Cuſtom, to be very particular to her, among other Ladies; and I own I love her ſo, that I cou'd wiſh our Friendſhip were cemented yet cloſer. That's all.

Sir Har.
[3]

Well, Siſter, to deal frankly with you, as much as I can love, I love Angelina. She has Youth, Beauty, good Senſe, and Fortune; but ſo have a thouſand other Women. Now whether theſe will always pleaſe in Angelina, as much as they do now, or whether I ſhall not want to try, if theſe Perfections will not pleaſe more in other Women,—Gad, I can't tell.—I'm of ſuch a fluctuating Temper, I can't anſwer for myſelf long.—At preſent, I own I ſee her with a Lover's Eye.

Laet.

Well, that's enough for me! 'Tis Angelina's Buſineſs to keep you conſtant, when once ſhe gets you.

Sir Har.

I hope then you're ſatisfy'd. And now, Siſter, give me Leave in my Turn to queſtion you.—But firſt I muſt tell you Heartly is come to Town.

Laet.
[aſide]

What does he mean?—Brother, I can't ſtay now: Some other Time. I muſt dreſs myſelf to meet Angelina. We are to go to the Auction together.

Sir Har.

Nay, I ſhan't keep you long: I've only one Queſtion to aſk you.

Enter Tom.
Tom.

Sir, Mr. Heartly's below.

Sir Har.

Shew him up.

[Exit Tom.
Laet.

Let me be gone. I would not for the World he ſhould ſee me thus.

Sir Har.

Methinks, you're well enough dreſs'd.

Laet.

O fye, how can you ſay ſo?

Sir Har.

Ah, Laetitia, this Delicacy diſcovers what you wou'd conceal.

Laet.

I don't care what it diſcovers, ſo I get away. O Lud, I hear him coming. I won't ſtay one Moment.

[Exit.
[4]Enter Heartly.
Sir Har.

My deareſt Heartly, I am overjoy'd to ſee you.

Hear.

I do aſſure you, Sir Harry, I thought the Time long on many Accounts. But will you forgive me an abrupt Queſtion? Was not that your Siſter that left you, as I came up? I got a Glimpſe as ſhe ſhot along, and thought it was that dear Figure, whoſe Reſemblance, ſtill freſh in my Memory, during my Retirement, ever kept me Company.

Sir Har.

It was indeed. But ſhe was not well dreſs'd enough; ſhe wanted a Pin, or a Patch, I ſuppoſe, or ſome ſuch important Matter. A fooliſh Maxim in the Sex, Ned, always to appear to the beſt Advantage before Marriage. It makes the Difference but too ſenſible after, when we ſee and feel the Neglect.

Hear.

The Reaſon of her going was however kind. But tell me, Sir Harry, are you a little more reconcil'd to old England than you was, when we laſt parted? Have our pretty Countrywomen made any Impreſſion on your Heart?

Sir Har.

My Heart, Ned, was ever ſoft, and will, like Wax, as eaſily take as loſe an Impreſſion. But I'm ſuch a Convert to my Countrywomen's Charms, that I think they want nothing but a little more Gaiety and Life to make them as much more agreeable, as they are already more beautiful than thoſe of other Nations.

Hear.

This is ſomething. I am pleas'd to ſee you can do Juſtice to your own Country.

Sir Har.

Pr'ythee, dear Ned, for once lay aſide thy Partiality to thy own Country. Look upon thyſelf as a Foreigner. That done, obſerve our charming Countrywomen, at a Viſit or a Play; ſee how they ſit with their Hands rivetted to their [5] Fans, and plac'd juſt in the Centre of their pretty Perſons; motionleſs, unleſs it be to diſplay the Furbelows of that little Engine, and as ſilent.

Hear.

You are the firſt that ever complain'd of that.

Sir Har.

I'd have 'em ſpeak in every Geſture. Give me a Woman, whoſe very Air and Manner ſpeak, and are a tacit Confeſſion that they have—

Hear.

Have—what?

Sir Har.

What? Why as much Inclination as Power to charm.

Hear.

And have you found none ſuch? How did Sir Peregrine's Lady prove? I think I left you hot in that charitable Purſuit. I don't expect to find you ſo now?

Sir Har.

Why faith, Ned, it wou'd be odd if you did. A beautiful Woman is like a well-wrote Book, every Leaf you turn over, at firſt affords new Pleaſure; but when you're forc'd to read it daily, from one End to the other, you'll find but little Inclination to begin again.

Hear.

You're witty, Sir. But is this Argument only to hold good for the Men? Have not Women the ſame Plea for Inconſtancy?

Sir Har.

Ah, Friend! That it was but ſo! How happy ſhould we be! But there's a Fatality in the Way of loving, of the two Sexes, that renders both miſerable. Enjoyment leſſens our Paſſion, and increaſes theirs.

Hear.

Then you was ſucceſsful? And now, like a reſtleſs Tyrant, deſpiſe your Conqueſt, and ſeek for new Acquiſitions.

Sir Har.

Succeſsful! Ay, that I was, to tell you a Secret, long before honeſt Sir Peregrine took a Bargain off my Hands, that began to puzzle me a little how to diſpoſe of.

Hear.

How, Sir Harry!

Sir Har.

In few Words then, thus: Lady Traffick, [6] then Lucia Bellfaſt, old Colonel Bellfaſt's Daughter, was very pretty, I very amorous. Our Neighbourhood gave me many Opportunities of ſeeing her, which I improv'd, till at laſt I found myſelf tenderly beloved. I caught the Infection too, and doated on her; promiſed Marriage; which I intended to execute. The Saints in Heaven, and her Maid, were Witneſſes to my Vows. Lucia thought the Security good, and delivered into my Arms the lovelieſt Perſon they had ever held. With Joy we often met, and with Reluctance parted, curſing the Day that came ſo ſoon, and oblig'd me to diſappear, before any of the Family was up, but the truſty Maid. Much about this Time Sir Peregrine came down to Lucia's Father, fell in Love with the Daughter, aſk'd her of him, and obtain'd her. She wou'd have declar'd our Affair, to avoid a Match ſhe hated, and to have been mine, as I had promis'd; but having no great Stomach to the Match, and finding ſhe wou'd not ſuffer in her Reputation by the Affair, I advis'd her to accept the Gentleman's Offer, in ſuch a Manner, that ſhe ſaw ſhe muſt, or be undone. I own 'twas unkind.—She did not ſee me for a long Time after ſhe was married, and, I believe, never wou'd, had not her Huſband's Affairs call'd him abroad.

Hear.

And ſo, not content with forcing this fond Creature to give her Vows to a Man ſhe hated, you forc'd her too, to violate thoſe very Vows, and—

Sir Har.

Hold, Ned, not ſo faſt. I did all I cou'd, indeed, but ſhe was obſtinate, and never wou'd. It was in vain to alledge former Intimacies; ſhe wept, and anſwer'd me with her Huſband, her Huſband, at ever Word. Is it not odd, Ned, a Woman ſhou'd be conſtant to a Man ſhe hates, and refuſe one ſhe loves?

Hear.
[7]

It may ſeem ſo to you. But People that think there is ſomething beſide Paſſion, that ought to be liſten'd to, may, perhaps, be of a different Opinion. But now you mention her Huſband, pray what's become of him?

Sir Har.

Gone.

Hear.

Gone! What do you mean, Sir?

Sir Har.

Why gone—Gone to Heaven, Man.

Hear.

What dead!

Sir Har.

Ay, Sir.—And the generous, goodnatur'd Creature, left his Widow all he had: If he had not, it would have been a heavy Tax on me.

Hear.

'Twas generous indeed. I heard he was a worthy Man.

Sir Har.

Yes, faith, too worthy to make a Cuckold of.

Hear.

Pr'ythee, be ſerious.

Sir Har.

Why then, in few Words,—her Huſband, Sir Peregrine's private Affairs, oblig'd him to go to Leghorn. Theſe very private Affairs oblig'd him to leave that Place ſoon after, and make a ſhort Voyage. Short, indeed, it was; for the Ship and Crew were all caſt away on the Coaſt of Barbary, near Sallee. Like a prudent Man, he had made his Will before he went, and thus my Lady Traffick became a young and rich Widow. Now, Ned, you know a Woman can't hold out for ever againſt a Man ſhe loves. Her Huſband's Death left her without any Excuſe, and her own Heart pleaded ſtrongly for me. Then ſhe hop'd too to make me more than ever fond, and like a fond Fool marry her. She took the wrong Method.—However our Commerce, which now I am very ſorry for, was renewed again; again ſhe truſted me, and was again deceiv'd.

Hear.

So ſoon cool!

Sir Har.

I ſhould be tir'd of an Angel, unleſs ſhe cou'd vary her Form. Like Ovid, I'm for the [8] black, the fair, the plump, the lean, the tall, the ſhort. All, all.—To be plain, I never ſaw a Woman, but had ſomething pleaſing in her.

Hear.

Still wild and inconſtant!

Sir Har.

Ay, faith. And when I grow otherwiſe, it muſt be for a very bad Reaſon. Why, Sir, to ſhew you what a Man of Buſineſs I am, I have at preſent an honourable Affair upon my Hands, which does not hinder me from amuſing myſelf with my Miſtreſs's Woman.

Hear.

Thou art a bold Lover, faith.

Sir Har.

Pſha, pſha, Women don't like one the worſe for that.

Hear.

But who is it that has kindled this honourable Flame in your Breaſt?

Sir Har.

One that might warm a Hermit's frozen Breaſt. Angelina.

Hear.

My Lord Lovewell's Daughter. I think ſhe's an only Child. She muſt be rich.

Sir Har.

Ay, Sir, ſhe wants for nothing. Then, Sir, I have, which with all my Soul I wiſh I had not, this Lady Traffick, as troubleſome as a Dun. when a Man has nothing to pay.—But this does not hinder me from laying cloſe Siege to another, who is on the Point of dropping into my Arms, Young and pretty as an Angel.

Hear.

But can this Angel vary her Form?

Sir Har.

Time enough for that yet. She's a Virgin. O Ned, there's ſomething ſo charming in the firſt Struggles of a young and yielding Heart!—We quarrelled laſt Night, which I am confident will advance my Affair more than the moſt favourable Opportunity wou'd.

Hear.

Well, Sir, you are an Adept in the Myſtery of Love. For my Part, I have but one Heart, and find one Miſtreſs fills it quite up. Your Siſter, Sir Harry, holds me at full Play. I came to Town once more, in order to try my Fate.

Sir Har.
[9]

I wiſh you Succeſs with all my Heart.

Enter Tom.
Tom.

Sir Lively, Sir, come to wait on you.

Sir Har.

Cou'd the Coxcomb take no other Time? I wou'd enjoy thy Company now. Well, ſhew him up. Do you know him, Heartly?

Hear.

I had ſome ſmall Acquaintance with him before he went abroad.

Sir Har.

A travell'd Coxcomb, with great good Nature, and very little Senſe, by which you may judge of the Improvement he has made. A Scrap of a French Song, and a Coupee after Marcels, ſum up his whole Character. Oh, here he is.

Enter Sir Lively, ſinging.
Sir Lively.
Vive le Printems,
Il rend le Coeur gay:
Le Mois des Amans
C'eſt le Mois de May.

Good Morrow, Knight. Mr. Heartly—This Rencontre is indeed fortunate. Sir, I am totally yours.—Hey, what's the Matter? Sir Harry, you look out of Sorts, diſcompos'd, or, as one might ſay, Piqué.

Sir Har.

Piqué.

Sir Liv.

Ay, piqué. Why, I own, I was a little ſevere upon you laſt Night before your Miſtreſs; nay, and with her too. Angelina and I jok'd away. Ah Knight! 'Tis a witty Rogue.

Sir Har.

Ay, Sir, ſo it ſeems, by the Choice ſhe made of you to be witty with.

Hear.

'T was prudently done. She'd a Mind to have all the Wit to herſelf.

Sir Liv.

Prettily ſaid! Now, by this Light, tho' he calls one Fool, I can't be angry with him.

[aſide]

Heartly, thou haſt Wit too. Well, I think [10] there are not three prettier Fellows in England. Pr'ythee let's from a Triumvirate together, and proſcribe. I love proſcribing dearly. We'll baniſh all Coxcombs out of the Mall.

Hear.

Not all, Sir Lively.

Sir Liv.

Thou ſhalt ſave a Friend, or ſo. All elſe.

Hear.

And the Women! What will you do with them, Sir Lively?

Sir Liv.

Sir Harry ſhall take Care of them. He has made the Sex his Study. He is a great Connoiſſeur that Way. He knows a Whore from a modeſt Woman, by her Looks only. Now, I am not ſo deep learn'd; for I think there's nothing ſo like a modeſt Woman as a Whore; and I am very apt to miſtake one for t'other.

Sir Har.

'Twas a curs'd Miſtake, Sir Lively, you made at Paris.

Sir Liv.

Mum for that, dear Knight; ſpare your Friend.

[Aſide.
Hear.

Nay, no whiſpering, Sir. Come, come, what was that Miſtake, Sir Harry?

Sir Har.

Pſha, a mere Trifle. A Lady of Quality in France, that was deeply in Love with Sir Lively, deſir'd him to walk thro'a Common Sewer at Midnight, in order to ſkreen him from the Fury of an incens'd Huſband, who unluckily returning from Verſailles, had like to have ſurpriz'd him dans la Ruelle de Madam.

