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FALSE DELICACY: A COMEDY.

[Price One Shilling and Six-Pence.]

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☞ THIS Play is, agreeable to ACT OF PARLIAMENT, entered in the Hall Book of the Company of Stationers, and whoever preſumes to print it will be proſecuted. — The Proprietors will reward any one who will give Information of ſuch Proceeding.

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FALSE DELICACY: A COMEDY; AS IT IS PERFORMED AT THE THEATRE-ROYAL IN DRURY-LANE. BY HIS MAJESTY'S SERVANTS.

By HUGH KELLY.

LONDON, PRINTED FOR R. BALDWIN, No. 47, PATER-NOSTER-ROW; W. JOHNSTON, No. 16, and G. KEARSLY, No. 1, in LUDGATE-STREET. M DCC LXVIII.

TO DAVID GARRICK, Eſq.

[]
Dear SIR,

I HAVE two motives for inſcribing this piece to you, gratitude and vanity; gratitude, becauſe it's ſucceſs has been greatly owing to your judicious advice; and vanity, becauſe I wiſh to acquaint the world that ſuch a character as Mr. Garrick, has been warmly the friend of his ſincerely affectionate,

And very much obliged, Humble Servant, HUGH KELLY.

PROLOGUE,

[]
Spoken by Mr. KING.
I'M vex'd—quite vex'd — and you'll be vex'd—that's worſe;
To deal with ſtubborn ſcribblers! there's the curſe!
Write moral plays — the blockhead! — why, good people,
You'll ſoon expect this houſe to wear a ſteeple!
For our fine piece, to let you into facts,
Is quite a Sermon, — only preach'd in Acts.
You'll ſcarce believe me, 'till the proof appears,
But even I, Tom Fool, muſt ſhed ſome tears:
Do, Ladies, lock upon me — nay, no ſimp'ring —
Think you this face was ever made for whimp'ring?
Can I, a cambrick handkerchief diſplay, —
Thump my unfeeling breaſt, and roar away?
Why this is comical, perhaps he'll ſay —
Reſolving this ſtrange aukward bard to pump,
I aſk'd him what he meant? — He ſomewhat plump,
New purs'd his belly, and his lips thus biting,
I muſt keep up the dignity of writing!
You may, but, if you do, Sir, I muſt tell ye,
You'll not keep up that dignity of belly;
Still he preach'd on. — "Bards of a former age
Held up abandon'd pictures on the ſtage,
Spread out their wit, with facinating art,
And catch'd the fancy, to corrupt the heart;
But happy change! — in theſe more moral days,
You cannot ſport with virtue, even in plays;
On virtue's ſide, his pen the poet draws,
And boldly aſks a hearing for his cauſe."
Thus did he prance, and ſwell. — The man may prate,
And feed theſe whimſies in his addle pate,
That you'll protect his muſe, becauſe ſhe's good,
A virgin, and ſo chaſte! — O Lud! O' Lud!
No muſe the Critic Beadle's laſh eſcapes,
Though virtuous, if a dowdy, and a trapes:
If his come forth, a decent likely Laſs,
You'll ſpeak her fair, and grant the proper paſs;
Or ſhould his brain be turn'd with wild pretences;
In three hours time, you'll bring him to his ſenſes;
And well you may, when in your power you get him,
In that ſhort ſpace, you bliſter, bleed, and ſweat him.
Among the Turks, indeed, he'd run no danger,
They ſacred hold a madman, and a ſtranger.

Dramatis Perſonae.

[]
  • Colonel Rivers. Mr. HOLLAND.
  • Cecil, Mr. KING.
  • Sir Harry Newburg, Mr. J. PALMER.
  • Lord Winworth, Mr. REDDISH.
  • Sidney, Mr. CAUTHERLY.
  • Footmen, Mr. Wright, &c.
  • Lady Betty Lambton, Mrs. ABINGTON.
  • Miſs Marchmont, Mrs. BADDELEY.
  • Miſs Rivers, Mrs. JEFFERIES.
  • Mrs. Harley, Mrs. DANCER.
  • Sally. Miſs Reynolds.

SCENE, Richmond.

TIME, The Time of Repreſentation.

FALSE DELICACY.

[]

ACT I. SCENE I.

An Apartment at Lady BETTY LAMBTON'S.

Enter SIDNEY and WINWORTH.
SIDNEY.

STILL I can't help thinking but Lady Betty Lambton's refuſal was infinitely more the reſult of an extraordinary delicacy, than the want of affection for your Lordſhip.

WINWORTH.

O my dear couſin you are very much miſtaken; I am not one of thoſe coxcombs who imagine a woman does'nt know her own mind, or who, becauſe they are treated with civility by a lady who has rejected their addreſſes, ſuppoſe ſhe is ſecretly debating in their favour: Lady Betty is a woman of ſenſe, and muſt conſequently deſpiſe coquetry or affectation.

SIDNEY.

Why ſhe always ſpeaks of you with the greateſt reſpect.

WINWORTH.
[2]

Reſpect! — Why ſhe always ſpeaks of you with the greateſt reſpect; does it therefore follow that ſhe loves you? No Charles — I have, for ſome time you know, ceas'd to trouble Lady Betty with my ſolicitations, and I ſee myſelf honour'd with her friendſhip, though I hav'nt been ſo happy as to merit her heart; for this reaſon I have no doubt of her aſſiſtance on the preſent occaſion, and I am certain I ſhall pleaſe her by making my addreſſes to Miſs Marchmont.

SIDNEY.

Miſs Marchmont is indeed a very deſerving young woman.

WINWORTH.

Next to Lady Betty I never ſaw one ſo form'd to my wiſhes; beſides, during the whole period of my fruitleſs attendance, ſhe ſeemed ſo intereſted for my ſucceſs, and expreſs'd ſo hearty a concern for my diſappointment, that I have conſider'd her with an eye of more than common friendſhip ever ſince. — But what's the matter with you Charles, you ſeem to have ſomething upon your ſpirits?

SIDNEY.

Indeed my Lord you are miſtaken, I am only attentive.

WINWORTH.

O, is that all! — This very day I purpoſe to requeſt Lady Betty's intereſt with Miſs Marchmont, for unhappily circumſtanc'd as ſhe is, with regard to fortune, ſhe poſſeſſes an uncommon ſhare of delicacy, and may poſſibly think herſelf [3]inſulted by the offer of a rejected heart; — Lady Betty in that caſe will ſave her the pain of a ſuppoſed diſreſpect, and me the mortification of a new repulſe. But I beg your pardon, Charles, I am forgetting the cauſe of friendſhip, and ſhall now ſtep up ſtairs to Colonel Rivers about your affair. — Ah Sidney you have no difficulties to obſtruct the completion of your wiſhes, and a few days muſt make you one of the happiſt men in England.

[Exit.]
SIDNEY.
[looking after him.]

A few days make me one of the happieſt men in England, — a likely matter truly; little does he know how I paſſionately admire the very woman to whom he is immediately going with an offer of his perſon and fortune. — The marriage with Miſs Rivers I ſee is unavoidable, and I am almoſt pleaſed that I never obtained any encouragement from Miſs Marchmont, as I ſhould now be reduc'd to the painful alternative, either of giving up my own hopes, or of oppoſing the happineſs of ſuch a friend.

Enter Mrs. HARLEY and Miſs MARCHMONT.
Mrs. HARLEY.

O here my dear girl is the ſweet ſwain in propria perſona: — Only mind what a funeral ſermonface the creature has, notwithſtanding the agreeable proſpects before him. — Well of all things in the world defend me I ſay from a ſober huſband!

SIDNEY.

You are extreamly welcome Mrs. Harley to divert yourſelf—

Mrs. HARLEY.
[4]

He ſpeaks too in as melancholy a tone as a paſſing bell: — Lord, lord, what can Colonel Rivers ſee in the wretch to think of him for a ſon-in-law. — Only look Miſs Marchmont at this love-exciting countenance; — Obſerve the Cupids that ambuſh in theſe eyes; — Theſe lips to be ſure are fraught with the honey of Hybla: — Go you lifeleſs devil you, — go try to get a little animation into this unfortunate face of yours.

SIDNEY.

Upon my word my face is very much oblig'd to you.

Miſs MARCHMONT.

You are a mad creature, my dear, and yet I envy your ſpirits prodigiouſly.

Mrs. HARLEY.

And ſo you ought. — But for all that you and Lady Betty are unaccountably fond of thoſe half-ſoul'd fellows, who are as mechanically regular as ſo many pieces of clock-work, and never ſtrike above once an hour upon a new obſervation — who are ſo ſentimental, and ſo dull — ſo wiſe and ſo drowſy. — Why I thought Lady Betty had already a ſufficient quantity of lead in her family without taking in this lump to increaſe the weight of it.

Miſs MARCHMONT.

What can ſhe poſibly mean, Mr. Sidney.

SIDNEY.