Hear.

'Twas unlucky indeed. But I hope, Sir Lively, you had been before-hand with him, and ha—ha—ha Rogue!

Sir Liv.

Why faith, Ned, ſhe was kind! 'Twas a dear Wench, ſplit me.

Sir Har.

The Knight ſays true. What with the Loſs of his Cloaths, and Purſe, and Surgeon's Bill, I believe it might have coſt him about—let me ſee,—How many hundred Livres was it, Sir Lively?

Sir Liv.
[11]

S'life, he'll tell all, and I ſhall loſe my Reputation with Heartly.—Her Huſband was a damn'd Debauchée, a Man of Quality! A Wife that has ſuch a Huſband, you know, is never ſafe. Faith, ſhe made me weep to ſee the Concern ſhe was under on my Account. She never minded herſelf, not ſhe.

Sir Har.

That I dare ſwear. She was too wel ſeaſon'd.

Sir Liv.

Well, well, you will have your Jeſt. Nay, I can bear a Jeſt from a Friend. Sir Harry, where do you dine to Day?

Sir Har.

Come, come, that ſha'nt ſave you. Heartly ſhall know all. This Lady's Huſband, this Man of Quality, this damn'd Debauchée—

Sir Liv.

Pox on him, I ſhall be quite undone, quite ruin'd.

Sir Har.

Appeared in the Tuilleries the next Day, in the very Suit this jilting Whore, this Lady of Quality, I mean, had robb'd Sir Lively of, and was miſtaken for him, by all the Engliſh of his Acquaintance.

Hear.

How's this, Sir Lively!

Sir Liv.

Falſe, by this Light. Sir Harry's a Railleur, and is angry with me, becauſe I'm better with Angelina than he. But I'll be even with him. I know what I know. Are you for a Turn in the Park this Morning, Gentlemen.

Hear.

I would with all my Heart. But Sir Harry and I have ſome little Buſineſs.

Sir Liv.

Your Pardon, for having been thus long troubleſome. We ſhall meet anon at Angelina's. Sir Harry, I intend to dine there. I am welcome at all Hours. I receive vaſt Encouragement from her. But I won't teize you longer. Adieu.—Nay, you ſha'nt ſtir.

Sir Har.

I'll but wait on you to the Door.

Sir Liv.
[12]

Not a Step—by my Soul's ſoft Paſſion.—Adieu, my Dears.

[Exit.
Sir Har.

At length we have ſhook off this Coxcomb. But he has ſtaid ſo long, I have not Time to enjoy thy Company now. I muſt to Lady Traffick's, who keeps me to as ſtrict Attendance, as if, 'fore Gad, I was her Huſband.

Hear.

And pray, Sir Harry, how d'you intend to diſpoſe of this Lady?

Sir Har.

Why, faith, Ned, I am a little puzzled as to that, I have not Ill-nature enough to forſake her, nor Complaiſance enough to forſake my Pleaſures for her. She knows my Love is at its loweſt Ebb; and that there is little left but Gratitude to keep it alive. And ſince that Time, what have I not ſuffer'd? To give you a Sketch of my Life with her, Each Day I ſee her, and each Day am regularly entertain'd with the ſame Reproaches.—I hear myſelf accus'd as Author of her Ruin; my own Words, Words, which at certain Moments in my firſt Paſſion's Heat, or when compell'd by the fond Queſtion, Do you love, and will you ever love me?—Words, which, indeed, I may have ſaid, quoted back and retorted as ſo many Proofs of my Inconſtancy. In ſhort, my Temper's quite broke, quite wearied out with ſtruggling. Neither Company nor Friends divert me. Were I to conſult her Humour, I ſhould never be from her. When I but miſs a Day, there's no End of her upbraiding. A Recapitulation of all that has paſs'd, from the firſt Moment of our Acquaintance, as ſurely follows, as ſuch Recapitulation is follow'd by Tears, Threats, Paſſion, Hope, Deſpair, each in their Turn.

Hear.

But I think you mention'd a Promiſe of Marriage. Her Huſband's Death leaves that Promiſe ſtill open, and renews the Juſtice of her Claim.

Sir Har.
[13]

You would adviſe me, then, to marry my—

Hear.

I know your Meaning—your—Give me Leave to aſk you one ſerious Queſtion.

Sir Har.

Let it be a ſhort one.

Hear.

Does your Conſcience never reproach you?

Sir Har.

Hold, Friend. If you love me, touch not that String. It founds harſh. I myſelf avoid to touch it.

Hear.

I've done. Time, and your own good Senſe, will make you reflect.

Sir Har.

Ay, ay, Time's the beſt Remedy for Diſtempers of this kind. Age and Impotence is your only Specific for an Amorous Conſtitution. But I muſt leave you now, Friend. It will be Evening before I can ſee you. Till then adieu. At Angelina's.

Hear.

I'll meet you. Adieu, Sir Harry.

[Exeunt.
END of the FIRST ACT.

ACT II.

[14]
Angelina's Houſe.
Angelina riſing from her Toilet, Betty ſtanding by.
Ang.

NO News of Laetitia yet? She promis'd to come before this Time. Betty, what's o' Clock?

Bet.

Mem, you've your Watch by your Side.

Ang.

Lord, that's true. I forgot it, I proteſt. Well, I've the ſtrangeſt Memory!

Bet.

Ah, Mem, our Memory's very apt to leave us, when ſomething pertic'lar takes up all our Thoughts.

Ang.

Something pertic'lar!

[Mimicks her.
Bet.

Nay, Mem, I beg your Ladiſhip's Pardon. I'm but a Servant; and Servants ſhou'd ſee no farther than their Miſtreſſes pleaſe: but they will make Remarks ſometimes.

Ang.

They will ſo, ha? And—what may your wiſe Remarks infer, if I may be ſo bold?

Bet.

Why, Mem, when your Ladiſhip ſpills your Tea, and ſcalds your Fingers, or beats your Dog for not making a Noiſe; when your Ladiſhip ſighs, looks penſive, and talks to yourſelf, I conclude your Ladiſhip's in Love.

Ang.

A very wiſe Concluſion, truly. And pray, Mem, has not your penetrating Brain diſcover'd the Object of my Affections?

Bet.

O dear Mem! But will your Ladiſhip forgive me if I tell my Conjectures? Well, he's the [15] ſweeteſt and moſt inſinuating Gentleman; he's a Man for my Money.

Ang.

He! What He? Whom does the Creature mean?

Bet.

Mean, Mem! Who can I mean, but Sir Harry.

Ang.

Sir Harry!—The Wench makes me uneaſy. I don't know what to think of her Talk.—You ſeem mighty well acquainted with his Merit.

Bet.

Better than ſhe imagines. She'd be glad to know as much of him as I do, for all her demure Looks. Well, I'm reſolv'd I'll make her tiff a little, for refuſing me her caſt-off quilted Petticoat.

[aſide]

—O law, Mem, I mean no Harm. He only romp'd with me a little, and thruſt his Hand—

Ang.

You are very free with Gentlemen, methinks.

Bet.

Nay, Mem, 'twas only down my Boſom a little: but it was to admire better the Fineneſs of the Edging of the laſt Tucker your Ladiſhip was pleas'd to give me. O Gemini, how my Heart did beat, and my Boſom ſwell! I'm ſure if he had not preſs'd it down with his Hand, 'twould have burſt my Stays. I was never in ſuch a Taking before. I trembled every Joint of me.—Wou'd he had ſtopt there!

[Sighs, aſide.
Ang.

What's that you mutter between your Teeth?

Bet.

Nothing, Mem, only Sir Harry told me he had ſome pretty French Trinkets, and if I would call at a Place I know, I ſhould take my Choice.

Ang.

So, and you went, be ſure, Minx?

Bet.

No indeed, Mem.—Would I had not. I had not then loſt in one Minute, what I had been Years keeping, with much Pain and Difficulty, the Lord knows.

[Sighs aſide.
Ang.
[16]

Fetch me my Mantille.

[Walks about angrily.
Bet.

Yes, Mem.—She's rarely vex'd.—I'm afraid I've ſaid too much. If ſhe ſhould really ſuſpect me.

[Aſide.
Ang.

Stay. Is my laced Head come back from Mrs. Darnwell's yet?

Bet.

No, Mem.

Ang.

And why did not you go fetch it? You're ſtrangely heedleſs of late.

Bet.

Mem, I did go, upon my Honour.

Ang.

Your Honour! Hold your Prating, and get yourſelf ready. I'll walk to Laetitia's.

[Exit Bet.]

This Wench has been ſeduc'd too by that deceiving Man. So near me! Sure this would cure another Woman. May be ſo: But it won't cure me for all that. I have in me that Principle, which has ruin'd, and will for ever ruin thoſe of our Sex, that truſt in it. I've Vanity enough to think I can reclaim him. Fame ſpeaks of him, as a Man that yields to none in Knowledge or true Worth; but all lies buried and abſorb'd in that wild Bent his Temper has taken. Why then, fooliſh Angelina, doſt thou love him, yet know him thus?

Enter Betty.
Bet.

Mem, Mrs. Laetitia to wait on your Ladiſhip.

Enter Laetitia.
Laet.

My deareſt Angelina!

Ang.

My wild Friend!

Laet.

You ſeem diſturb'd. What's the Matter, my Dear?

Bet.

O nothing, Mem, only my Lady is tiff'd a little at ſomething I told her about your Ladiſhip's Brother.

Ang.

Peace, Impertinence, and leave the Room. [17] This Girl is grown ſo confident, there's no enduring her. Well, my Dear, and how ſtands your Heart affected to your old Lover Heartly? He came to Town laſt Night, I hear.

Laet.

Lover do you call him! 'Tis the coldeſt I ever ſaw. So grave a Lover muſt make a very ſtay'd Huſband. I ſhall never endure him.

Ang.

Oh, he'll mend upon your Hands. Would your wild Brother had ſome of his Staidneſs. I ſhould like him the better for't.

Laet.

Faith, ſo ſhould not I. Give me a Huſband, whoſe Behaviour would make me miſtake him for a Lover. I hate thoſe grave, matrimonial Fops, that take away one's Liking to Marriage, by preaching up the Solemnity of it.

Ang.

Fye, my Dear, you make me bluſh.

Laet.

Pretty Angelina, how that Bluſh becomes you!

Ang.

Laetitia!

[Smiling.
Laet.

Oh, that Smile! There fell ten thouſand Lovers; or would have fallen, had they been here.

Ang.

You're ſtrangely Romantic to-day, my Dear.

Laet.

Ay, full of Life and Spirits. Are you for the Auction or the Park?

Ang.

Which you will. You may there get rid, perhaps, of this Flow of Spirits.

Laet.

Rather acquire more, from the Variety of Objects we ſhall meet there. Nothing ſo raiſes the Spirits, as a Crowd of gay Creatures fluttering about one.

Ang.

You'll ſome time or other alter this wild Way of thinking, and find more Pleaſure in the Converſation of one Man of Senſe—

Laet.

Pr'ythee, Angelina, don't be ſo very wiſe. I tell you, the ſolemn Talk of one Man of Senſe, is ſometimes more tireſome than the Tittle-tattle of ten Fools.

Ang.
[18]

Yes, in the Opinion of ſuch a giddy Girl as you.

Enter Betty.
Bet.

Mem, Mr. Heartly's below to wait on your Ladiſhip, and you, Madam, too.

Ang.

Conduct him up.

Enter Heartly.

Mr. Heartly, you're welcome to Town.

Hear.

Your moſt obedient humble Servant, Ladies. I ought, Madam, to make ſome Apology for this Viſit. For, to be ſincere, the whole of it was not deſign'd for you.

[To Angelina.
Ang.

Lovers need make no Apologies. I take as much of it as was intended me.

Hear.
[to Laet.]

Madam, I would have done myſelf the Honour of waiting on you laſt Night, but it was ſo late when I arriv'd, I fear'd my Viſit might have been unſeaſonable.

Laet.

'Tis as well as it is. All Times are equal to me.

Hear.

To the Indifferent all Times, indeed, are equal. But you affect ſo total an Indifference, it ſcarce ſeems natural.

Laet.

You may, perhaps, find it is, tho'.—I've a good mind to uſe him ill, for daring to think otherwiſe.

[Aſide.
Hear.

I have juſt now parted with Sir Harry, whom I find the very ſame I left him, as well as you, Madam.

[To Laet.
Ang.

Mrs. Laetitia and I were juſt talking of going to the Auction. Will you go with us? We'll conclude with a Turn in the Park, and come home and dine at my Houſe.

Hear.

With all my Heart, Madam. But I believe 'tis too late for the firſt.

Ang.
[19]

We can but ſee. If it is, we'll take up with the Park. Come, my Dear, ſhall we go? Betty,

Enter Betty.

Do you ſtay at home.

[Exeunt.
Bet.

Yes, Mem. If I am not miſtaken, my dear Miſtreſs, Sir Harry will cut you out Buſineſs enough. Well, I ſhall have a happy Time on't, if they come together. I'm ſure he likes me; and there is a ſecret Pleaſure in rivalling one's Miſtreſs. When my Lady's out of Humour, and ſcolds Betty, my Maſter, behind her Back, careſſes Betty, and comforts her with kind Words, and ſomething elſe. Oh the Sweets of ſuch Revenge! Wou'd ſhe'd ſcold me every Day. Well, I think a Lady's Woman, that's great with her Maſter, is the happieſt Condition in Life. I promis'd him to call at Mrs. Darnwell's after Dinner. I know what he wants. I'm ready enough to go. 'Tis but the firſt Step that coſts dear. When a Woman has once given up—

Enter Servant.
Serv.

Mrs. Betty, your Lady wants to ſpeak with you. She's waiting in her Chair, at the Door.

[Exeunt.
Lady Traffick's Lodgings.
Lady Traffick ſola.

Not yet come! How ſlow we move when Inclination does not lead us! Can I remember with what Eagerneſs he us'd to fly to ſee me, and can I bear his Slowneſs now! Oh Love, fantaſtic Deity, or rather impotent and weak! Thou yield'ſt to every different Temper, and appear'ſt, not what thou art, in thy true Nature, but what Man's various Humour makes thee. When firſt our Boſoms [20] take thee in, thou ſeem'ſt, indeed, what flattering Poets call thee, gay, ſmiling, full of Tenderneſs and Truth. We promiſe ourſelves thou art a Deity indeed, and, as a Deity, immortal and unchangeable: but ſoon, too ſoon, alas! thou ſicken'ſt, the pleaſing Warmth decays. Poſſeſſion, thy proper Food, that which ſhould nouriſh thee, kills thee.

[Pauſes, and looks out impatiently.]

Not yet come! What can ſtay him!—What?—The firſt fair Face he meets. And yet he knows that I expect him; knows too that I'm diſtracted when he outſtays his Time, or diſappoints me.

[Knocking without.]

Ha, is not that he? It is. Now cannot I forbear to tell him how impatient I have been, tho' I know it will draw on ſome angry Words.

Enter Sir Harry.

You would be ſorry, Sir Harry, to come a Moment before your Time.

[In a kind Tone of Voice.
Sir Har.

So, ſits the Wind thus?—And you, Madam, to loſe an Opportunity of making me ſome Reproach.

Lady Traf.

The Reproach is rather kind than diſobliging.—Another wou'd be pleas'd to be ſo reproach'd.

[Soft.
Sir Har.

Perhaps ſo.

Lady Traf.

Perhaps ſo! Nay, 'tis ſo. Fye, fye, can you be angry that I long to ſee you?

[Soft.
Sir Har.

No, Madam.—Now ſhall I be perſecuted with ſo much Fondneſs, that my Temper will never bear it, and I ſhall fly out.

[Aſide.
Lady Traf.

That I bear your Abſence with Pain, and that I wiſh to paſs each Moment of my Life with you, I know it is a fooliſh Wiſh: But I muſt make it, tho' I know it ſhou'd offend you; and yet I am miſerable when you are diſpleas'd.

Sir Har.
[21]

Why all this Tenderneſs for me! Unhappy Lucia, wou'd I cou'd love thee as thou deſerv'ſt.

[Aſide.
Lady Traf.

Whence this Silence? You ſeem uneaſy. Shall I not ſhare your Pain!

Sir Har.

Uneaſy, Madam!

Lady Traf.

Why do you echo thus my Words? and with ſuch cold Formality? Uneaſy, Madam! Have I no other Name, no ſofter Appellation? There was a Time I had.—Then 'twas deareſt Lucia, my Life, kind Lucia.—Such Words, and ſuch a Tone of Voice,—an Angel wou'd have fallen.

[Turns her Head aſide, and holds her Handkerchief to her Eyes.]
Sir Har.

She weeps!—Nay, give not Way to ſuch a Weakneſs. You hurt yourſelf. In what am I chang'd? Have I not ſtill the ſame Regard I ever had? Is there a Perſon I eſteem like you?

Lady Traf.

Regard, Eſteem! And is that all? Is there no Love left?

[angrily]

Keep your Regard and your Eſteem, and give 'em to your Friends;

[ſoftly]

your Miſtreſs ought to ſhare your ſofter Sentiments. And I have quitted all, to ſhare thoſe ſofter Sentiments, and would, were it to do again.—Will you then rob me of the Price of ſuch a Sacrifice, and pay me with Regard, Eſteem!

Sir Har.

You ſtill miſconſtrue what I ſaid. Can there be Love without Eſteem, without Regard? We differ but in Words.

Lady Traf.

And why not call it Love? Is there any thing frightful in the Word?

Sir Har.

Well, call it Love. How weak you Women are? Each idle Fancy ſwells into a Truth with you, when ſome one pettiſh Humour which you have, is pleas'd to ſhew itſelf. Let a Man act with the moſt ſtrict Regard, to all the Ties of [22] Honour and Conſcience, fails he but in one little trifling exterior Mark of Tenderneſs, (when, perhaps, he is of a Temper not apt to be fond) 'tis as if he had done nothing. No Regard is had for what he does. The little he omits, has only Power to make Impreſſion on your Minds. 'Tis ſuch a Weakneſs.—One of your Senſe, Lucia, ſhould be above thoſe little Follies of your Sex.

Lady Traf.

Had you not us'd me to thoſe little Follies of my Sex, as you call them, to thoſe trifling Marks of Tenderneſs, I had ne'er expected 'em; nor felt the Want of 'em now. But when I think on what you once was—

Sir Har.

There 'tis again. If a Man once fool's away an idle Hour in ſoft Careſſes and fond Blandiſhments, in the Beginning of an Amour, or when the Blood boils high, he muſt be ever after toying, ever ſooling, or there is no Quiet for him, and he muſt expect to be baited and reproach'd as I am.

Lady Traf.

Falſe and ſcandalous Accuſation! made only to colour your violated Faith, and Breach of Truth. You accuſe us only, when you know yourſelves are falſe. Becauſe we love with greater Truth, and that our Paſſions grow, while yours decreaſe and leſſen by Poſſeſſion, you cry out with a ſaucy Inſolence, and Shew of Wiſdom, Muſt we be for ever toying, ever fooling? As if thoſe little Marks of Fondneſs and Affection that Lovers give and take, were a Diſgrace to your ſuperior Natures, and a Weakneſs ſcarce tolerable in ours. Curſe on your falſe, diſſembling Arts! You can employ thoſe little Marks of Fondneſs and Affection; you can fool and toy away not Hours, but Days and Months, when you'd inſpire us with a Paſſion for you. How well you act, when you'd ſeduce us! You are more fond and fooliſh even than we; or ſeem ſo, the better to deceive us. You fawn like Spaniels, and lick the Foot [23] that ſpurns you. Whilſt we, pleas'd with a Shew of Tenderneſs, that flatters our Weakneſs, ſuſpect no Guile; receive you as welcome Gueſts, and cheriſh you with ſtill encreaſing Love.

Sir Har.

Proceed, Madam, I hear you.

Lady Traf.

Your Empire ſettled o'er us, you ſhew yourſelves. Firſt you begin to languiſh, and grow tir'd in our Company; you want Diverſion to relieve your Minds. As we love you with unfeign'd Affection, and prefer your Pleaſures to our own, we bear your Abſence, in that View, with Satisfaction. That Point gain'd, you go on farther. A Coolneſs ſucceeds. Our Beauties fade in your Eyes, want Edge for your pall'd Appetites: Faintly you deny it; and, to excuſe yourſelves, you tell us, Love's a Paſſion that ought not to make the Buſineſs but the Amuſement of Life, and ſhou'd be never ſuffer'd to grow ſerious.

Sir Har.

Pray, Madam, go on.

Lady Traf.

Our Minds affected by ſuch new and unknown Doctrine, we reproach you. Our Reproaches, arm'd with Truth, perplex and gaul you, and at laſt beget Averſion in you; which once born, never dies. Your Averſion draws new Reproaches from us, and our Reproaches ſtrengthen your Averſion; 'till at laſt, Love long ſince fled, Pity forſakes you too. You leave the miſerable Wretch, you made ſo, to Sorrow and Repentance; to dear-bought Experience, Guilt and Shame; unable to conquer her Paſſion, and condemn'd never to have it repaid.

Sir Har.

What a deal of Truth ſhe utters! That ſo much Senſe, and ſuch Experience, ſhould not be able to get the better of her Paſſion!

[aſide.]

Well, Lucia, is there any thing more? I'm attentive.

Lady Traf.

No, I've done. Perhaps I've ſaid too much. I know ſuch Plain-dealing is odious to [24] you, and baniſhes you hence.—I'm more concern'd at the cool Blood with which he has heard me, than at the Heat he us'd to ſhew.

[aſide.]

—Perhaps you're offended. Come, you muſt forgive me. 'Tis much againſt my Will; but I am as full of Weakneſs, as of Love, and merit more your Pity than your Anger.

Enter Jenny.
Jen.

Madam, Dinner waits you.

Lady Traf.

Come, Sir Harry.

[Exit.
Sir Har.

I'll follow you. What can I do? Go on in this uncomfortable Way! Impoſſible.—I'm now ſo us'd to her Perſon, ſhe moves me no more than if I had loſt my Faculties: And yet to an impartial Eye, ſhe has all that Man can wiſh in Form and outward Shew. The Fault's not on my Side neither; if I can't taſte her Beauties, 'tis no Defect of Appetite; a coarſer Meal goes down.—A pretty Wench, this. How long haſt thou been here, Child?

Jen.

But this Morning, Sir.

Sir Har.

Now am I mad for this Wench, and every Wench I ſee. What ſtrange Stuff am I made of!

[Aſide.
Jen.

The Gentleman talks to himſelf; ſure he's mad. I'll in and tell my Lady.

[Exit.
Sir Har.

This Wench runs ſtrangely in my Mind. I muſt talk to her a little.

[Turning about, before he is quite turned, he ſays theſe Words, as to the Maid.]
Enter Lady Traffick.

And ſo, Child, you came hither but this Morning?

Lady Traf.

No, Sir. But my Lady ſays ſhe'll turn me away before Night, for fear you ſhould ruin me as you've done her.

Sir Har.
[25]
[ſtarts]

Ha, Lucia!—You ſee, Child, I was talking to your Maid. I love to ſee human Nature in all its Shapes. You know my Humour.

Lady Traf.

I'm not to learn it now. But come, Sir Harry, let's go in to Dinner. Nay, I'll not truſt you; you're ſuch a Rover, you muſt be kept within Sight.

When once the Heart its native Home forſakes,
And a new Miſtreſs the Poſſeſſion takes,
In vain we'd call the little Wanderer back,
Like Stars once ſhot, it leaves no certain Track.
END of the SECOND ACT.

ACT III.

[26]
Sir Harry and Lady Traffick riſing from Table.
Sir Har.

YOu've entertain'd me nobly, Lucia; you grow prodigal.

Lady Traf.

To whom then ſhould I laviſh what I have but you? Can I too well receive you? What is there I would not ſacrifice for you? I'd part even with Life, cou'd it procure a Moment's Pleaſure to you, or remove a Moment's Pain.

Sir Har.

Nay, that wou'd be too much. I am not ſo voluptuous, tho' you often reproach me with my Pleaſures; nor ſo afraid of Pain, as to purchaſe one, or avoid the other, at ſo dear a Price.

Lady Traf.

Well, I cou'd give it tho'. But come, Sir Harry, I know you love a Song, and I am always happy when I can give you any Satisfaction. My Maid ſhall entertain you with one. She has both Taſte and Voice.

Jenny ſings.
Ungrateful Youth, whom ſtill,
Inſpite of all, I love;
In vain you uſe me ill,
My Grief, not Hate, you move.
Love's Dart,
Forc'd from the Heart,
Behind it leaves unending Smart,
[27] Then gentler Means employ,
Hard-hearted, cruel Boy;
Or give me leave
To love and grieve
And with falſe Hopes my Pains deceive.
For Hope alone can eaſe
A Heart that can no longer pleaſe.
Sir Har.

I need not aſk whoſe Words theſe are.

[Sir Harry looks at his Watch, then ſays aſide.]

The Time of my Appointment's come.

Lady Traf.

So ſoon!

Sir Har.

Did not I tell you I muſt leave you ſoon?

Lady Traf.

Yes. But I did not think 'twou'd have been quite ſo ſoon.

Sir Har.

Something of Conſequence, I can't neglect, obliges me to go. Heartly, that Friend I've often mention'd to you, waits for me at my Lodgings.

Lady Traf.

When ſhall I ſee you again?

Sir Har.

Perhaps this Evening. But To-morrow without fail. Adieu.

Lady Traf.

Will you then go?

Sir Har.

I muſt.

Lady Traf.

You ſhall—but—can't you ſtay a little longer?

Sir Har.

I underſtand her well, but have another, newer Call at preſent.

[aſide.]

For what? That Time gone, you'll ſtill aſk more, and more. I know you, you'll be as unwilling in an Hour, to let me go, as you are now. You are too kind.

Lady Traf.

No, by Heaven. Stay but a little longer, and I will let you go.

Sir Har.
[28]

I cannot ſtay one Moment now, but I'll return this Evening. Upon my Honour I will.

Lady Traf.

Well, go then. Yet I cou'd wiſh you wou'd ſtay. Something within me tells me I'm ruin'd, loſt for ever, if you go.

Sir Har.

Fye, ſuch Weakneſs becomes a Girl. Go to your Harpſichord, and raiſe your Spirits. I'll be with you in an Hour.

[Exit.
Lady Traf.
[ſtrikes the Chords.]