'Tis impoſſible to gueſs madam. The lively widow will ſtill have her laugh without ſparing any body.

Mrs. HARLEY.
[5]

Why ſurely, my dear, you can't forget the counter part of poor diſmal here, that elaborate piece of dignified dulneſs, Lady Betty's couſin Lord Hectic; who through downright fondneſs is continually plaguing his poor wife, and rendering her the moſt miſerable woman in the world, from an extraordinary deſire of promoting her happineſs.

Miſs MARCHMONT.

And is'nt there a great deal to ſay in extenuation of an error which proceeds from a principle of real affection?

Mrs. HARLEY.

Affection! ridiculous! but you ſhall have an inſtance of this wonderful affection: — T'other day I din'd at his houſe, and, though the weather was intollerably warm, the table was laid in a cloſe room, with a fire large enough to roaſt an ox for a country corporation.

SIDNEY.

Well, and ſo —

Mrs. HARLEY.

In a great chair, near the fire ſide, ſat poor Lady Hectic, wrapp'd up in as many fur cloaks as would baſſle the ſeverity of a winter in Siberia: —On my entrance I expreſs'd a proper concern for her illneſs, and aſk'd the nature of her complaint. — She told me ſhe complain'd of nothing but the weight of her dreſs, and the intollerable heat of the apartment; adding, that ſhe had been caught in a little ſhower the preceding [6]evening, which terriſied Lord Hectic out of his wits, and ſo for fear ſhe might run the chance of a ſlight cold, he expoſed her to the hazard of abſolute ſuffocation.

SIDNEY.

Upon my word, Miſs Marchmont, ſhe has a pretty manner of turning things.

Miſs MARCHMONT.

Really I think ſo.

Mrs. HARLEY.

Well — unable to bear either the tyranny of this prepoſterous fondneſs any longer, or the intollerable heat of his room, I made my eſcape the moment the cloth was removed, and ſhan't be ſurpriſed if before the concluſion of the ſummer, he is brought before his peers for having murdered his poor lady out of downright affection.

SIDNEY.

A very uncommon death, Mrs. Harley, among people of quality.

Enter a FOOTMAN.
FOOTMAN to SIDNEY.

Lord Winworth, Sir, deſires the favour of your company above: the perſon is come with the writings from the Temple—

SIDNEY.

I'll wait upon him immediately.

Mrs. HARLEY.
[7]

Ay pray do, you are the fitteſt company in the world for each other. — If Colonel Rivers was of my mind he'd turn you inſtantly adrift and liſten to the overtures of Sir Harry Newburg.

SIDNEY.

I really believe you have a fancy to me yourſelf, you're ſo conſtantly abuſing me.

[Exit.]
Mrs. HARLEY.

I, you odious creature!

Miſs MARCHMONT.

Now you mention Sir Harry, my dear, is'nt it rather extraordinary for him to think about Miſs Rivers, when he knows of the engagements between her and Mr. Sidney — eſpecially as her father has ſuch an objection to the wildneſs of his character.

Mrs. HARLEY.

What you are ſtill at your ſober reflections I ſee, and are for ſcrutinizing into the morals of a lover.—The women truly would have a fine time of it if they were never to be married till they found men of unexceptionable characters.

Miſs MARCHMONT.

Nay I don't want to leſſen Sir Harry's merit in the leaſt, — he has his good qualities as well as his faults — and is no way deſtitute of underſtanding — but ſtill his underſtanding is a faſhionable one, and pleads the knowledge of every thing right, to juſtify the practice of many things not ſtrictly warrantable.

Mrs. HARLEY.
[8]

Why I never heard any thing to his prejudice but ſome faſhionable liberties which he has taken with the ladies.

Miſs MARCHMONT.

And in the name of wonder what wou'd you deſire to hear?

Mrs. HARLEY.

Come, come, Hortenſia, we women are unaccountable creatures, the greateſt number of us by much love a fellow for having a little modiſh wildneſs about him, and if we are ſuch fools as to be captivated with the vices of the men, we ought to be puniſhed for the depravity of our ſentiments.

Enter RIVERS and Lady BETTY.
RIVERS.

I tell you ſiſter they can read the parchments very well without our aſſiſtance — and I have been ſo fatigu'd with looking over papers all the morning, that I am heartily ſick of your Indentures, witneſſing, your foraſmuch's, likewiſe's alſo's, moreover's and notwithſtanding's, and I muſt take a turn in the garden to recover myſelf.

[Exit.]
Lady BETTY.

Nay I only ſpoke becauſe I imagin'd our being preſent would be more agreeable to Lord Winworth. — But I wonder Sir Harry does'nt come, he promiſed to be here by ten, and I want to ſee his couſin Cecil mightily.

Miſs MARCHMONT.
[9]

What, Lady Betty, does Mr. Cecil come with him here this morning?

Lady BETTY.

He does, my dear — he arrived at Sir Harry's laſt night, and I want to ſee if his late journey to France has any way improved the elegance of his appearance.

[ironically.]
Mrs. HARLEY.

Well, I ſhall be glad to ſee him too; for, notwithſtanding his diſregard of dreſs, and freedom of manner — there is a ſomething right in him that pleaſes me prodigiouſly.

Miſs MARCHMONT.

A ſomething right, Mrs. Harley! — he is one of the worthieſt creatures in the world.

Lady BETTY.

O, Hortenſia, he ought to be a favourite of yours, for I don't know any body who poſſeſſes a higher place in his good opinion.

Miſs MARCHMONT.

'Twou'd be odd, indeed, if he was'nt a favourite of mine — he was my father's beſt friend; — gave him a conſiderable living you know, and, when he died, wou'd have provided very kindly for me, if your generoſity, Lady Betty, had'nt render'd his goodneſs wholly unneceſſary.

Lady BETTY.

Pooh! Pooh! no more of this.

Mrs. HARLEY.

[...] wiſh there was a poſſibility of making him dreſs like a gentleman — But I am glad he comes [10]with Sir Harry; — for though they have a great regard for each other, they are continually wrangling, and form a contraſt which is often extremely diverting —

Enter a Footman.

Sir Harry Newburg and Mr. Cecil, Madam.

Lady BETTY.

O, here they are! Shew them in.

Exit Footm.
Mrs. HARLEY.

Now for it!

Miſs MARCHMONT.

Huſh, they are here.

Sir HARRY.

Ladies your moſt obedient. —

CECIL.

Ah, Girls! — give me a kiſs each of you inſtantly. — Lady Betty, I am heartily glad to ſee you: — I have a budget full of compliments for you, from ſeveral of your friends at Paris —

Lady BETTY.

Did you meet any of them at Paris?

CECIL.

I did, — and, what was worſe, I met them in every town I paſſed through; — but the Engliſh are a great commercial nation, you know, and their fools like their broad cloths, are exported in large quantities to all parts of Europe.

Sir HARRY.
[11]

What? and they found you a fool ſo much above the market price, that they have returned you upon the hands of your country? — Here, ladies, is a head for you, piping hot from Paris.

CECIL.

And here, ladies, is a head for you, like the Alps.

Sir HARRY.

Like the Alps, ladies! How do you make that out?

CECIL.

Why it's always white, and always barren; 'tis conſtantly covered with ſnow, but never produces any thing profitable.

Mrs. HARLEY.

O ſay no more upon that head, I beſeech you.

Lady BETTY.

Indeed, Sir Harry, I think they're too hard for you.

Mrs. HARLEY.

Why, I think ſo too — eſpecially my friend Cecil, who, with that unfortunate ſhock of hair, has no great right to be conſidered as a ſtandard for dreſs in this country.

CECIL.

Ah, widow, there are many heads in this country with much more extraordinary things upon them than my unfortunate ſhock of hair, as you call it: — what do you think of theſe wings, for inſtance, that cover the ears of my couſin Mercury?

Sir HARRY.
[12]

Death! don't ſpoil my hair.

CECIL.

You ſee this fellow is ſo tortur'd upon the wheel of faſhion, that a ſingle touch immediately throws him into agonies; — now, my dreſs is as eaſy as it's ſimple, and five minutes —

Sir HARRY.

With the help of your five fingers equips you at any time for the drawing-room, — ha! ha! ha!

CECIL.

And is'nt it better than being five hours under the paws of your hair-dreſſer?

Lady BETTY.

But cuſtom, Mr. Cecil! —

CECIL.

Men of ſenſe have nothing to do with cuſtom, and 'tis more their buſineſs to ſet wiſe examples than to follow fooliſh ones.

Mrs. HARLEY.

But don't you think the world will be apt to laugh a little, Mr. Cecil?

CECIL.

I can't help the want of underſtanding among mankind.

Sir HARRY.

The blockhead thinks there's nothing due to the general opinion of one's country.

CECIL.

And none but blockheads like you would mind the fooliſh opinions of any country.