The Strings, like me, are out of Tune. I cannot play. I know not what it is that ſinks me me thus at once. Methinks I am going to loſe him for ever. Ha, what's this! A Letter! directed to Sir Harry! A Woman's Hand too.—O my Heart!

[Reads.

YOU left me Yeſterday in Anger, becauſe I would not ruin myſelf for ever. How could you be ſo barbarous! For well you knew, ſhould I conſent, I am loſt for ever.

Loſt indeed, if you conſent. O Villain! Will not one Victim ſuffice? But let's ſee farther:

I can bear any Thing but your Anger: Tho' your Smiles are yet more dangerous; for then 'tis hard, hard to reſiſt you.

Poor Creature! Thou art on the Brink of Ruin. Thou ſtand'ſt upon a Precipice. Thou ſeeſt the Danger, yet avoid'ſt it not:

My Aunt is gone out. I dare not ſee you at her Houſe in her Abſence. Be at Mrs. Darnwell's, and I'll meet you there. I'll go aſſoon as this Letter will be delivered to you. I am, I fear too much yours, Maria.

[29] I fear ſo too. But hold, I may prevent her Ruin yet. I'll after him, and my by Preſence confound him.—Perhaps, enrag'd, he may abandon me. No Matter. Within—Jenny.

Enter Jenny.

Get me my Things ready, and order my Chair immediately.

[Exit.
Scene Mrs. Darnwell's.
Enter Sir Harry and Tom.
Sir Har.

Sirrah, do you wait below.

[Exit Tom]

Whither am I going, and for what? To take Advantage of a Weakneſs which a young and innocent Creature has for me. To rob her of the Calm ſhe now enjoys, and fill her Breaſt with Tumult and Diſorder. To make thoſe Eyes ere long o'erflow with Tears, that us'd to ſmile in Innocence; and all to gratify a brutal Appetite, which I could gratify another Way, and without Prejudice to her. Why what a Villain am I! No ſooner will ſhe have given up her laſt and deareſt Stake, but ſhe will give a Looſe to all thoſe warm Deſires, that yet lie ſmother'd in her Breaſt. Deſire fed, grows ſtrong and violent. No Tie, no Reſtraint then. Warm—tender—fond—Ha! The Thought tranſports me. To ſee the firſt hard Struggles 'twixt Modeſty and Love! To ſee her trembling with Deſire, afraid to ſhew it, and yet ſhewing it thro' all. By Heaven there's not a Joy in Life that equals ſuch a Scene. But then the following Scene! To ſee her drown'd in Tears, regretting what ſhe has done. Hiding her Eyes, not daring to look up, and conſcious that ſhe's not what ſhe was, yet charm'd with what ſhe is; for Love will conquer. I will not think on't. Futurity muſt anſwer [30] for itſelf; the preſent Time muſt be paſs'd away. The Scene of Life muſt ſhift, or we ſleep; but—

Enter Maid.
Maid.

Sir, there's a Lady within, that deſires to ſpeak with you.

Sir Har.

I come. Well, theſe are the moſt convenient Houſes, a Man cou'd wiſh to have. The Thoughts of a private Houſe has brought more young Girls to their Ruin, than the Fear of being ſeen in a publick one has kept from it.

[Exeunt.
Scene Angelina's Houſe.
Enter Angelina and Sir Lively.
Sir Liv.

'Tis ſtrange, Madam, you won't believe me, when I know it ſo well. I tell you, at this very Moment he is at a certain Place I can name you, with a Lady.

Ang.

What is it to me where he is,

[Peeviſhly]

or with whom.—Yet I long to know the Truth.

[Aſide.
Sir Liv.

If I can but perſuade her to go, and do but catch him there, I ſhall be reveng'd of him for this Morning's Raillery.

[Aſide.]

—Nay, nay, Madam, you ſhall go, and ſurprize him. 'Twill be moſt excellent Diverſion. I can't help ſmiling at the Thoughts of his Confuſion. Have you no Curioſity, Madam?

Ang.

More than I ſhall diſcover to you.

[aſide]

—That, Sir Lively, our Sex, you know, never wants.

Sir Liv.

Then, Madam, to engage you to go, I'll lay a Wager with you. D'you ſee this Snuff-Box? It coſt me forty Loui's at Paris; 'tis finely fancied, and moſt excellently wrought. Look at it, Madam. I'll wager this Box againſt the Quadrille [31] Set you bought this Morning, that if we go, we find him Tete a Tete with—

Ang.

You'll loſe, Sir Lively.

Sir Liv.

No matter, Madam, I'll venture.

Ang.

Well, if you will be ſo raſh.—But under what Pretence can we go to this Houſe, Sir Lively?

Sir Liv.

Why, Madam, 'tis only aſking Mrs. Laetitia to go with you to Mrs. Darnwell's to ſee ſome Lace. For the reſt you muſt truſt to Chance.

Ang.

Mrs. Darnwell's! She's my Milliner.

Sir Liv.

Lucky, beyond Expectation! Why you may queſtion her the more eaſily, and with the leſs Suſpicion.

Ang.

Nay, that wou'd ſeem too curious in me, as it is but to rally that Indifference he affects, that I ſhould deſire to catch him there, too particular an Inquiry wou'd make him think oddly of me.

Sir Liv.

Catch him there! I cou'd give you five hundred Inſtances of it. Why, Madam, I've known him been oblig'd to jump out of a Window five Stories high, at Paris, on an unexpected Return of a Huſband or Lover.

Ang.

Five Stories high, Sir Lively! What ſort of a Lady muſt that have been, that lodg'd ſo high?

Sir Liv.

A Woman of Quality, upon my Honour. A Counteſs, Madam. In Paris I've known many a Counteſs and Marquiſe lodge in a Cinquieme, egad, and glad to lodge there too.

Ang.

Fye, fye, Sir Lively, you wrong the French.

Sir Liv.

Why, Madam, would you believe it; he had the Aſſurance to rival me—me, Madam.

Ang.

I'm ſurpriz'd, indeed, Sir Lively, you two ſhould enter into Competition in any thing.

Sir Liv.

Ah, Ma—dam.

Ang.

But ſee, Mr. Heartly and Laetitia; they come a propos to go with us.

[32]Enter Heartly and Laetitia.

My Dear, I was going to Mrs. Darnwell's. She ſent me Word ſhe had a freſh Cargo of Lace, juſt arriv'd. Will you go?

Laet.

Any thing, to get rid of this tormenting Creature. He has ſo tiez'd me with Darts, that I ſhall never ſee him, but I ſhall think of the Picture of St. Sebaſtian we ſaw this Morning, ſtuck all over with Darts.

Hear.

With all my Heart, Madam; provided that Thought give Birth to another; I mean the Recompence for his Sufferings. Nothing leſs than the Joys of Paradiſe.

Laet.

Come, my Dear,

[interrupting]

let's go, or I ſhall be turn'd into a Paradiſe in an Inſtant, and be claim'd by him as a Reward for his Sufferings.—Is it not ſo?—Nay, don't anſwer me, for I won't hear it.

Ang.

Come, Mr. Heartly, you ſhall anſwer her as we go along.

Hear.

Mrs. Darnwell's! Ha, is not that a Houſe Sir Harry makes Uſe of on particular Occaſions? That Rogue, Sir Lively, has been prating; he mutter'd ſomething this Morning of what he knew. Hark'ee, Sir Lively, prevent their going, or by Heaven I'll cut your Throat.

Sir Liv.

I prevent it! How can I!—prevent it!—No, no, I know a Trick worth two of that.

Hear.

Well, Sir, you may repent it tho'.

Sir Liv.

All's one for that, Ned.

Ang.

What ſay you, Mr. Heartly?

Hear.

Madam, I'll wait on you. But had not we better firſt ſend to Sir Harry? Perhaps he'll go with us.

Ang.

Heartly wou'd prevent our going. Nay, then 'tis true.—Generous Friend!—No, I think [33] we may as well go without him. He does not underſtand Lace.

Hear.

As well as I do, Madam, at leaſt.—Prevent their going, Madam,

[to Laet.]

if poſſible. I can't tell you now my Reaſons: But be aſſur'd, Sir Harry will thank you, if you do.

Laet.

Now I think on't, my Dear, I can't go, nor you neither.

Ang.

I ſhan't ſtay. Come, Sir Lively, you and I will go. They want to be left alone.

Laet.

Nay, then we'll all go.

[Exeunt.
Scene Mrs. Darnwell's.
Enter Tom and Betty.
Tom.

I tell you, Child, my Maſter is engag'd, and you poſitively cannot ſee him.

Bet.

And I tell you, Sir, that if your Maſter was ten times more engag'd, I muſt and will ſee him. But pray, Sir, how long have you and I been ſo well acquainted?

[Pulls him by the Sleeve.]

Child, is a pretty familiar Expreſſion. You uſe no Ceremony, I ſee, with your Betters.

Tom.

Betters! What does the Baggage mean? Becauſe my Maſter does her the Honour to take a little Notice of her, ſhe thinks herſelf exalted a Degree above one of her own Rank.—Betters, Mrs. Betty! Why, I don't know, but methinks there's no ſuch great Difference between us. I'm Valet to a very fine Gentleman, and Inheritor of all his Vices, you Waiting-Woman to a very fine Lady, and Poſſeſſor in full of all her Follies and Affectations. So that as our Rank in Life is equal, and our Qualifications pretty much the ſame, I own I want Eyes to ſee the wide Difference you wou'd put between us.

Bet.

The Fellow ſays true. A good genteel [34] Perſon. But then he's a Footman. Foh, how rank that ſmells! A Girl that has once taſted of Gentility, can never ſink down to the mottly Tribe; at leaſt it ought to be the laſt Stake ſhe plays.—Well, Sir, will you be pleas'd to tell your Maſter I have ſomething to communicate to him.

Tom.

Communicate to him! How eloquent an Intrigue with a Gentleman makes a Chambermaid.

Bet.

You grow ſaucy, Friend.

Tom.

Come, come, Mrs. Betty, for once hear Truth, however diſagreeable it may ſound. What can you propoſe by being acquainted with a Gentleman? If you mean no Harm, 'tis playing with edg'd Tools. You may hurt yourſelf, tho' but in Play. And if you ſhou'd, as inſenſibly you may go too far, the utmoſt you can pretend to riſe to, is to be his—And for how long Time? A Month, two, three, a Year, ſuppoſe. At the End of which he leaves you, perhaps, with Child. Return to Service! No. You're above it. You change Maſters till you've ſerv'd all the Town, and your Wages are Infamy and Diſeaſes.—Nay, Mrs. Betty, 'tis wholeſome Phyſick, and, if you take it, may make you well again.

Bet.

I cou'd cry for Madneſs. But I don't care; I'll never mend, when I'm told of my Faults in ſo groſs a Manner.

Tom.

Whereas, if you give Way to a Paſſion with one of equal Rank with you, his Deſigns, at leaſt, are honourable. He will not preſume above what he may reaſonably expect. He'll court you for a Wife; and if he has deſerved well of his Maſter, and you of your Miſtreſs, they'll make you a Preſent that may enable you—

Bet.

To ſet up a Chandler's Shop, and live upon ſelling of Half Pennyworth's of Small-Beer, [35] and Quarters of Ounces of Tea. Foh, What a Life! But before we arrive to this charming State, this envied Period of Servitude; what Dangers do we not run thro'? If our Maſters or Miſtreſſes diſcover we are married, Warning is immediately given, and we muſt provide for ourſelves. If they know nothing of it, we find ſo many Excuſes to get out to ſee each other, and ſtay ſo long when we are ſent on Errands, that we are ſure to be turn'd away. And then farewel all Hopes of this noble Settlement. We live in a Garret, breed like tame Rabbits, wear out the Cloaths we got in Service, and having no Money to buy more, ſtink in coarſe Rags, and mutually curſe each other, to the melodious Concert of half a Dozen ſqualing Brats about our Ears.

Tom.

Well, Mrs. Betty, you may be as witty as you pleaſe, but give me leave to tell you—

Bet.

I have not done yet. I heard you out, now hear me. I'll grant you, a Chambermaid loſes her Character the other Way; but if ſhe has any Beauty, and Wit to make the moſt of it, it will go hard if ſhe do not make it worth her while. And Money, Mr. Thomas, you know, hides a great many Faults. Then the Elegancies of Life wipe away a Spot in one's Character; or at leaſt make one bear with it. Good Cloaths, Meat, Drink, Diverſions! To riſe from a low State to an Affluence of Fortune and Pleaſure, at leaſt to her. Oh! the Joy's not to be deſcrib'd, one muſt feel it. After all, one can at laſt match with one's Equal. He'll be glad to have us, if we bring our Welcome with us. He won't be ſo nice as to refuſe a handſome Suit of Cloaths, becauſe it has been a little ſoil'd; and we may, perhaps, be enabled to carry on a genteeler Profeſſion than a Chandler's Shop.

Tom.
[36]

Well, Mrs. Betty.

[Bell rings]

Oh, my Maſter rings. If you'll ſtep in here, I'll tell him you're below.

[Exit.
Bet.

I follow you. I can but take up with this Fellow at laſt. I'll try firſt what I can do with the Maſter. For to own a Truth, I have Ambition in me, and that is as difficult to be laid.—O lud, what am I going to ſay.