Lady BETTY.
[13]

Well! Mr. Cecil muſt take his own way, I think — ſo come along, ladies, — let us go into the ga [...]den, and ſend my brother to Sir Harry to ſettle the buſineſs about Theodora.

CECIL.

Theodora! — what a charming name for the romance of a circulating library. — I wonder, Lady Betty, your brother wou'd'nt call his girl Deborah, after her grandmother —?

Mrs. HARRLEY.

Deborah! — O I ſhould hate ſuch an old faſhioned name abominably —

CECIL.

And I hate this new faſhion of calling our children by pompous appellations. — By and by we ſhan't have a Ralph or a Roger, a Bridget or an Alice remaining in the kingdom. — The dregs of the people have adopted this unaccountable cuſtom, and a fellow who keeps a little alehouſe at the bottom of my avenue in the country, has no leſs than an Auguſtus-Frederick, a Scipio Africanus, and a Matilda-Wilhelmina-Leonora, in his family.

Mrs. HARLEY.

Upon my word, a very pretty ſtring of chriſtian names.

Lady BETTY.

Well, Sir Harry, you and Mr. Cecil dine with us. — Come, ladies, let us go to the garden.

Mrs. HARLEY.

I poſitively won't go without Mr. Cecil, for I muſt have ſomebody to laugh at.

CECIL.
[14]

And ſo muſt I, widow, therefore I won't loſe this opportunity of being in your company.

[Exeunt ladies and followed by CECIL, who meets RIVERS entering.]
CECIL.

Ah, Colonel, I am heartily glad to ſee you. —

RIVERS.

My dear Cecil, you are welcome home again.

CECIL.

There's my wiſe kinſman wants a word with you.

[Exit.]
Sir HARRY.

Colonel, your moſt obedient: — I am come upon the old buſineſs; —for unleſs I am allow'd to entertain hope of Miſs Rivers, I ſhall be the moſt miſerable of human beings.

RIVERS.

Sir Harry, I have already told you by letter, and I now tell you perſonally, I cannot liſten to your propoſals.

Sir HARRY.

No, Sir?

RIVERS.

No, Sir, — I have promiſed my daughter to Mr. Sidney; — do you know that, Sir?

Sir HARRY.

I do; — but what then? Engagements of this kind, you know —

RIVERS.

So then, you do know I have promiſed her to Mr. Sidney?

Sir HARRY.
[15]

I do; — but I alſo know that matters are not finally ſettled between Mr. Sidney and you, and I moreover know, that his fortune is by no means equal to mine, therefore —

RIVERS.

Sir Harry, let me aſk you one queſtion before you make your conſequence.

Sir HARRY.

A thouſand if you pleaſe, Sir.

RIVERS.

Why then, Sir, let me aſk you, what you have ever obſerved in me or my conduct, that you deſire me ſo familiarly to break my word: — I thought, Sir, you conſidered me as a man of honour.

Sir HARRY.

And ſo I do, Sir, a man of the niceſt honour.

RIVERS.

And yet, Sir, you aſk me to violate the ſanctity of my word — and tell me indirectly that it is my intereſt to be a raſcal —

Sir HARRY.

I really don't underſtand you, Colonel: — I thought, when I was talking to you I was talking to a man who knew the world — and as you have not yet ſigned —

RIVERS.

Why, this is mending matters with a witneſs! — And ſo you think becauſe I am not legally bound, I am under no neceſſity of keeping my word! — Sir Harry, laws were never made for men of honour; — they want no bond but the [16]rectitude of their own ſentiments, and laws are of no uſe but to bind the villains of ſociety.

Sir HARRY.

Well! but my dear Colonel, if you have no regard for me, ſhew ſome little regard for your daughter.

RIVERS.

Sir Harry, I ſhew the greateſt regard for my daughter by giving her to a man of honour; — and I muſt not be inſulted with any farther repetition of your propoſals.

Sir HARRY.

Inſult you Colonel! — is the offer of my alliance an inſult? — is my readineſs to make what ſettlements you think proper —

RIVERS.

Sir Harry, I ſhould conſider the offer of a kingdom an inſult, if it was to be purchaſed by the violation of my word: — Beſides, though my daughter ſhall never go a beggar to the arms of her huſband, I wou'd rather ſee her happy than rich; and if ſhe has enough to provide handſomely for a young family, and ſomething to ſpare for the exigencies of a worthy friend, I ſhall think her as affluent as if ſhe was miſtreſs of Mexico.

Sir HARRY.

Well, Colonel, I have done; — but I believe —

RIVERS.

Well, Sir Harry, and as our conference is done, we will, if you pleaſe, retire to the ladies: — I ſhall be always glad of your acquaintance though I can't receive you as a ſon-in-law, — for a union of intereſt I look upon as a union of diſhonour, and conſider a marriage for money, at beſt, but a legal proſtitution.

[Exeunt.]
End of the firſt ACT.

ACT II.

[17]
SCENE a Garden.
Enter Lady BETTY, and Mrs. HARLEY.
Mrs. HARLEY.

LORD, Lord, my dear you're enough to drive one out of one's wits. — I tell you, again and again, he's as much yours as ever; and was I in your ſituation, he ſhou'd be my huſband to-morrow morning.

Lady BETTY.

Dear Emmy you miſtake the matter ſtrangely. — Lord Winworth is no common man, nor wou'd he have continued his ſilence ſo long upon his favourite ſubject, if he had the leaſt inclination to renew his addreſſes. — His pride has juſtly taken the alarm at my inſenſibility, and he will not, I am ſatisfied, run the hazard of another refuſal.

Mrs. HARLEY.

Why then, in the name of wonder, if he was ſo dear to you, cou'd you prodigally trifle with your own happineſs, and repeatedly refuſe him?

Lady BETTY.

I have repeatedly told you becauſe I was a fool, Emmy. — Till he withdrew his addreſſes I knew not how much I eſteemed him; my unhappineſs in my firſt marriage, you know, made me reſolve againſt another. — And you are alſo ſenſible I have frequently argued that a woman of real delicacy ſhou'd never admit a ſecond impreſſion on her heart.

Mrs. HARLEY.
[18]

Yes, and I always thought you argued very fooliſhly. — I am ſure I ought to know, for I have been twice married; — and though I lov'd my firſt huſband very ſincerely, there was not a woman in England who cou'd have made the ſecond a better wife. — Nay, for that matter, if another was to offer himſelf to-morrow, I am not altogether certain that I ſhould refuſe liſtening —

Lady BETTY.

You are a ſtrange creature.

Mrs. HARLEY.

And are'nt you a much ſtranger, in declining to follow your own inclinations, when you cou'd have conſulted them ſo highly, to the credit of your good ſenſe, and the ſatisfaction of your whole family. — But it is'nt yet too late; and if you will be adviſed by me every thing ſhall end as happily as you can wiſh.

Lady BETTY.

Well, let me hear your advice.

Mrs. HARLEY.

Why this, then: — My Lord you know has requeſted that you wou'd indulge him with half an hour's private converſation ſome time this morning.

Lady BETTY.

Well!

Mrs. HARLEY.

This is a liberty he has'nt taken theſe three months — and he muſt deſign ſomething by it; — now as he can deſign nothing but to renew his addreſſes, I wou'd adviſe you to take [19]him at the very firſt word, for fear your delicacy, if it has time to conſider, ſhou'd again ſhew you the ſtrange impropriety of ſecond marriages.

Lady BETTY.

But ſuppoſe this ſhould not be his buſineſs with me?

Mrs. HARLEY.

Why then we'll go another way to work: — I, as a ſanguine friend of my Lord's, can give him a diſtant hint of matters, exacting at the ſame time a promiſe of the moſt inviolable ſecrecy; and aſſuring him you wou'd never forgive me, if you had the leaſt idea of my having acquainted him with ſo important a —

Lady BETTY.

And ſo you wou'd have me —?

Mrs. HARLEY.

Why not? — This is the very ſtep I ſhou'd take myſelf, if I was in your ſituation.

Lady BETTY.

May be ſo: — But it's a ſtep which I ſhall never take. — What! wou'd you have me loſt to all feeling? Wou'd you have me meanly make uſe of chambermaid artifices for a huſband?

Mrs. HARLEY:

I would only have you happy my dear: — And where the man of one's heart is at ſtake I don't think we ought to ſtand ſo rigidly upon trifles. —

Lady BETTY.

Trifles, Emmy! do you call the laws of delicacy trifles. — She that violates theſe —

Mrs. HARLEY.
[20]

Poh! poh! ſhe that violates: — What a work there is with you ſentimental folks. — Why, don't I tell you that my Lord ſhall never know any thing of your concern in the deſign?

Lady BETTY.

But ſha'nt I know it myſelf, Emmy! — and how can I eſcape the juſtice of my own reflections!

Mrs. HARLEY.

Well, thank heav'n my ſentiments are not ſufficiently refin'd to make me unhappy.

Lady BETTY.