[Exit.
An upper Room in Mrs. Darnwell's Houſe.
Enter Sir Harry, ſpeaking as he comes on.
Sir Har.

Adieu, my deareſt Angel. Our Abſence ſhall not be long.—So that Affair's over, and now, with the Poet, I may ſay;

Round my gay Temples the wreath'd Laurel twine,
For I have conquer'd, and Corinna's mine.

S'death, what a Beauty 'tis!

Enter Tom.

Well, Sir.

Tom.

Sir, Mrs. Betty, Lady Angelina's Woman, is below, and deſires to ſee your Honour.

Sir Har.

And you told her, I ſuppoſe, my Honour was here.

Tom.

I thought you expected her.

Sir Har.

Why ſo I did, Raſcal, but ſomething has interven'd. I will not ſee her.

Tom.

I'll tell her ſo.

Sir Har.

Tell her what you will, and leave me.

[Exit Tom.
[37]Re-enter Tom, followed by Betty.
Tom.

Sir, I met her coming up, and ſhe wou'd not take my Anſwer.

Bet.
[after ſtanding a while, looking at Sir Harry.]

And ſo, Sir, you are not at Home for me. I ſuppoſe that Flirt that went from hence in a Chair, is the Cauſe of your uſing me ſo. But I'll be even with her. If I ever meet her again, I'll tear her Eyes out, proud Minx.

Sir Har.

Don't be in a Paſſion, Child, 'twill ſpoil your pretty Face.

Bet.

Stand off, I hate you.

Sir Har.

You lie, Huſſey, you don't.

Bet.

I do. I'll never ſee you more.

Sir Har.

One Kiſs at parting.

[In an affected Tone.
Bet.

Pſha, let me alone, be quiet.

Sir Har.

Another.—S'death how ſhe fires me! Will nothing tame me?

Bet.

I proteſt I'll cry out.

Sir Har.

You'd be ſorry any Body ſhould hear.

Bet.

Lard, there's ſuch a Wind comes in at that Door.

Sir Har.

I'll ſhut it.

Bet.

No.—

[Looking towards the Bed-Chamber.
Sir Har.

Oh, I underſtand her.

[aſide.]

We ſhall be warmer in the inner Room, Child.

Bet.

Is there a Fire there?

Sir Har.

Aſk no Queſtions. Go ſee.

[Exit Betty.]

What unneceſſary Buſineſs I bring upon myſelf! Oh, for ſome lucky Interruption!—I would not loſe her neither. She'll ſerve for idle Hours.

Enter Tom.
Tom.

O Sir, undone, ruin'd!

Sir Har.

What's the Matter?

Tom.
[38]

Lady Traffick, Sir!

Sir Har.

And what of her, Blockhead?

Tom.

Is juſt getting out of her Chair, and is now coming up Stairs. I hear her, Sir.

[Exit.
Sir Har.

Hell and the Devil! What can be the meaning of her coming? Some Fit of Jealouſy. I'll carry it with a high Hand. This is an Interruption with a Vengeance.

Enter Lady Traffick.

Madam, you expoſe yourſelf too much.

Lady Traf.

I know it, Sir.

Sir Har.

Why then do you do it?

Lady Traf.

Becauſe I care not what I do.

Sir Har.

You know it is of Conſequence that our Affair ſhould be conceal'd. There was a Time when you had ſome Regard for me.

Lady Traf.

There was a Time when you deſerv'd it.

Sir Har.

What means this Change of Humour? I left you in good Temper.

Lady Traf.

You did ſo; but left ſomething that ſoon deſtroy'd it.

Sir Har.

I underſtand you not. I'm tir'd of theſe croſs Purpoſes. Wou'd you be plain, I ſhou'd know what to anſwer.

Bet.
[within]

Sir Harry, Sir Harry!

Sir Har.

So, damn'd Schriech Owl!

Lady Traf.

Pray, Sir, go in.—Cruel Conviction!

[Aſide.
Sir Har.

My Siſter's Maid, Mrs. Darnwell's her Milliner. She ſent her for ſomething ſhe wanted, I ſuppoſe. An impertinent Jade to name me.

Lady Traf.

Why, what an enormous Villain you are! I hope I ſhall deſpiſe you e'er I go from hence.

Bet.
[within]

Why, Sir Harry, will you come?

[Enters, and ſtarts.
Sir Har.
[39]

Well, Child, have you got what you wanted?

Bet.

What I wanted?

Sir Har.

Ay, ay, what you came for.

Bet.

No, I have not got what I came for, nor am I like, there are ſo many Pretenders.

Lady. Traf.

Hence, trifling Wretch! Tho' I deſpiſe you, you are ſcarce ſafe.

Bet.

Who are you, pray?

[Pertly.
Sir Har.

Be gone, Child. Some other Time I'll ſatisfy you. You ſee the Occaſion is not favourable.

Bet.

Well, I'll go. But if e'er I come again, you ſha'n't ſerve me ſo.

[Exit.
Lady Traf.

Do, tell her ſome kind Thing, to ſooth her in her Diſappointment. How many miſerable Hours have you made me paſs, and not one kind Word or Look to make Amends. What a Monſter of Ingratitude are you? Am I diſtinguiſh'd but by harder Uſage? Cruel Compariſon! 'Tis more than I can bear.

Sir Har.

What mean you? 'Tis more than you can bear! Suppoſing all that you ſuſpect were true, can ſuch a trifling Creature make you jealous?

Lady Traf.

No. But ſhe that wrote this can.

[Gives a Letter.
Sir Har.

Ha, curs'd Negligence! Nay, then our Rupture's ſure.—No matter.

[Aſide.
Lady Traf.

What have you now to ſay? Boaſt, boaſt your mighty Conqueſt! Tell me, how you have ſeduc'd a Virgin Heart, already undermin'd by natural Softneſs. Say, I am come too late to prevent her Ruin; ſay, ſhe has yielded up all. I know ſhe has; I ſee it in your Eyes. They triumph in your cruel Victory. Baſe, baſe Man! I can forgive your wronging me. By Heaven, I do forgive it. Time and Uſe have made unhappy [40] me diſagreeable, and plead Excuſe for wronging me. But her!—Your Breaſt ſtill warm, your Eyes ſtill languid, juſt riſing from her Arms, that preſs'd you (I know it by myſelf) with killing Fondneſs! In ſuch Circumſtances as theſe, and the next Moment too, falſe to her! And with whom? A little leud Chamber-maid.

Sir Har.

How her Words ſting me! How hateful I muſt needs appear. But I muſt not let her ſee it. She will inſult too much.

[Aſide.]

—Well, Madam, you ſee there are Women in the World, young and handſome too, that like me with all my Faults.

Lady Traf.

'Tis falſe; they know you not. You appear an Angel to them, while in Fact you are a Devil. You ſhew not your true ſelf at firſt. You would not then be able to deceive ſo many.

[Sighs.]

Some, indeed, even then you might deceive. But you are more cunning than to truſt to that. You make your Conqueſt ſure, then ſhew yourſelf. The humble, fearful, modeſt Suppliant, at laſt becomes a haughty and imperious Tyrant. Not the leaſt Humour of this mighty Monarch muſt be thwarted then. His very Caprices muſt be reſpected. Ill Uſage muſt be return'd with Cheerfulneſs; nay, we muſt not ſigh nor weep, tho' our Hearts break. Should we or ſigh or weep, he flies, he will not ſee us; or, if he condeſcends to ſee us, 'tis not to look with Pity on our Weakneſs or our Sufferings, 'tis to behold 'em with a ſtony Heart, and barbarouſly urge us with unrelenting Obſtinacy, that our Paſſions growing too violent for our weak Frames, we ſink beneath the killing Weight.

Sir Har.

Why then do you love this cruel Tyrant?

Lady Traf.

Why, indeed! Oh give me Patience! The Queſtion well becomes you: but 'tis the Weakneſs of our Nature. I'll tell you, Sir; [41] we can't confine our Thoughts to what we ſuffer with you; that indeed might cure us. But we let 'em looſe, and they bring back to our charm'd Senſes former Scenes of Joy. There, there we fall. Our Paſſions catch the Alarm; we wake from preſent Miſery, by reflecting on paſt Happineſs. Our Paſſions prompt us to believe, that Happineſs may ſtill return. We credit what we wiſh; the fond Deluſion charms us, and we ſtill love on.

Sir Har.

But when you know it is in vain.

Lady Traf.

I underſtand you, Sir. I know it is in vain. Inſulting Man! You might have ſpar'd me that Knowledge.—Where's that Pride that ſo becomes a Woman!

Sir Har.

Hold, Madam, hear me in my Turn; I lov'd you, by Heaven 'tis true. I lov'd you with Sincerity. Your Perſon and your Mind engag'd me wholly. I thought I cou'd for ever love you, and none but you. I deceiv'd myſelf as well as you.

Lady Traf.

You may ſpare the reſt. It is enough you ſlight me. I aſk not why. I can diſpenſe with the ungracious Tale. You'll tell me I have been too fond; I know I have; but hate to hear it, ſince 'tis ſo ill repaid. Wou'd I had never ſhewn it.

Enter Tom with a Letter, which Lady Traffick ſnatches from him.
Sir Har.

Hold, Madam, ere it be too late. If you read it, I'll never ſee you more.

Lady Traf.

I care not.

Sir Har.

Yet be advis'd.

Lady Traf.

Never.

Sir Har.

Then hear me, Madam. Such Uſage as this, had I ruin'd you a thouſand times, as you are pleas'd to call it, I would not bear. All friendly Offices you may expect from me, but no more [42] Love. Your Fame and Perſon I'll protect from Scandal and from Violence. Farther, Madam, tho' you ſhould repent this Indiſcretion, 'tis in vain henceforth to hope from me.

[Exit.
Lady Traf.

Ha, gone! I know he wants but an Opportunity to break with me. Why let him take it. I can ne'er regain his Love, and to ſhare him with another, or ſee him kind to me out of Compaſſion!—Death, how contemptible that Thought makes me. Revenge is yet within my Power, and I will puſh it as far as Woman's Malice or Diſappointment can carry me.

[Reads.
Dear Sir Harry,

SOme Moments ſince I thought myſelf the happieſt of my Sex: But how uncertain is our Fate! I'm now the moſt wretched. I've juſt receiv'd a Letter from my Father, by which I find I am to be diſpos'd of to another. Aſſiſt me with your Counſel, and if you love me, free me from this hated Match; for I can never be any thing but yours,

Maria.

Poor Innocence! Read here your Fate. In me behold what you will be. But this is no Time for ſuch Reflections. Here I'll begin my Courſe of Revenge. I'll undeceive her firſt. Let him change as often as he pleaſes, I'll croſs him in all his Amours, and purſue him like his evil Genius. He ſhall not enjoy one eaſy Moment. If he e'er thinks of Marriage, I'll renew my Claim there too, and have at leaſt the Satisfaction to render his Love as unſucceſsful as my own.

[Going.
Enter Betty.

This Creature here!—Hold, ſhe may be of Service.

Bet.
[43]

I muſt diſſemble, tho' I hate the Sight of her.

[Aſide.]

—Mem, I beg you'd forgive the Boldneſs of my Intruſion; but I hope the News I have to tell you, will plead for my Excuſe.

Lady Traf.

Speak.

Bet.

Your Pardon, Madam, if before I go on, I take the Liberty to ſuppoſe Sir Harry is ſomething to you.

Lady Traf.

Proceed, Child, and don't be afraid.

Bet.

Baſe Man, to wrong ſo good a Lady! You muſt know then, Madam, that I am Woman to Lady Angelina.—You have heard of her.

Lady Traf.

Yes. But what does all this ſignify to me?

Bet.

Have Patience, Mem, and you ſhall know. The Intimacy Sir Harry's Siſter has with my Lady, brought him firſt to our Houſe. As he is a very agreeable Gentleman, it was not long before I perceiv'd my Lady grew uneaſy and reſtleſs, averſe to Company, which ſhe us'd to like, and, in ſhort, never pleas'd but when ſhe was talking of him, or elſe in his Company. Not to detain you longer, he makes honourable Love to her, and I believe 'twill be a Match. Now, Mem, if Sir Harry is engag'd to you, 'tis baſe in him to pretend Love to my Lady, and deceive you. As I hate falſe Men, and could not bear to be deceiv'd myſelf, I came to acquaint you how wicked a Man he is, and give you a Caution againſt his flattering Tongue.

Lady Traf.

Ha, 'twill be a Match, ſay you?

Bet.

Yes, Mem.—It works ſweetly. I'll teach him to ſerve me ſo.

[Aſide.]

—Mem, have you any farther Commands for me?

Lady Traf.

Hold, let me think.

Bet.

It will be rare Sport!

[Aſide.
Lady Traf.

Cou'd you ſtep home with me to my [44] Lodgings, and carry a Letter to your Lady for me? you wou'd do a Piece of Service to us both.

Bet.

And to myſelf too, or I'd ſee you and your Letter far enough.

[Aſide]

—Mem, I'll wait on you. You'll pardon my Freedom; but the Zeal I have to ſerve you—

Lady Traf.

I'm oblig'd to you.

Bet.

You would not ſay ſo, if you knew my Intention.

[Aſide.
L. Tr.
Thus for Relief hard Remedies we try,
And from one Paſſion to another fly,
Forgetting Love, while our Reſentment's high.
[Exeunt.
END of the THIRD ACT.