I can't change my ſentiments, my dear Emmy, — nor wou'd I, if I cou'd: — Of this, however, be certain, that unleſs I have Lord Winworth without courting him, I ſhall never have him at all. — But be ſilent to all the world upon this matter I conjure you: — Particularly to Miſs Marchmont; for ſhe has been ſo ſtrenuous an advocate for my Lord, that the concealment of it from her might give her ſome doubts of my friendſhip; and I ſhou'd be continually uneaſy for fear my reſerve ſhou'd be conſider'd as an indirect inſult upon her circumſtances.

Mrs. HARLEY.

Well, the devil take this delicacy; I don't know any thing it does beſides making people miſerable: — And yet ſome how, fooliſh as it is, one can't help liking it. — But yonder I ſee Sir Harry and Mr. Cecil.

Lady BETTY.

Let us withdraw then my dear; they may detain us; and, 'till this interview is over, I ſhall [21]be in a continual agitation; yet I am ſtrangely apprehenſive of a diſappointment, Emmy — and if —

[going]
Mrs. HARLEY

Lady Betty.

Lady BETTY.

What do you ſay?

Mrs. HARLEY.

Do you ſtill think there is any thing extremely prepoſterous in ſecond marriages?

Lady BETTY.

You are intolerably provoking. —

[Exeunt.]
Enter CECIL and Sir HARRY.
CECIL.

Well, did'nt I tell you the moment you opened this affair to me, that the Colonel was a man of too much ſenſe to give his daughter to a coxcomb?

Sir HARRY.

But what if I ſhould tell you, that his daughter ſhall be ſtill mine, and in ſpite of his teeth?

CECIL.

Prithee explain kinſman.

Sir HARRY.

Why ſuppoſe Miſs Rivers ſhould have no very ſtrong objection to this unfortunate figure of mine?

CECIL.

Why even your vanity can't think that a young lady of her good ſenſe, can poſſibly be in love with you?

Sir HARRY.
[22]

What, you think that no likely circumſtance I ſee?

CECIL.

I do really — Formerly indeed the women were fools enough to be caught by the frippery of externals, and ſo a fellow neither picked a pocket, nor put up with an affront, he was a dear toad — a ſweet creature — and a wicked devil; — nay the wicked devil, was quite an angel of a man — and like another Alexander, in proportion to the number of wretches which he made, he conſtantly increaſed the luſtre of his reputation — till at laſt, having conquered all his worlds, he ſat down with that celebrated ruffian, and wept becauſe he cou'd commit no farther outrages upon ſociety.

Sir HARRY.

O my good moralizing couſin, you'll find your ſelf curſedly out in your politics; and I ſhall convince you in a few hours, that a handſome ſuit on the back of a ſprightly young fellow, will ſtill do more among the women, than all your ſentiment and ſlovenlineſs. —

CECIL.

What wou'd you perſuade me that Miſs Rivers will go off with you —?

Sir HARRY.

You have hit the mark for once in your life, my ſweet temper'd mouther of morality — The dear Theodora —

CECIL.

The dear Theodora! and ſo Harry you imagine that by the common maxims of faſhionable [23]life, you may appear to be a friend to the Colonel at the very moment you are going to rob him of his daughter. — For ſhame kinſman — for ſhame — have ſome pride if you have no virtue — and dont ſmile in a man's face when you want to do him the greateſt of all injuries — dont Harry —

Sir HARRY.

Cecil I ſcorn a baſe action as much as you or as much as any man — but I love Miſs Rivers honourably. — I aſk nothing from her father, and as her perſon is her own ſhe has a right to beſtow it where ſhe pleaſes.

CECIL.

I am anſwered — her perſon is her own — and ſhe has a right to be miſerable her own way. — I acknowledge it — and will not diſcover your ſecret to her father. —

Sir HARRY.

Diſcover it to her father — why ſure you woud'nt think of it. — Take care Cecil — take care — I do indeed love you better than any man in the world — and I know you have a friendſhip, a cordial friendſhip for me — but the happineſs of my whole life is at ſtake, and muſt not be deſtroyed by any of your unaccountable peculiarities.

CECIL.

Harry — you know I wou'd at any time rather promote your happineſs than obſtruct it. — And you alſo know that if I die without children — you ſhall have a principal part of my fortune; — but damn it — I wiſh you had not uſed the maſk of friendſhip to ſteal this young Lady away from her relations — 'tis hard that their good nature [24]muſt be turned againſt their peace; — and hard, becauſe her whole family treat you with regard, that you ſhould offer them the greateſt inſult imaginable.

Sir HARRY.

Dear Cecil, I am more to be pitied than condemned in this tranſaction. — when I firſt endeavoured to make myſelf agreeable to Miſs Rivers, I imagined her family would readily countenance my addreſſes, and when I ſucceeded in that endeavour, I had not time to declare myſelf in form, before her father entred into this engagement with Sidney. — The moment I heard it mentioned, I wrote to him, offering him a carte blanche, and this morning a repetition of my offer was treated with contempt. — I have therefore been forc'd into the meaſure you diſapprove ſo much— but I hope my conduct, in the character of the ſon-in-law, will amply atone for any error in my behaviour as a friend.

CECIL.

Well well, we muſt make the beſt of a bad market, — her father has no right to force her inclinations; — 'tis equally cruel and unjuſt; therefore you may depend upon my utmoſt endeavours not only to aſſiſt you in carrying her off, but in appeaſing all family reſentments. — For really, you are ſo often in the wrong, that one muſt ſtand by you a little when you are in the right, — ſo I ſhall be ready for you kinſman.

Sir HARRY.

Why, Cecil, this is honeſt — this is really friendly — and you ſhall abuſe me a whole twelvemonth without my anſwering a ſyllable — [25]but for the preſent I muſt leave you — yonder I ſee Miſs Rivers — we have ſome little matters to talk of — you underſtand me — and now —

[Exit.]
CECIL.

For a torrent of rapture and nonſenſe. — What egregious puppies does this unaccountable love make of young fellows: Nay, for that matter, what egregious puppies does it not make of old ones? — ecce ſignum. — 'Tis a comfort though, that no body knows I am a puppy in this reſpect but myſelf. — Here was I fancying that all the partiality I felt for poor Hortenſia Marchmont, proceeded from my friendſhip for her father — when upon an honeſt examination into my own heart — I find it principally ariſes from my regard for herſelf. — I was in hopes a change of objects would have driven the baggage out of my thoughts, — and I went to France; — but I am come home with a ſettled reſolution of aſking her to marry a ſlovenly raſcal of fifty, who is to be ſure a very likely ſwain for a young lady to fall in love with; — but who knows — the moſt ſenſible women have ſometimes ſtrange taſtes; — and yet it muſt be a very ſtrange taſte, that can poſſibly approve of my overtures. — I'll go cautiouſly to work however, — and ſolicit her as for a friend of my own age and fortune; — ſo that if ſhe refuſes me, which is probable enough — I ſhan't expoſe myſelf to her contempt. — What a ridiculous figure is an old fool ſighing at the feet of a young woman. — Zounds, I wonder how the grey-headed dotards have the impudence to aſk a blooming girl of twenty to throw herſelf away upon a moving mummy, or a walking ſkeleton.

[Exit.]
[26] The SCENE changes to an Apartment in Lady BETTY's Houſe.
Enter Lady BETTY and Mrs. HARLEY.
Lady BETTY.

You can't think, Emmy, how my ſpirits are agitated; — I wonder what my Lord can want with me?

Mrs. HARLEY.

Well, well, try and collect yourſelf a little — he is juſt coming up, — I muſt retire. — Courage, my dear creature, this once — and the day's our own, I warrant you.

[Exit.]
Enter WINWORTH, bowing very low.
Lady BETTY.

Here he is! — Bleſs me, what a flutter I am in!

WINWORTH.

Your Ladyſhip's moſt obedient.

Lady BETTY.

Won't your Lordſhip be ſeated? — He ſeems exceſſively confus'd.

[aſide.]
WINWORTH.

I have taken the liberty, Madam — How ſhe awes me now I am alone with her!

[aſide.]
Lady BETTY.

My Lord!

WINWORTH.

I ſay, Madam, I have taken the liberty to —

Lady BETTY.
[27]

I beg, my Lord, you won't conſider an apology in the leaſt —

WINWORTH.

Your Ladyſhip is extremely obliging — and yet I am fearful —

Lady BETTY.

I hope your Lordſhip will conſider me as a friend, — and therefore lay aſide this unneceſſary ceremony.

WINWORTH.

I do conſider you, Madam, as a friend; — as an ineſtimable friend — and I am this moment come to ſolicit you upon a ſubject of the utmoſt importance to my happineſs.

Lady BETTY.
[aſide.]

Lord! what is he going to ſay?

WINWORTH.

Madam, —

Lady BETTY.