ACT IV.

[45]
Angelina's Houſe.
Betty with a Letter.

IF I forgive him, I wiſh I may be deceiv'd by every Man I truſt to; and that's the greateſt Curſe that could happen to me. So far 'tis well. I'm ſecure of Lady Traffick; if I can but work upon my own Lady as well, I may make 'em all quarrel, and then I may, perhaps, get him to myſelf. I'm ſure he likes my Perſon, and that is the beſt Hold. People may talk of Senſe and Virtue, and all that. They may be good in a formal Wife, but in a Miſtreſs, let her but have an agreeable Temper, and a pretty Perſon.—Heyho! I'm melancholy all of a ſudden. Wou'd Sir Harry was here. Yet I ought not to wiſh that neither, for one kind Word from him, wou'd make this Letter drop out of my Hands, and at once deſtroy my Plot. Bleſs me, he is here! I'll hide the Letter tho', and ſtand aſide.

[Puts it in her Boſom.]

Perhaps I may diſcover ſomething.

Enter Sir Harry.
Sir Har.

Was ever Man ſo juſtly puniſh'd! How barbarous am I to that unfortunate Creature, who owes her Ruin twice to me. Yet what can I do? I can never marry her, tho' ſhe has my Promiſe. I ought then at leaſt never to think of any elſe. Yet if I remain unfix'd, ſo ſtrong are my Paſſions, I ſhall never conquer 'em, and I may make [46] more Victims ſtill. Angelina, I think, has Charms enough to keep me to herſelf, and till I am fix'd, I fear I ſhall ſtill be unjuſt.—It ſhall be ſo. I'll ſtop my Ears againſt Reflection, till I have extricated myſelf.

Bet.

Say you ſo? I may, perhaps, involve you more.

[Comes forward.
Sir Har.

Is your Lady at home, Child?

Bet.

My Lady, forſooth! Will nothing but my Lady go down? I'm reſolv'd not to give him the Letter for this.

[Aſide.]

—No, Sir, but I believe ſhe will preſently. They went, my Lady and your Siſter, with Mr. Heartly and Sir Lively, to Mrs. Darnwell's.

Sir Har.

Mrs. Darnwell's! Death and the Devil! For what?—Speak.

Bet.

I can't tell.

[In a loud Tone.]

To ſee ſome Lace was the Pretence; but—

Sir Har.

But, what?

Bet.
[Laughing]

The real Cauſe was—

Sir Har.

Will you ſpeak, Huſſy?

[Taking her round the Neck to ſqueeze her Throat, ſees the Letter.]

Ha, what Letter's that?

Bet.

'Tis, 'tis, 'tis—

Sir Har.

What is it? Give it me this Inſtant.

Bet.

I won't.—'Tis from my Sweetheart.

Sir Har.

Nay, then I will have it.

[Whilſt he ſtruggles, knocking without.
Bet.

O Lud, Sir, for Heaven's ſake have done. 'Tis my Miſtreſs. I'll give it you by and by. Upon my Honour I will.

Sir Har.

Give it me this Inſtant. I'll not truſt you.

Bet.

There, take it. But for Heaven's ſake ſtep out the Back-way, and come in again. If my Lady ſhould ſee you—

Sir Har.

Well, I'll go. But hark'ee, Mrs. Minx, no more Sweethearts.

[Exit.
Bet.
[47]

No, indeed.—O lud, what ſhall I do? He has got the Letter, and my Lady will never believe me. Beſides, what Work ſhall I have with him! The Devil take me for being ſuch a Fool to put it in my Boſom, if I intended to keep it from him. Well, I'll go back to my Lady Traffick, and tell her all. O lud, here's my Lady, and Madam Laetitia with her. I'll retire before they ſee me.

[Exit.
Enter Angelina and Laetitia.
Ang.

We've loſt Sir Lively and Mr. Heartly.

Laet.

They are but ſtept into my Brother's to bring him here. They'll be ſoon enough, never fear. They'll not give us too much breathing Time.

Ang.

You'll want it, I'm ſure; you've run ſo faſt, one wou'd think you were going to meet a Lover.

Laet.

Rather, as if I were flying from one. Sure nothing's ſo deteſtable as a Man of Senſe, that pretends to be a Lover. Love is a quite different Thing in him, than in other Men.

Ang.

Only ſo much the more agreeable.

Laet.

Agreeable! O gad, how can you think ſo? Well, I ſhall hardly be able to bear any Lover this Month, I'm ſure. I have been ſo peſter'd by my ſenſible one.—

Ang.

I rather think you'll be able to bear none but him. 'Tis a ſure Sign when a Woman is uneaſy with what her Lover ſays; ſhe wiſhes, at leaſt, he wou'd talk in another Manner; and that, my dear, is one Step towards wiſhing for ſomething elſe.

Laet.

Something elſe! What, pray?

Ang.

Why to like what he does ſay.

Laet.

Lud bleſs me, you're ſtrangely poſitive. You wou'd fain make me believe—

Ang.
[48]

What, if I am any Judge, you will very ſoon own.

Laet.

Own what?

Ang.

That you love him.

Laet.

Him! Whom?

Ang.

Heartly, Heartly. Come, come, Child, all this affected railing—

Laet.

Nay, then we muſt change the Diſcourſe. How d'you think the tedious Creature entertain'd me at the Auction this Morning?

Ang.

So, this is changing the Diſcourſe.—Nay, the Lord knows. I'm ſure, in the Humour you are, 'twas fifty to one any thing he ſaid cou'd pleaſe you.

Laet.

Why by expreſſing his Pleaſure at the beautiful Appearance the Company made, by remarking the Variety of Taſtes, that reign'd in the Choice of Cloaths, and by drawing Concluſions from the Singularity of ſome Dreſſes, of the Senſe and Underſtanding of their Wearers. The Wretch did not ſay a Word of me all the while, and ſcarce look'd at me. But I was even with him.

Ang.

Oh, I don't queſtion that. But how pray?

Laet.

Why, in the Midſt of theſe wiſe Remarks, which he thought I took as much Pleaſure to hear, as he did to make, Sir Lively Brainleſs came running from the other Side of the Room, and deſir'd me to look at a young Lady that ſtood cloſe by me. Madam, ſaid he, wou'd you believe it? This young Lady I met at the other End of the Room, and thought her one of the moſt beautiful Creatures I ever ſaw; but when ſhe came and ſtood by you, ſhe appear'd to me ſo eclips'd and dim'd, that I came to ſee if it was the ſame Perſon. I did not know her again, I vow to gad. Lord, Sir Lively, ſaid I, you've ſo pretty a Way of laughing at one, that one can't be angry. This drew a [49] Repartee from him, and that another from me; ſo that Heartly, I ſuppoſe, finding our Dialogue too long, very civilly took his Leave, and I very civilly let him go. Ha, ha—

Ang.

Barbarous Creature! How cou'd you uſe him ſo?

Laet.

Wou'd I cou'd uſe him ten times worſe. But come, my Dear, ſhall we go to—

Ang.

Go! Whither wou'd you go, Child? Why they'll be here this Inſtant.

Laet.

Nay, if you've a mind to ſtay, I am very willing to keep you Company.

Ang.

No, my dear, I'd as lieve go.

Laet.

So had I too; but I don't know, it wou'd look odd to go, wou'd it not?

Ang.

I don't know if it would look odd; but I perceive you think it wou'd. Hark, I think I hear 'em in the next Room. Come, my dear, you are very unwilling now, are you not?

[Laughing.
Laet.

Pſha.

[Exeunt.
Lady Traffick's Lodging.
Lady Traffick and Betty.
Lady Traf.

And ſo he forc'd the Letter from you?

Bet.

Yes, Mem.

Lady Traf.

Is your Lady at Home now?

Bet.

I left her there, Madam.

Lady Traf.

Cou'd you procure me Means of ſpeaking to her?

Bet.

Yes, Mem.—This is rare.

[Aſide.
Lady Traf.

Come then, I'll prepare myſelf: Let's ſtep into the next Room. Jenny.

[50]Enter Jenny.
Jen.

Madam.

Lady Traf.

If Sir Harry comes, I am gone out. Be ſure you deny me, if he ſhou'd come before I am gone.

Jen.

Yes, Madam.

[Ex. L. Traffick and Betty.]

What can the Meaning of this be? The Doors us'd to fly open at his Approach. Well, 'tis not my Buſineſs.

Enter Sir Harry.
Sir Har.

This was lucky. That curs'd Jade Betty to enter into a Plot againſt me! As to my Lady Traffick, her Wrongs, indeed, might ſtir her to Revenge. I muſt go to her, and try if I can calm her. My Promiſe of Marriage to her, and her Knowledge of my Affair with Louiſa, both fairly ſtated in this damn'd Letter, wou'd have done my Buſineſs with Angelina.—Is my Lady Traffick above?

Jen.

No, Sir, ſhe's juſt gone out.

Sir Har.

Gone out! Whither?

Jen.

I really can't tell; but ſhe went out with Mrs. Betty, Lady Angelina's Woman.

Sir Har.

So! Damnation! Gone to Angelina's, I ſuppoſe. Hold, I may, perhaps, get thither before 'em.

[aſide.]

—How long is it ſince they went?

Jen.

The Moment before you enter'd. Sir Har. 'Tis well. I yet may overtake them.

[Exeunt ſeverally.]
[51]
Angelina's Houſe.
Enter Angelina, Sir Lively, Laetitia and Heartly.
Ang.

We were too late, Sir Lively, you have loſt.

Sir Liv.

I do confeſs it, Madam. The Bird was flown, but we'll cage him yet. However, Madam, I hope what Mrs. Darnwell ſaid was ſufficient to ſatisfy you in the main.

Laet.

Angelina, is it fair to engroſs Sir Lively thus!

Sir Liv.

I proteſt and vow, Madam, I aſk Pardon. But I thought, Ned there cou'd entertain a Lady for a Quarter of an Hour, without tiring her. I had ſomething of Conſequence to tell this Lady.—I hope, Madam, what I have already diſcover'd merits ſome Conſideration.

[To Angel.
Ang.

But I muſt have ſtronger Proofs, Sir Lively.

Sir Liv.

You ſhall, Madam, or may I be blaſted by your Frowns, like a too forward Tree by the Wind.

Ang.

This Fool will make me diſcover how much I deſpiſe him, before I've made the Uſe I intend of him, if I don't render the Diſcourſe more general.—Mr. Heartly, Laetitia, methinks for two Perſons that are always quarrelling, in Company, you agree very well by yourſelves.

Laet.

I proteſt, my dear, you are as full of Malice, as an old Maid; and beſtow it as often on your Friends.—Oh, here's my Brother!

Enter Sir Harry.
Sir Har.

I ſee no Marks of Lady Traffick's having been here yet, in Angelina's Looks.

[aſide]

—Madam, your Servant.

Ang.
[52]

Your Servant, Sir Harry.

Laet.

I believe, my Dear, we are beholden to you for his Company. I never ſee him, but here.

Ang.

You wou'd give me an ill Opinion of your Brother, Laetitia.

Sir Har.

He that gets her good Word, Madam, muſt have more Complaiſance for her Humours than falls to the Share of a Brother. If you, Madam, but think favourably of me, I ſhall not concern myſelf much how I ſtand in her whimſical Judgment.

Hear.

You ſee, Madam, what an Opinion your Brother has of you.

Laet.

I wou'd adviſe you, Sir, to take the Model from him.

[Gravely.
Sir Liv.

If I judge right, Sir, a Siſter can beſt tell.

Sir Har.

But you do not judge right, Sir, and never will. That's more.

Sir Liv.

Ah, le Brutal! He's jealous; I'll plague him a little.—Sir Harry, Madam, is ſo taken up with his own Thoughts, that he has no Taſte for the Converſation of the Beau Monde. Your Men of Senſe are always the dulleſt Animals in Company. Take 'em from their Books, and their highſpun Notions, which they do not underſtand themſelves, and you may fall aſleep for want of Converſation.

Sir Har.

And let me tell you, Sir, 'tis an Advantage to ſleep in ſome Companies. Your Body's refreſh'd, and your Mind not tir'd.

Sir Liv.

Politely ſaid. The Ladies are oblig'd to you.

Ang.

Believe me, Sir Lively, there are Charms in a Man of Senſe, a Woman thinks can never be too dearly purchas'd. Your Siſter and I, Sir Harry, tho' very good Friends, differ a little in our Opinions: [53] At leaſt ſhe would be thought to differ with me.

Hear.

What was the Subject of your Diſpute then, Ladies?

Laet.

A mere Trifle, Sir, a Man.

Hear.

'Twas a happy Trifle, however.

Ang.

I did not expect leſs from ſo polite a Man as Mr. Heartly. But we were diſputing, at leaſt coming to it, which would make the moſt agreeable Companion for Life, a Man of Senſe, or a pretty Fellow.

Sir Liv.
[Shrugging]

Ah, Madam!—How ſhe ey'd me! She's taken. Nay, I never doubted theſe Parts.

[Aſide.
Sir Har.

Well, Madam, and how did you determine the Point?

Sir Liv.

Hark'ee, Sir Harry, don't preſs this Matter farther, for your own ſake. You may hear ſomething you may not like.

Sir Har.

Pert Coxcomb!

[Aſide.
Ang.

Why, truly, Sir Harry, you came in before we determin'd any thing about it.

Sir Har.

Then, Madam, we are not too late to hear it.

Sir Liv.

Ay, ay, Madam, let's hear it. Pronounce,—decide.

Ang.

Why really, Sir Lively, my Opinion is, a Man of Senſe can never make a bad Huſband, unleſs he has a bad or fooliſh Wife. He may rob his Wife of many tender Moments, and beſtow them on underſerving Creatures. If ſhe has but Prudence, ſhe will conquer.

Sir Liv.

Gad, I don't like that, tho'.

[Aſide.
Sir Har.

A Woman, Madam, that thinks as you do, brings too much Happineſs along with her, not to prevent any Man's ſeeking it elſewhere.

Ang.
[54]

That's more than I know, Sir.

Sir Liv.

Oh, I thought ſhe wou'd come about again.

[Aſide.]

A Man of Senſe, Madam, will expect ſo many Things in a Wife, that it will be impoſſible for her to ſatisfy him. Now, a pretty Fellow, Madam, is eaſier, and has always ſomething light and gay to entertain her with.

Ang.

Very true, Sir Lively. Yet if I lov'd him, I think I could not have too much of his Company; if not, too little.

Sir Har.

How delicate her Sentiments are, and yet how tender!

Sir Liv.

I don't know what to make of this, tho'.—Nay, Madam, if you won't take what I ſay for granted, I have done. I never prove any thing; I only aſſert. If it hits right, well: If not, it gives me an Opportunity to pay a Compliment to a Lady's Underſtanding, by retracting what I aſſert, and owning myſelf convinc'd by her ſuperior Senſe.

Ang.

I'm afraid, Sir Lively, the Ladies are more oblig'd to their Sex, than Senſe, when they bring you over. But let's change this Diſcourſe. We grow too ſerious.

Enter Servant, whiſpers Sir Lively.
Sir Liv.

A Servant at my Houſe, ſay you, from my Uncle?

Serv.

Yes, Sir, and he ſays he muſt ſee you immediately.

Sir Liv.

I come.

[Exit Serv.
Ang.

We ſhan't loſe you, Sir Lively!

Sir Liv.
[aſide]

Kind Soul! She can't be a Moment without me.—No, Madam, I'll but juſt receive the old Gentleman's Commands, and return, ſwift as my own Wiſhes—or yours.

[Exit.
Sir Har.
[55]

This Opportunity is lucky. Draw off my Siſter.

[To Hear.
Hear.
[to Laet.]

Madam, you promis'd to ſhew me the fine Screen you bought for Lady Angelina this Morning.

Laet.

That's true; 'tis but in the next Room. Come, Mr. Heartly, follow me, and I'll ſhew it you. 'Tis exceeding pretty.

Hear.

I don't doubt it, Madam, if it be your Taſte.

Ang.

Where are you gadding now?

Laet.

But into the next Room.—My Brother will be glad of this Opportunity.

[Aſide.
[Exit Laet. and Hear.
Ang.

If you ſtay there, I'll follow you.—What do they mean by leaving me alone!

[Aſide.
Sir Har.

I don't know how to begin. I never was at a Loſs before.

[Aſide.
Ang.

What ſhall I ſay to him? This Silence is worſe than any thing I can ſay. I don't know what to talk of.

[Aſide.]

—Methinks, they ſtay—very long,—Sir Harry.

Sir Har.
[confus'd]

I can never think the Time long, Madam, that furniſhes me with an Opportunity of being alone with a Woman whoſe Converſation has equal Charms with her Perſon, and whoſe Perſon—

Ang.

S--ir.

Sir Har.

I'm dumb. I never put the honourable Queſtion before, and am as aukward at it,

[Aſide.]

—I ſay, Madam, there is ſomething ſo ſoft in the Society of a Woman of Senſe and Beauty, that a Man, bleſs'd by Fortune in other Reſpects, wants nothing but to paſs his Life with ſuch a Companion, to be compleatly happy.

Ang.

You differ very much, Sir Harry, from the fine Gentlemen of the Age, who ſeem not to [56] think Senſe in a Woman ſo eſſential to the married State.

Sir Har.

Experience, Madam, is the Mother of true Judgment. Thoſe fine Gentlemen you mention, are either too young to judge right, or too much hurried by their Paſſions, which Fortune enables 'em to indulge to Exceſs, to follow what is right.

Ang.

It muſt, however, give a thinking Woman ſome Pain, to find even Men of Senſe can't value them as they ought, till they are ſated with Pleaſures, and have loſt their Reliſh for them.

Sir Har.

The Education of our Sex, ſo different from that of yours, gives us ſuch early and unbounded Liberties, that a thinking Woman muſt look with Indulgence on our early Failings; eſpecially, ſince we are the principal Sufferers, in neglecting real Happineſs to follow the Phantom.

Ang.

Come, come, Sir Harry, this Apology ought not to paſs for the ſenſible Part of your Sex, who ſtray in full Daylight.

Sir Har.

Then, Madam, let me throw myſelf at your Feet, and acknowledge my Faults. Give me leave to thank you for putting me in the right Way, and allow me to conduct my future Steps, by your better Judgment.

Ang.

What does he mean?—You rally me, Sir Harry.

Sir Har.

Well may you think it ſo, Madam. The Looſeneſs of my former Life, which I've wanted even Diſcretion to hide, may make you call in queſtion my preſent more ſerious Reſolutions.

Ang.

I muſt not hear you, Sir Harry.

[Going.
Sir Har.

Forgive me, Madam, if I detain you [57] againſt your Will. Let me be ſtill more plain; talk to your Senſe, and not your Sex. There never was any Perſon, how wild ſoever he may have been, but in his more ſerious Moments has form'd ſome Scheme of Happineſs for Life. How often, tho' perhaps you'll not believe it, have I pleas'd myſelf that the Time would come when I ſhould arrive at that happy Calm that fits one for ſuch a Life. Hitherto my Joys, however great, have been imperfect. Reflection will be heard, and lead, ſoon or late, to a right Way of Acting. What I have been, I would have every body forget; as much as I myſelf ſhall avoid henceforth to be. What I ſhall be, depends not on myſelf. The Scheme of Happineſs I now propoſe—

Ang.

I muſt interrupt him, or he'll go too far.

[Aſide.]

—If that Scheme be a virtuous one, Sir Harry, I wiſh you Succeſs in it with all my Heart.

Sir Har.

Bare Wiſhes, however kind, cannot compleat my Happineſs.

Ang.

When Wiſhes are all we have—

Sir Har.

There, Madam, I muſt contradict you.

Ang.

What is he going to ſay!

[Aſide.
Sir Har.

The Scheme of Happineſs which I propoſe, is founded on that tender Friendſhip which the married State alone can entertain.

Ang.

How I tremble!

[Aſide.
Sir Har.

But a Youth ſo inconſiderately ſpent as mine, ſcarce gives me Room to hope I ſhall be credited, when I aſſure you, I have long conceal'd a Paſſion, I ſcarce dare even now diſcover. Be not ſurpriz'd at this Confeſſion, Madam; however ſtrange my Conduct may appear, it may, perhaps, hereafter be explain'd, could I but flatter myſelf that I ſhould find in you a Judge inclin'd to hear me with a favourable Ear.

Ang.
[58]

Preſs me no further, Sir Harry. One can never think too much on that, which muſt make one's future Happineſs or Miſery. Let it ſuffice, for this Time, I can ſee your good Qualities, thro' the Cloud of Paſſions that o'ercaſt them.

Sir Har.

Then, Madam, be you the Sun, whoſe genial Warmth ſhall ripen them into Virtues. This is the Criſis of my Fate.

Enter Betty, whiſpers Angelina.

I little thought I ſpoke ſo true. Damn'd Jade! This muſt be ſome Meſſage from my Lady Traffick.

[Aſide.
Ang.

A Lady, ſay you, deſires to ſpeak with me, on ſomething that concerns me nearly!

Sir Har.

Ay, 'tis ſo. The Devil!

[Aſide.
Ang.

What can this be? Something, I dare ſay, that relates to his Youth, too inconſiderately ſpent, indeed. Pray Heaven no body claims a Right to him.

[Aſide.]

—Conduct her to my Cloſet, I'll come inſtantly.

Bet.

I ſhall be reveng'd now.

[Sir Har. frowns.]

No matter for that.

[Exit.
Ang.

Sir Harry, I muſt beg your Pardon for a little while, a particular Reaſon obliges me to leave you for a Moment. In next Room you'll find Mr. Heartly and your Siſter. I ſhall not ſtay.

Sir Har.

Let me beg you wou'd not leave me, quite uncertain of my Fate. One Word might make me the happieſt of my Sex. Give me but Leave to hope.

Ang.

Why ſhould I hide my Sentiments any longer? I do love him, and wiſh him mine.

[Aſide.]

—Well, Sir, I give you Permiſſion to believe as you wiſh.

Sir Har.
[59]
[Kneeling, kiſſes her Hand]

On my Knees let me thank you. My Heart is eaſy now; I feel a Flow of Joy!—Oh Angelina, may I then hope to call you mine!

Ang.

I'm ſure my Heart is eaſier than it was.

[aſide.]

—Well, will you let me go now?

Sir Har.

Yes, if you'll return quickly.

Ang.

Well, well.

[Exit.
Sir Har.

I think I've nothing to fear now.

At length my Boſom feels returning Rest,
Love pleads my Cauſe in Angelina's Breast.
[Exit.
END of the FOURTH ACT.

ACT V.

[60]
Enter Heartly and Laetitia.
Laet.

MR. Heartly, you've been taking a great deal of Pains to convince me of a Thing I never can believe.

Hear.

What's that, pray, Madam?

Laet.

Why, Sir, that you are capable of being in Love.

Hear.

That's very hard, Madam. To be denied the Privilege of feeling what the meaneſt of my Sex feels, is ſomething tyrannical.

Laet.

The meaneſt of your Sex! Profane Creature! Can Love harbour in mean Breaſts?

Hear.

Love, Madam, knows neither Birth nor Fortune. Where it finds a Soul capable of receiving it, it lodges, and is as pleas'd to warm the meaneſt as the nobleſt Breaſt.

Laet.

I don't know what Love you talk of.

Hear.

The Love I talk of, Madam, is that Paſſion that fills us with generous Sentiments in Behalf of the Perſon we like; and if the meaneſt Artiſan, in Proportion to his Senſe and Underſtanding, feels ſuch Sentiments, he feels Love in its greateſt Delicacy.

Laet.

You talk like an Oracle, Sir, I ſhall improve.

Hear.
[61]

May I flatter myſelf, Madam, the Improvement will be to my Advantage? It is but juſt, ſince you are pleas'd to own it will come from me.

Laet.

Sir, you ſeem too intereſted in your Wiſh, to be capable of thoſe generous Sentiments you require in a Lover.

Hear.

If to wiſh to poſſeſs a Woman, who, to an agreeable Perſon, joins a ſuperior Underſtanding and Temper, fram'd to pleaſe and to be pleas'd, be to be intereſted, I own I am ſo, and glory in it. And if to theſe happy natural Circumſtances, I add the Conſideration that ſhe is Siſter to my Friend, nothing is wanting to compleat the Fulneſs of my Joy; but—

Laet.

But—but—what, Sir?

Hear.

I wou'd read it in your Eyes,

[takes her Hand, ſhe turns away]

but you withdraw 'em from me. 'Tis kindly done, if arm'd with Anger, not to let me ſee 'em; but unkind, if—

Laet.

If—if—Lord, what are you going to ſay? Well, ſay what you will. I am not in a Humour to contradict you. There, now read.

[Looks at him.]

Well—nay, if you're ſo tedious.

Hear.

Tedious! O, I cou'd read for ever here. My Joy's too great for Words to give it Vent.

Laet.

I have betray'd myſelf; he ſees too much.

[Aſide.]

—Come, Mr. Heartly, let's go to my Brother and Angelina. What will they think of us?

Hear.

I believe, Madam, they've thought as little of us, as we of them.

[Going.
Enter Sir Harry.
Sir Har.

O Siſter, O Friend! If you refuſe me your Aſſiſtance now, my Peace of Mind is gone for ever.

Laet.

What d'you mean, Brother? I never ſaw [62] you thus before. You ſeem too concern'd not to command our utmoſt. Speak!

Sir Har.

Heartly, you remember the Story I told you this Morning. You'll explain it to my Siſter. I have no Time to loſe now. That Lady is now with Angelina; Revenge has puſh'd her to deſtroy my Hopes in her, whom I had juſt before brought to confeſs a Regard for me. I found a growing Paſſion in every Word and Look—but fear ſhall never ſee it more. She, by this, knows all my former fooliſh Engagement; and I know her Virtue is too delicate ever to conſent, were there but the Shadow of a Promiſe extant againſt me.

Hear.

This is unfortunate, indeed. But I wou'd adviſe you to join them immediately. I'll but prepare your Siſter, and we'll follow you, Time enough, perhaps, to ſave you.

Sir Har.

O Friend, I cannot ſtir. My Conſcience weighs me down; I can never face that injur'd, guiltleſs Woman, not dare behold the aweful Severity of Angelina's Looks. My Heart is torn betwixt conflicting Reſolutions. Virtue and Paſſion move me with ſuch equal Force, I can yield to neither; and to live divided thus—

Hear.