I ſay, my Lord, that you cannot ſpeak to me on any ſubject of importance without engaging my greateſt attention.

WINWORTH.

You honour me too much, Madam.

Lady BETTY.

Not in the leaſt, my Lord — for there is not a perſon in the world who wiſhes your happineſs with greater cordiality.

WINWORTH.
[28]

You eternally oblige me, Madam — and I can now take courage to tell you, that my happineſs, in a moſt material degree, depends upon your Ladyſhip.

Lady BETTY.

On me, my Lord? — Bleſs me!

WINWORTH.

Yes, Madam, on your Ladyſhip.

Lady BETTY.
[aſide.]

Mrs. Harley was right, and I ſhall ſink with confuſion.

WINWORTH.

'Tis on this buſineſs, Madam, I have taken the liberty of requeſting the preſent interview, — and as I find your Ladyſhip ſo generouſly ready —

Lady BETTY.

Why, my Lord, I muſt confeſs — I ſay, I muſt acknowledge, my Lord, — that if your happineſs depends upon me — I ſhould not be very much pleas'd to ſee you miſerable.

WINWORTH.

Your Ladyſhip is benignity itſelf; — but as I want words to expreſs my ſenſe of this obligation — I ſhall proceed at once to my requeſt, nor treſpaſs upon your patience by an ineffectual compliment to your generoſity.

Lady BETTY.

If you pleaſe, my Lord.

WINWORTH.

Then, Madam, my requeſt is, that I may have your conſent —

Lady BETTY.
[29]

This is ſo ſudden, my Lord! — ſo unexpected!

WINWORTH.

Why, Madam, it is ſo; — yet, if I cou'd but engage your acquieſcence — I might ſtill think of a double union on the day which makes my couſin happy —

Lady BETTY.

My Lord — I really don't know how to anſwer: — Does'nt your Lordſhip think this is rather precipitating matters?

WINWORTH.

No man, Madam, can be too ſpeedy in promoting his happineſs: — If, therefore, I might preſume to hope for your concurrence — I woud'nr altogether —

Lady BETTY.

My concurrence, my Lord! — ſince it is ſo eſſentially neceſſary to your peace I cannot refuſe any longer. — Your great merit will juſtify ſo immediate a compliance — and I ſhall ſtand excuſed of all. —

WINWORTH.

Then, Madam, I don't deſpair of the Lady's —

Lady BETTY.

My Lord?

WINWORTH.

I know your Ladyſhip can eaſily prevail upon her to overlook an immaterial punctilio, and therefore —

Lady BETTY.

The Lady, my Lord?

WINWORTH.
[30]

Yes, Madam, Miſs Marchmont; if ſhe finds my addreſſes ſupported by your Ladyſhip, will, in all probability, be eaſily induced to receive them, — and then, your Ladyſhip knows —

Lady BETTY.

Miſs Marchmont! my Lord?

WINWORTH.

Yes, Madam, Miſs Marchmont. — Since your final diſapprobation of thoſe hopes which I was once preſumptuous enough to entertain of calling your Ladyſhip mine, the anguiſh of a rejected paſſion has render'd me inconceivably wretched, and I ſee no way of mitigating the ſeverity of my ſituation but in the eſteem of this amiable woman, who knows how tenderly I have been attached to you, and whoſe goodneſs will induce her, I am well convinced, to alleviate, as much as poſſible, the greatneſs of my diſappointment.

Lady BETTY.

Your Lordſhip is undoubtedly right in your opinion — and I am infinitely concern'd to have been the involuntary cauſe of uneaſineſs to you; — but Miſs Marchmont, my Lord — ſhe will merit your utmoſt —

WINWORTH.

I know ſhe will, Madam — and it rejoices me to ſee you ſo highly pleas'd with my intention.

Lady BETTY.

O, I am quite delighted with it!

WINWORTH.

I knew I ſhould pleaſe you by it. —

Lady BETTY.
[31]

You can't imagine how you have pleas'd me!

WINWORTH.

How noble is this goodneſs! — Then, Madam, I may expect your Ladyſhip will be my advocate? — The injuſtice which fortune has done Miſs Marchmont's merit, obliges me to act with a double degree of circumſpection; — for, when virtue is unhappily plung'd into difficulties, 'tis entitled to an aditional ſhare of veneration.

Lady BETTY.
[aſide.]

How has my folly undone me!

WINWORTH.

I will not treſpaſs any longer upon your Ladyſhip's leiſure, than juſt to obſerve, that though I have ſolicited your friendſhip on this occaſion, I muſt, nevertheleſs, beg you will not be too much my friend. — I know Miſs Marchmont would make any ſacrifice to oblige you; — and if her gratitude ſhould appear in the leaſt concerned, — This is a nice point, my dear Lady Betty, and I muſt not wound the peace of any perſon's boſom, to recover the tranquility of my own.

[Exit.]
Enter Mrs. HARLEY, who ſpeaks.

Well, my dear, is it all over?

Lady BETTY.

It is all over indeed, Emmy.

Mrs. HARLEY.

But why that ſorrowful tone — and melancholly countenance? Muſt'nt I wiſh you joy?

Lady BETTY.
[32]

O, I am the moſt miſerable woman in the world! — Would you believe it? — The buſineſs of this interview was to requeſt my intereſt in his favour with Miſs Marchmont.

Mrs. HARLEY.

With Miſs Marchmont! — Then there is not one atom of ſincere affection in the univerſe.

Lady BETTY.

As to that, I have reaſon to think his ſentiments for me are as tender as ever.

Mrs. HARLEY.

He gives you a pretty proof of his tenderneſs, truly, when he aſks your aſſiſtance to marry another woman.

Lady BETTY.

Had you but ſeen his confuſion, —

Mrs. HARLEY.

He might well be confuſed, when, after courting you theſe three years, he cou'd think of another, and that too at the very moment in which you were ready to oblige him.

Lady BETTY.

There has been a ſort of fatality in the affair — and I am puniſh'd but too juſtly: — The woman that wants candour where ſhe is addreſs'd by a man of merit, wants a very eſſential virtue; and ſhe who can delight in the anxiety of a worthy mind, is little to be pitied when ſhe feels the ſharpeſt ſtings of anxiety in her own.

Mrs. HARLEY,

But what do you intend to do with regard to this extraordinary requeſt of Lord Winworth; — will you really ſuffer him to marry Miſs March mont?

Lady BETTY.
[33]

Why what can I do? If it was improper for me, before I knew any thing of his deſign in regard to Miſs Marchmont, to inſinuate the leaſt deſire of hearing him again on the ſubject of his heart, 'tis doubly improper now, when I ſee he has turn'd his thoughts on another woman, and when this woman, beſides, is one of my moſt valuable friends.

Mrs. HARLEY

Well, courage Lady Betty — we are'nt yet in a deſperate ſituation — Miſs Marchmont loves you — as herſelf — and woud'nt, I dare ſay, accept the firſt man in the world, if it gave you the leaſt uneaſineſs. — I'll go to her therefore this very moment — tell her at once how the caſe is — and my life for it, her obligations to you —

Lady BETTY.

Stay, Emmy — I conjure you ſtay — and as you value my peace of mind be for ever ſilent on this ſubject. — Miſs Marchmont has no obligations to me; — ſince our acquaintance I have been the only perſon obliged; ſhe has given me a power of ſerving the worthieſt young creature in the world, and ſo far has laid me under the greateſt obligation.

Mrs. HARLEY.

Why my dear —

Lady BETTY.

But ſuppoſe I could be mean enough to think an apartment in my houſe, a place in my chariot, a ſeat at my table, and a little annuity in caſe of my deceaſe, were obligations, when I continually enjoy ſuch a happineſs as her friendſhip and her company. — Do you think they are obligations which ſhould make a woman of her fine [34]ſenſe, reject the moſt amiable man exiſting, eſpecially in her circumſtances, where he has the additional recommendation of an elevated rank and an affluent fortune: — This wou'd be exacting intereſt with a witneſs for trifles, and, inſtead of having any little merit to claim from my behaviour to her, I ſhou'd be the moſt inexorable of all uſurers.

Mrs. HARLEY.

Well but ſuppoſe Miſs Marchmont ſhou'd not like my Lord?

Lady BETTY.

Not like him — why will you ſuppoſe an impoſſibility?

Mrs. HARLEY.

But let us ſuppoſe it for argument ſake.

Lady BETTY.

Why I cannot ſay but it would pleaſe me above all things: — For ſtill, Emmy, I am a woman, and feel this unexpected misfortune with the keeneſt ſenſibility: — It kills me to think of his being another's, but if he muſt, I wou'd rather ſee him her's than any woman's in the univerſe. — But I'll talk no more upon this ſubject, 'till I acquaint her with his propoſal; and yet, Emmy, how ſevere a trial muſt I go through.

Mrs. HARLEY.

Ay, and you moſt richly deſerve it.

[Exeunt.]
End of the ſecond ACT.

ACT III.

[35]
SCENE Lady BETTY's Garden.
Sir HARRY, Miſs RIVERS and SALLY croſs at the head of the ſtage; Colonel RIVERS obſerving them.
RIVERS.

IN cloſe converſation with Sir Harry this half hour, at the remoteſt part of the garden. — Why, what am I to think of all this. — Does'nt ſhe know I have refuſed him: — Does'nt ſhe know herſelf engaged to Sidney? — There's ſomething mean and pitiful in ſuſpicion: — But ſtill there is ſomething that alarms me in this affair; and who knows how far the happineſs of my child may be at ſtake. — Women, after all, are ſtrange things; — they have more ſenſe than we generally allow them — but they have alſo more vanity. — 'Tis'nt for want of underſtanding they err, — but through an inſatiable love of ſlattery. — They know very well when they are committing a fault, but deſtruction wears ſo bewitching a form, that they rebel againſt the ſenſe of their own conviction — and never trouble themſelves about conſequences till they are actully undone. — But here they come, — I don't like this liſtening: — Yet the meanneſs of the action muſt for once be juſtified by the neceſſity.

[Retires behind a clump of trees.]
Enter Miſs RIVERS, Sir HARRY and SALLY.
Miſs RIVERS.

Indeed, Sir Harry, you upbraid me very unjuſtly. — I feel the refuſal which my father has given you ſeverely. — Nevertheleſs I muſt not conſent to you propoſal. — An elopement wou'd, I am ſure, [36]break his heart, — and as he is wholly ignorant of my partiality for you. — I cannot accuſe him of unkindneſs.

RIVERS, behind.

So! ſo! ſo! ſo!

Sir HARRY.

Why then, my dear Miſs Rivers, woud'nt you give me leave to mention the prepoſſeſſion with which you honour me to the old Gentleman?

RIVERS.

The old gentleman —

Miſs RIVERS.

Becauſe I was in hopes my father would have liſten'd to your application, without putting me to the painful neceſſity of acknowledging my ſentiments in your favour; and becauſe I fear'd that unleſs the application was approved, on account of it's intrinſic generoſity, there was nothing which cou'd poſſibly work upon the firmneſs of his temper.

RIVERS.

Well ſaid daughter!

SALLY.

The firmneſs of your father's temper, madam! — The obſtinacy you ſhou'd ſay! — Sir Harry, as I live and breathe, there is'nt ſo obſtinate, ſo perverſe, and ſo peeviſh an old devil in all England.

RIVERS.

Thank you, Mrs. Sally.

Miſs RIVERS.

Sally, I inſiſt that when you ſpeak of my father, you always ſpeak of him with reſpect. — 'Tis'nt your knowledge of ſecrets which ſhall juſtify theſe freedoms; — for I wou'd rather every [37]thing was diſcovered this minute than hear him mention'd with ſo impudent a ſimiliarity by his ſervants.

SALLY.

Well Madam, I beg pardon; — but you know the Colonel, where he once determines is never to be alter'd; — ſo that call this ſteadineſs of temper by what name you pleaſe — 'tis likely to make you miſerable, unleſs you embrace the preſent opportunity, and go off, like a woman of ſpirit, with the object of your affections.

RIVERS.

What a damn'd jade it is!

Sir HARRY.

Indeed, my dear Miſs Rivers, Sally adviſes you like a true friend; — and I am ſatisfied your own good ſenſe muſt ſecretly argue on her ſide the queſtion. — The only alternative you have is to fly and be happy — or ſtay and be miſerable: — You have yourſelf acknowledg'd my ever adorable. —

RIVERS.

O, damn your adorables!

Sir HARRY.

I ſay, Madam, you have yourſelf acknowledg'd that there is no hope whatſoever of working upon the Colonel's tenderneſs by acquainting him with our mutual affection: — On the contrary 'tis likely that had he the leaſt ſuſpicion of my being honour'd with your regard, he wou'd drag you inſtantly to his favourite Sidney, who is ſo utterly inſenſible of your merit, — and who, if he has a paſſion for any body, is, I am confident, devoted to Miſs Marchmont.

RIVERS.
[38]

Why what a lye has the raſcal trump'd up here againſt poor Sidney?

Miſs RIVERS.

Dear Sir Harry, what wou'd you have me do?

RIVERS.

There! — Her dear Sir Harry!

Sir HARRY.

My ever adorable Miſs Rivers —

RIVERS.

No, ſhe can't ſtand theſe ever adorables.

Sir HARRY.

This exceſs of filial affection is extremely amiable: — but it ought by no means to render you forgetful of what is due to yourſelf. — Conſider, Madam, if you have been treated with tenderneſs, you have repaid that tenderneſs with duty, and have ſo far diſcharged this mighty obligation!

RIVERS.

A pretty method of ſettling accounts truly!

Miſs RIVERS.

Don't, my dear Sir Harry, ſpeak in this negligent manner of my father.

RIVERS.

Kind creature!

Sir HARRY.

From what I have urg'd you muſt ſee, Madam, that though you are ſo ready to ſacrifice your peace for your father, he ſets a greater value upon a trifing promiſe than upon your happineſs: — [39]Judge, therefore, whether his repoſe ſhould be dearer to you, than your own; and judge too whether to prevent the breach of his word, you ſhou'd vow eternal tenderneſs to a man you muſt eternally deteſt, and violate even your veracity to kill the object of your love?

Miſs RIVERS.

Good heav'n, what ſhall I do?

SALLY.

Do — Madam — go off to be ſure.

RIVERS.

I'll wring that huſſey's head off.

Sir HARRY.

On my knees, Madam, let me beg you will conſult your own happineſs, and, in your own, the happineſs of your father.

RIVERS.

Ay, now he kneels, 'tis all over.

Sir HARRY.

The Colonel, Madam, has great ſenſibility, and the conſciouſneſs that he himſelf has been the cauſe of your unhappineſs will ſill him with endleſs regret: — Whereas, by eſcaping with me, the caſe will be utterly otherwiſe. — When he ſees we are inſeparably united, and hears with how unabating an aſſiduity I labour to merit the bleſſing of your hand, a little time will neceſſarily make us friends; and I have great hopes that before the end of three months we ſhall be the favourites of the whole family.

RIVERS.

You'll be curſedly miſtaken though. —

Sir HARRY.
[40]

But ſpeak, my dear Miſs Rivers — ſpeak and pronounce my fate.

Miſs RIVERS.

Sir Harry you have convinced me. —

RIVERS.

Ay, I knew he wou'd. —

Miſs RIVERS.

And provided you here give me a ſolemn aſſurance, that the moment we are married, you will employ every poſſible method of effecting a reconciliation —

Sir HARRY.

You conſent to go off with me the firſt opportunity — a thouſand thanks, my Angel for this generous condeſcenſion, — and when —

Miſs RIVERS.

There is no occaſion for profeſſions, Sir Harry, — I rely implicitly on your tenderneſs and your honour. —

SALLY.

Dear Madam, you have tranſported your poor Sally by this noble reſolution.

RIVERS.

I dare ſay ſhe has — but I may chance to cool your tranſport in a horſe-pond. —

Miſs RIVERS.

I am obliged to you, Sally, for the part you take in my affairs, and I purpoſe that you ſhall be the companion of my flight.

SALLY.

Shall I, Madam! — you are too good — and I am ſure I ſhoud'nt like to live in my old maſter's houſe, when you are out of the family.

RIVERS.
[41]

Don't be uneaſy on that account.

Sir HARRY.

Suffer me now, my dear Miſs Rivers, ſince you have been thus generouſly kind, to inform you that a coach and ſix will be ready punctually at twelve, at the ſide of the little paddock at the back of Lady Betty's garden. — There's a cloſe walk, you know from the garden to the place, and I'll meet you at the ſpot to conduct you to the coach.

Miſs RIVERS.

Well, I am ſtrangely apprehenſive, — but I'll be there. — However, 'tis now high time for us to ſeparate, — my father's eyes are generally every where — and I am impatient ſince it is determined — till our deſign is executed.

RIVERS.

O, I don't in the leaſt doubt it. —

Sir HARRY.

'Till twelve then farewell my charmer. —

Miſs RIVERs.

You do what you will with me. —

[Exeunt ſeparately.
RIVERS comes forward.

You do what you will with me! Why what a fool, what an idiot was I — ever to ſuppoſe I had a daughter. — From the moment of her birth — to this curſed hour, I have labour'd, I have toil'd for happineſs, and now, when I fancy'd myſelf ſure of her tend'reſt affection, ſhe caſts me off for ever. — By and by, — I ſhall have this fellow at my feet, entreating my forgiveneſs, and the world will think me an unfeeling monſter, if I don't give him my eſtate as a reward for having blaſted my deareſt expectations. — The world [42]will think it ſtrange that I ſhou'd not promote his felicity, becauſe he has utterly deſtroyed mine; and my dutiful daughter will be ſurprized if the tender ties of nature are not ſtrictly regarded in my conduct, though ſhe has violated the moſt ſacred of them all in her own. — Death and hell! who wou'd be a father? — There is yet one way left, — and, if that fails, — why, I never had a daughter. —

[Exit.]
The SCENE changes to an Apartment. Enter Miſs MARCHMONT and CECIL.
Miſs MARCHMONT.