Come, come, you muſt go. The Preſence of what we love, oft weakens the ſtrongeſt Argument againſt us.

Laet.
[aſide]

There is ſome Truth in that. Come, Brother, Mr. Heartly adviſes well.

Hear.

Nay, I will be Maſter now.

[Forces him out.
[63]
Another Apartment of Angelina's.
Enter Angelina and Lady Traffick.
Lady Traf.

You've heard my Story, Madam.

Ang.

I've heard, indeed, too much.

[Aſide.
Lady Traf.

What can you expect from one ſo void of Honour and of Truth?

Ang.

What, indeed?

Lady Traf.

'Tis true, I cannot force him to marry me; but till I have diſengag'd him from his Vow, he cannot be another's.

Ang.

Oh, no! If what you ſay is true; and there is but too much Reaſon to believe it, tho' I lov'd him better than ever Woman yet lov'd, I never wou'd be his: Nor will I build my Happineſs on your Misfortune.

Lady Traf.

I thank you, Madam, I expected no leſs from you.

[Angelina walks about concern'd.
Enter Sir Harry.

Ha, he's here. Be firm, my Heart, and let me ſpeak my Wrongs, tho' I ſhou'd loſe him quite, and be for ever miſerable.

Sir Har.

'Tis ſhe! Confuſion! I read my Fate in Angelina's Looks.

Lady Traf.

Here, Madam, he is, be you my Judge. If he denies a Word of what I ſay, let me be ſtill more wretched, if poſſible, than I am.—Sir—I cannot look at him, and ſpeak,—yet I muſt.—Sir, 'tis to you I ſpeak; anſwer me. Did you not rob me of my Innocence, under the ſolemn Promiſe of Marriage? Were not our Vows exchang'd, and mutually plighted to each other? Did you not break theſe Vows, almoſt [64] aſſoon as made, and force me (tho' my Tears and faithful Love to you ſpoke my Reluctance) to give myſelf to another? Did you not even tempt me to violate the very Vows which you compell'd me to make? I was not quite ſo loſt to Virtue: Can you deny all this?—No. Your Silence juſtifies the Charge.

Ang.

I ſee too plain it does, I want no other Proof.—Madam, believe I feel your Wrongs, as if they were my own. Compaſſion is the Glory of our Sex, and well becomes its Softneſs.—'Tis now too late, Sir Harry, to deny I had harbour'd ſome favourable Sentiments of you. But tho' I have a Soul that can love, know it can combat any Sentiment which wrongs another or itſelf. You ſee, Sir, the Reaſon of my Conduct, and cannot cenſure my Juſtice.

Sir Har.

I can't indeed. Your Sentence, Madam, is juſt. The Wrongs I've done this Lady, whoſe only Fault was loving me too tenderly, merit the ſevereſt Puniſhment. You have it in your Power, and do inflict it. I've made one miſerable, (wou'd there were but one) 'tis juſt I ſhou'd be ſo myſelf. Lucia, you ſeem to be ſurpriz'd to ſee me with ſo calm a Look. Know, that I'm aſham'd of my inhuman Uſage of you, and will make any Amends within my Power. You ſought Revenge, you have it, and I blame you not. Cou'd Love once fled return, even that I'd give; for I have been a Savage to you, and wanted even Humanity to pity you.

Lady Traf.

Theſe Words, Sir Harry, at another Time, had made me the happieſt of my Sex; but now they ſerve to make me the moſt miſerable. I ſee, by ſad Experience, I render both myſelf and you unhappy. But I will tear this Tyrant Love, from my fond Boſom, ſince it can meet with no Return from yours.

Sir Har.
[65]

Let me but tell you what Return you may expect.

Lady Traf.

What wou'd you tell me! I know you cannot love me. Were it in your Power, I do believe you wou'd. I know you are human, tender and good-natur'd: But wild Deſires, and unruly Paſſions tear up all that's generous in you, and leave you to a conſidering Mind, an Object of Compaſſion, even more than me.

Ang.

Who could wrong ſuch Goodneſs!

[Aſide.
Lady Traf.

Hear me, Sir Harry; 'tis, perhaps, for the laſt Time. I can never hate you. Hate you, did I ſay?—Ah no! I muſt for ever love you, ſpite of myſelf. 'Tis equitable too I ſhould. Thus, wiſe Providence will make my Crime my Puniſhment.

Sir Har.

Call it not ſo. 'Twas I deceiv'd you. You believ'd me lawfully yours, and indulg'd a Fondneſs that well became your Youth and Paſſion. Add not to your unhappy Fate, a Crime you were not guilty of.

Lady Traf.

No more of that. For my own Peace I will avoid ſeeing you more. I give up all thoſe flattering Thoughts of Happineſs, with which I fed my poor deluded Heart! A Happineſs that was ſo great, it ſtifled all the Cries of Conſcience and of Honour. My future Care ſhall be to make my Peace with Heaven, and lead a Life, if poſſible, without Miſery.

Sir Har.

How contemptible do I appear to her ſuperior Merit!

Lady Traf.

I came hither with a Deſign to revenge myſelf on you; but I have ſince reflected, I could not puniſh you, without involving more than the Guilty. Nay, I find I cannot have the Heart to puniſh you.

Ang.

Generous Creature!

[Aſide.
Lady Traf.

Hear me. Whilſt you continue free, [66] and diſengag'd, I ſhall ſtill think I have ſome Right to you; and, perhaps, indulge ſome fond Wiſhes that will only make me miſerable. Were you engag'd, the Knowledge that you cannot be mine, would ſtrengthen my Reaſon, and free my future Life from Conflicts, dangerous to my Peace of Mind.

Ang.

Ha, what's that?

[Aſide.
Lady Traf.

Madam, 'tis to you I now ſpeak. I told you of a Promiſe of Marriage from Sir Harry to me, made in early Youth. As we were both too young to judge of Happineſs when that Vow was made, I here acquit him of his Promiſe, and withdraw my own. He is now free.

Ang.

This is too much; I'll never be outdone in Generoſity.

Sir Har.

Lucia, you have indeed reveng'd yourſelf. This generous Action will never be forgot, nor ever be remember'd, but with Pain.

[Turns to Ang.
Ang.

Hold, Sir. True Happineſs muſt be without Alloy. I ſhall never think of this Lady, but I ſhall look upon myſelf as a Bar to her Peace of Mind. And tho' thro' Exceſs of Goodneſs, which very Goodneſs ſhou'd confound you, ſhe can give up her Happineſs to procure that of the Man by whom ſhe's ruin'd, I never can conſent, and never will. Your Reaſon, Sir Harry, points the Path you have to follow, mine, which I am to avoid.

Lady Traf.

The Sentiment, Madam, is kind and generous. But my Miſery or Happineſs muſt henceforward depend upon myſelf alone; and I, Madam, will never be his. He is free.—Here, Sir Harry, is your Letter. I could almoſt wiſh I had never ſeen it; but ſince I have, let me beg you never to ſee that Perſon more. Her Paſſion is but young; ſhe yet may conquer it, if you avoid ſeeing her.

Sir Har.
[67]

I never will.

Ang.

Take Comfort, Madam. There are but few that know this fatal Secret. Believe me, Madam, as delicate a Senſe of Virtue as I have, I do acquit you. Have Patience, you may yet be happy.

Lady Traf.

I will be govern'd by you. Your Leave, Madam, at preſent to retire. I am unfit to ſtay.

Ang.

Yet more unfit to go. Make my Houſe your Home, till you are more recover'd. Betty, conduct the Lady out, I'll follow ſoon.

[Exit Lady Traf. with Betty.
Enter Heartly and Laetitia.
Laet.

Poor Lady! ſhe well deſerves a better Fate.—We've overheard all. And now, my Dear,

[to Ang.]

I hope there remains nothing that may affect my Brother's Intereſt in your Heart.

Enter Sir Lively, running.
Sir Liv.

Pity me, my Deareſt. Ladies, pity me, or wiſh me Joy, or both: For by this Light, I don't know whether I ſhould be glad or ſorry.

Ang.

Why, what's the Matter, Sir Lively?

Sir Liv.

Nay, no great Matter.—You muſt not think of having me, Madam.

Ang.

How, Sir Lively, why you are not married!

Sir Liv.

Not poſitively. But it looks very like it. Sir Harry, do you know my Uncle's rich Ward?

Sir Har.

His Ward!

Sir Liv.

Ay, his Ward. What doſt ſtart at?

Ang.

Do you mark your Brother's Surprize? I'll be hang'd if this Spouſe of Sir Lively is not the other mention'd juſt now.

[Aſide to Laet.
Sir Har.
[68]

So—And you have been there already?

Sir Liv.

Ay, that I have. Egad, I flew thither, Hark'ee, ſhe's a fine Woman, faith.

Sir Har.

Well, and you ſaw her?

Ang.

How he queſtions him!

[Aſide.
Sir Liv.

Ay. But ſuch a Sight! I found her all in Tears, juſt recover'd from a fainting Fit. I ſuppoſe her Father's Letter, with the News of her ſudden Happineſs, diſorder'd her.

Sir Har.
[aſide]

I fancy I cou'd give a better Reaſon for it.

Sir Liv.

But, egad, I never minded that. I made my Speech; and 'twas a pretty one, upon my Honour.

Sir Har.

I believe you, Sir.

[Turns away.
Sir Liv.

So cold! Perhaps, Sir, you are ſome ſecret Rival?

Sir Har.

No, faith, Sir: And to prove that I have no Pretenſion to her, if this Lady, ſince you have told her ſhe muſt not think of you, were inclin'd to believe ſhe has Charms enough to reclaim me—

Ang.

I don't know whether I ought to venture. 'Tis a great Riſque, when Happineſs lies at Stake. But come, Sir Harry, 'tis too late now to go back. Here's my Hand. If I have Reaſon to repent, I can blame none but myſelf.

Sir Har.

I dare venture to aſſure you, you will have none.

Hear.

Muſt we be idle, Madam?

[To Laet.
Laet.

Is there ſo much haſte?

Hear.

Madam, I'll wait your Leiſure.

[Affecting Gravity
Laet.

D'you hear the Creature! Well, I'l puniſh you, I'm reſolv'd, and conſent at once Here, Sir, my Hand. Nay, take it, while I an in the Humour.

Hear.

And not your Heart!

Laet.
[69]

A Hand is eaſily recall'd, but a Heart once gone, is gone for ever.—But come, Sir, you ſeem to look as if you thought they both go together.

Sir Liv.

If they don't, Ned, 'tis no great Matter. If one comes firſt, t'other will ſoon follow. Poor Rogues, they can't keep their Hearts long from us, when they've once made us Maſters of the Key to them. Ha, ha.

Enter Betty.
Bet.

I'm impatient till I know what's done. I'll venture in.—Madam, did your Ladiſhip call?

Ang.

No.

Bet.

Has your Ladiſhip any more Commands?

Sir Har.

No, Child, but I have. With your Leave, Madam.

Ang.

You muſt command now.

Sir Har.

I have a Man that has ſerv'd me long and faithfully. The Way of Life I am now going into, renders his Service uſeleſs to me. I long intended him a Farm of forty Pounds a Year. But as he will want a neat and clean Houſekeeper, to ſhare the Management of it, I have fix'd my Eyes on Mrs. Betty, your Woman, who ſeems to be cut out for an excellent Houſewife.

Bet.

Are all my Hopes come to this!

Sir Har.

Here, Tom.

Enter Tom.

Sirrah, what ſay you to a Farm of 40l. a Year, and a pretty Wife?

Tom.

And a Child already got, I ſuppoſe.—Sir, for the Farm I return you my moſt grateful Acknowledgements, for that cannot but turn out a real Good and Advantage to me. How this other Freehold may prove, I can't tell.—But 'tis no [70] Matter.—I'll venture to take a Leaſe for Life. But hark'ee, my Dear, no Huſbandman but myſelf, d'you hear, no Labourer to help me to do my Work. I'll warrant thee, Girl, I'll keep thee in good Order myſelf.

Bet.

Well, Tom, if thou art but as good as thy Word, I promiſe thee thou ſhalt reap the Fruits of No-body's Labour but thy own. But take heed. If like a lazy Lubbard you grow idle, and lee good Land run into Common, for want of enriching the Soil as it ought, it will fall to the Lord of the Manor again, and then, you know, he has a Right to turn his own Cattle a grazing there.

Sir Har.

Come, Madam, we are now engag'd in a Voyage for Life. 'Tis for both our Intereſts to make it agreeable and happy. I ſhall do my Endeavour to give you no Uneaſineſs. Let's forget the paſt, and look forward.

When Paſſion governs with deſpotick Sway,
And its enchanting Dictates we obey,
Our Spirits, lifted up, a while we ſail,
And plough Love's Ocean with a proſperous Gale:
Till, like a Tempeſt, Vice, at laſt, appears,
And full on Rocks and dangerous Quickſands bears.
If then ſome Pilot, with unerring Hand,
Oe'r the loſt Barque deigns but to take Command,
The Rocks we dreaded moſt, with Eaſe, be ſhuns;
And ſafe to Port the ſinking Veſſel runs.
[Exeunt Omnes.
END of the FIFTH ACT.
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Citation Suggestion for this Object
TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 4011 The lady s revenge or the rover reclaim d A comedy As it is acted at the Theatre Royal in Covent Garden. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-5B94-7