Nay, now Sir I muſt tax you with unkindneſs, — know ſomething that may poſſibly be of conſequence to my welfare, — and yet decline to tell me! — Is this conſiſtent with the uſual friendſhip which I have met with from Mr. Cecil?

CECIL.

Look'ye, Hortenſia, 'tis becauſe I ſet a very great value on your eſteem that I find this unwillingneſs to explain myſelf.

Miſs MARCHMONT.

Indeed, Sir, you grow every moment more and more myſterious. —

CECIL.

Well then, Hortenſia, if I thought you woud'nt be offended — I —

Miſs MARCHMONT.

I am ſure, Sir, you will never ſay any thing to give me a reaſonable cauſe of offence. — I know your kindneſs for me too well, Sir. —

CECIL.

Where is the need of Sirring me at every word? — I deſire you will lay aſide this ceremony, and [43]treat me with the ſame freedom you do every body elſe, — theſe Sirs are ſo cold, and ſo diſtant. —

Miſs MARCHMONT.

Indeed Sir, I can't ſo eaſily lay aſide my reſpect as you imagine, for I have long conſidered you as a father.

CECIL.

As a father! — but that's a light in which I don't want to be conſider'd. — As a father indeed, — O ſhe's likely to think me a proper huſband for her, I can ſee that already.

[aſide]
Miſs MARCHMONT.

Why not Sir? — your years, — your friendſhip for my father, and your partiality for me, ſufficiently juſtify the propriety of my epithet. —

CECIL.
[aſide.]

My years! — Yes, I thought my years would be an invincible obſtacle.

Miſs MARCHMONT.

But pray Sir, — to the buſineſs upon which you wanted to ſpeak with me: — You don't conſider I am all this time upon the rack of my ſex's curioſity. —

CECIL.

Why then, Hortenſia, — I will proceed to the buſineſs — and aſk you, in one word, — if you have any diſinclination to be married?

Miſs MARCHMONT.

This is proceeding to buſineſs indeed Sir, — but ha — ha — ha! pray who have you deſigned me as a huſband?

CECIL.

Why what do you think of a man about my age?

Miſs MARCHMONT.
[44]

Of your age Sir?

CECIL.

Yes, of my age. —

Miſs MARCHMONT.

Why, Sir, what wou'd you adviſe me to think of him?

CECIL.

That is'nt the queſtion, for all your arch ſignificance of manner, Madam.

Miſs MARHMONT.

O I am ſure you wou'd never recommend him to me as a huſband Sir.

CECIL.

— So! — and why not pray?

Miſs MARCHMONT.

Becauſe I am ſure you have too great a regard for me.

CECIL.

She gives me rare encouragement.

[aſide]

— But do you imagine it impoſſible for ſuch a huſband to love you very tenderly?

Miſs MARCHMONT.

No — Sir, — But do you imagine it poſſible for me to love him very tenderly. — You ſee I have caught your own frankneſs Sir, — and anſwer with as much eaſe as you queſtion me.

CECIL.
[aſide.]

How lucky it was that I did not open myſelf directly to her. — O! I ſhould have been moſt purely contemptible.

Miſs MARCHMONT.
[45]

But pray, Sir, — have you, in reality, any meaning by theſe queſtions? — Is there actually any body who has ſpoken to you on my account?

CECIL.

Hortenſia, there is a fellow, a very fooliſh fellow, for whom I have ſome value, that entertains the ſincereſt affection for you.

Miſs MARCHMONT.

Then, indeed, Sir, I am very unhappy, — for I cannot encourage the addreſſes of any body.

CECIL.

No?

Miſs MARCHMONT.

O, Sir! I had but two friends in the world, — yourſelf and Lady Betty, — and I am, with juſtice apprehenſive that neither will conſider me long with any degree of regard, — Lady Betty has a propoſal from Lord Winworth of the ſame nature with yours, in which I fear ſhe will ſtrongly intereſt herſelf, — and I muſt be under the painful neceſſity of diſobliging you both, from an utter impoſſibility of liſtening to either of your recommendations.

CECIL.

I tell you, Hortenſia, not to alarm yourſelf.

Miſs MARCHMONT.

Dear Sir, I have always conſidered you with reverence, and it would make me inconceivably wretched if you imagin'd I was actuated upon this occaſion by any ridiculous ſingularity of ſentiment. — I wou'd do much to pleaſe you, — and I ſcarcely know what I ſhould refuſe to Lady Betty's [46]requeſt; — but, Sir, though it diſtreſſes me exceedingly to diſcover it, — I muſt tell you I have not a heart to diſpoſe of.

CECIL.

How's this?

Miſs MARCHMONT.

At the ſame time, I muſt however, tell you, that my affections are ſo plac'd as to make it wholly impoſſible for me ever to change my ſituation. — This acknowledgment of a prepoſſeſſion, Sir, may be inconſiſtent with the nice reſerve which is proper for my ſex, — but it is neceſſary to juſtify me in a caſe where my gratitude might be reaſonably ſuſpected, and when I recollect to whom it is made, I hope it will be doubly entitled to an excuſe.

CECIL.

Your candour, Hortenſia, needs no apology, — but as you have truſted me thus far with your ſecret, — may'nt I know why you can have no proſpect of being united to the object of your affections?

Miſs MARCHMONT.

Becauſe, Sir, he is engaged to a moſt deſerving young lady, and will be married to her in a few days: — In ſhort, Mr. Sidney is the Man for whom I entertain this ſecret partiality: — You ſee, therefore, that my partiality is hopeleſs, — but you ſee, at the ſame time, how utterly improper it would be for me to give a lifeleſs hand to another while he is entirely maſter of my affections. — It would be a meanneſs of which I think myſelf incapable, and I ſhould be quite unworthy the honour of any deſerving hand, if, circumſtanc'd in this manner, I could baſely ſtoop to accept it.

CECIL.
[47]

You intereſt me ſtrangely in your ſtory, Hortenſia: — But has Sidney any idea? —

Miſs MARCHMONT.

None in the leaſt. — Before the match with Miſs Rivers was in agitation he made addreſſes to me, though privately; and, I muſt own, his tenderneſs, join'd to his good qualities, ſoon gave me impreſſions in his favour. — But, Sir, I was a poor orphan, wholly dependant upon the generoſity of others, and he was a younger brother of a family, great in his birth, but contracted in his circumſtances. — What cou'd I do? — It was not in my power to make his fortune, — and I had too much pride, or too much affection, to think of deſtroying it.

CECIL.

You are a good girl, — a very good girl; — but ſurely if Lady Betty knows any thing of this matter there can be no danger of her recommending Lord Winworth ſo earneſtly to your attention. —

Miſs MARCHMONT.

There, Sir, is my principle misfortune. — Lady Betty is, of all perſons, the leaſt proper to be made acquainted with it. — Her heart is in the marriage between Miſs Rivers and Mr. Sidney; and, had ſhe the leaſt idea of my ſentitiments for him, or of his inclination for me, I am poſitive it would immediately fruſtrate the match. — On this account, Sir, I have carefully concealed the ſecret of my wiſhes, — and, on this account, I muſt ſtill continue to conceal it. — My heart ſhall break before it ſhall be worthleſs; [48]— and I ſhould deteſt myſelf for ever if I was capable of eſtabliſhing my own peace at the expence of my benefactreſs's firſt wiſh, and the deſire of her whole family.

CECIL.

Zounds, what can be the matter with my eyes! —

Miſs MARCHMONT.

My life was mark'd out early by calamity, — and the firſt light I beheld was purchas'd with the loſs of a mother. — The grave ſnatched away the beſt of fathers juſt as I came to know the value of ſuch a bleſſing; — and had'nt it been for the exalted goodneſs of others, I, who once experienc'd the unſpeakable pleaſure of relieving the neceſſitous, had myſelf, perhaps, felt the immediate want of bread; — and ſhall I ungratefully ſting the boſom which has thus benevolently cheriſhed me? — Shall I baſely wound the peace of thoſe who have reſcu'd me from deſpair, — and ſtab at their tranquility in the very moment they honour me with protection? — O, Mr. Cecil! they deſerve every ſacrifice which I can make. — May the benignant hand of Providence ſhower endleſs happineſs upon their heads, and may the ſweets of a ſtill-encreaſing felicity be their portion, whatever becomes of me!

CECIL.

Hortenſia, — I can't ſtay with you. — My eyes are exceedingly painful of late; — what the devil can be the matter with them? — But, let me tell you before I go, that you ſhall be happy after all; — that you ſhall, I promiſe you; — but I ſee Lady Betty coming this way — and I cannot enter into explanations, — yet, do you hear, — [49]don't ſuppoſe I am angry with you for refuſing my friend, — don't ſuppoſe ſuch a thing, I charge you; — for he has too much pride to force himſelf upon any woman, and too much humanity to make any woman miſerable. — He is beſides a very fooliſh fellow, and it does'nt ſignify —

[Exit.]
Enter LADY BETTY.
Lady BETTY.

Well, my dear Hortenſia, I am come again to aſk you what you think of Lord Winworth. — We were interrupted before, — and I want, as ſoon as poſſible, for the reaſon I hinted, to know your real opinion of him.

Miſs MARCHMONT.

You have long known my real opinion of him, Lady Betty. — You know I always thought him a very amiable man.

Lady BETTY.
[with impatience.]

Do you think him an amiable man?

Miſs MARCHMONT.

The whole world thinks as I do in this reſpect,— yet, —

Lady BETTY.

Ay, ſhe loves him, 'tis plain; and there is no hope after this declaration —

[aſide.]

— His Lordſhip merits your good opinion, I aſſure you Miſs Marchmont.

Miſs MARCHMONT.
[aſide.]

Yes, I ſee by this ceremony that ſhe is offended at my coolneſs to the propoſal.

Lady BETTY.

I have hinted to you, Miſs Marchmont, that my Lord requeſted I would exert my little intereſt with you in his favour.

Miſs MARCHMONT.
[50]

The little intereſt your Ladyſhip has with me, — the little intereſt.

Lady BETTY.

Don't be diſpleaſed with me, my dear Hortenſia, — I know my intereſt with you is conſiderable. —I know you love me.

Miſs MARCHMONT.

I would ſacrifice my life for you, Lady Betty: For what had that life been without your generoſity — ?

Lady BETTY.

If you love me, Hortenſia, never mention any thing of this nature.

Miſs MARCHMONT.

You are too good. —

Lady BETTY.

But to my Lord Winworth. — He has earneſtly requeſted I would become his advocate with you. — He has entirely got the better of his former attachments, and there can be no doubt of his making you an excellent huſband.

Miſs MARCHMONT.

His Lordſhip does me infinite honour, — nevertheleſs —

Lady BETTY.
[eagerly.]

Nevertheleſs, what my dear?

Miſs MARCHMONT.

I ſay, notwithſtanding, I think myſelf highly honour'd by his ſentiments in my favour; — 'tis utterly impoſſible for me to return his affection.

Lady BETTY.
[51]
[ſurprized.]

Impoſſible for you to return his affection!

Miſs MARCHMONT.
[aſide.]

I knew what an intereſt ſhe wou'd take in this affair.

Lady BETTY.

And do you really ſay you can't give him a favourable anſwer? — How fortunate!

[aſide.]
Miſs MARCHMONT.

I do, my dear Lady Betty,—I can honour, I can reverence him, — but I cannot feel that tenderneſs for his perſon which I imagine to be neceſſary both for his happineſs and my own.

Lady BETTY.

Upon my word, my dear, you are extremely difficult in your choice, and if Lord Winworth is not capable of inſpiring you with tenderneſs — I don't know who is likely to ſucceed; for, in my opinion, there is not a man in England poſſeſſed of more perſonal accompliſhments.

Miſs MARCHMONT.

And yet, great as theſe accompliſhments are, my dear Lady Betty, they never excited your tenneſs. —

Lady BETTY.

Why, all this is very true, my dear, — but, though I felt no tenderneſs, — yet I — to be ſure, I — that is — I ſay, nevertheleſs. — This is beyond my hopes.

[aſide.]
Miſs MARCHMONT.
[aſide.]

She's diſtreſs'd that I decline the propoſal. — Her friendſhip for us both is generouſly warm. — and ſhe imagines I am equally inſenſible to his merit, and my own intereſt.

Lady BETTY.
[52]

Well, my dear, I ſee your emotion — and I heartily beg your pardon for ſaying ſo much. — I ſhould be inexpreſſibly concern'd if I thought you made any ſacrifice on this occaſion to me. — My Lord, to be ſure, poſſeſſes a very high place in my eſteem, — but —

Miſs MARCHMONT.

Dear Lady Betty, what can I do? — I ſee you are offended with me, — and yet —

Lady BETTY.

I offended with you, my dear! — far from it; I commend your reſolution extremely, ſince my Lord is not a man to your taſte. — Offended with you! why ſhould I take the liberty to be offended with you? — A preſumption of that nature —

Miſs MARCHMONT.

Indeed, Lady Betty, this affair makes me very unhappy.

Lady BETTY.

Indeed, my dear, you talk very ſtrangely; — ſo far from being ſorry that you have refus'd my Lord — I am pleas'd, — infinitely pleas'd, — that is, ſince he was not agreeable to you. — Be ſatisfied your acceptance of him would have given me no pleaſure in the world, — I aſſure you it wou'd'nt, — on the contrary, as matters are ſituated, I wou'd'nt for the world have you give him the ſmalleſt encouragement.

[Exit.]
Miſs MARCHMONT.
[alone.]

I ſee ſhe's greatly diſappointed at my refuſal of an offer ſo highly to my advantage, — I ſee, moreover, ſhe's griev'd that his Lordſhip ſhould [53]meet with a ſecond repulſe, and from a quarter too, where the generoſity of his propoſal might be reaſonably expected to promiſe it ſucceſs. — How ſurpriz'd ſhe ſeem'd when I told her he cou'd'nt make an impreſſion on my heart, and how eagerly ſhe endeavour'd to convince me that ſhe was pleas'd with my conduct; not conſidering that this very eagerneſs was a manifeſt proof of her diſſatisfaction. — She is more intereſted in this affair than I even thought ſhe would be, — and I ſhould be completely miſerable if ſhe cou'd ſuſpect me of ingratitude. — As ſhe was ſo zealous for the match I was certainly to blame in declining it — 'Tis not yet, however, too late. — She has been a thouſand parents to me, — and I will not regard my own wiſhes, when they are any way oppoſite to her inclinations. — Poor Mr. Cecil! — Make me happy after all! — How? — Impoſſible! — for I was born to nothing but misfortune. —

[Exit.]
End of the third ACT.

ACT IV.

[54]
SCENE an Apartment at Lady BETTY's Houſe.
Enter Lady BETTY and Mrs. HARLEY.
Lady BETTY.

THUS far, my dear Emmy, there is a gleam of hope. — She determined, poſitively determined, againſt my Lord: — And even ſuſpected ſo little of my partiality for him, that ſhe appeared under the greateſt anxiety leſt I ſhould be offended with her refuſing him: — And yet, ſhall I own my folly to you?

Mrs. HARLEY.

Pray do, my dear; — you'll ſcarcely believe it, — but I have follies of my own ſometimes.

Lady BETTY.

Why you quite ſurprize me!

Mrs. HARLEY.

'Tis very true for all that. — But to your buſineſs.

Lady BETTY.

Why then, greatly as I dreaded her approbation of the propoſal, — I was ſecretly hurt at her inſenſibility to the perſonal attractions of his Lordſhip.

Mrs. HARLEY.

I don't doubt, it my dear. — We think all the world ſhould love what we are in love with ourſelves.

Lady BETTY.
[55]

Your are right. — And though I was happy to find her reſolution ſo agreeable to my wiſhes, my pride was not a little piqu'd to find it poſſible for her to refuſe a man upon whom I had ſo ardently plac'd my own affection. — The ſurprize which I felt on this account threw a warmth into my expreſſions, and made the generous girl apprehenſive that I was offended with her.

Mrs. HARLEY.

Well, this is a ſtrange world we live in. — That a woman without a ſhilling ſhou'd refuſe an Earl with a fine perſon, and a great eſtate is the moſt ſurprizing affair I ever heard of. — Perhaps, Lady Betty, my Lord may take it in his head to go round the family: — If he ſhould, my turn is next, and I aſſure you, he ſhall meet with a very different reception.

Lady BETTY.

Then you wou'd'nt be cruel, Emmy!

Mrs. HARLEY.

Why no! — Not very cruel. — I might give myſelf a few airs at firſt. — I might bluſh a little, and look down. — Wonder what he cou'd find in me to attract his attention: — Then pulling up my head, with a toſs of diſdain, — deſire him, if ever he ſpoke to me on that ſubject again, —

Lady BETTY.

Well!

Mrs. HARLEY.

To have a licence in his pocket, — that's all. — I would make ſure work of it at once, and leave it to your elevated minds to deal in delicate abſurdities. — But I have a little anecdote for you, [56]which proves beyond a doubt that you are as much as ever in poſſeſſion of Lord Winworth's affection.

Lady BETTY.

What is it, my dear Emmy?

Mrs. HARLEY.

Why about an hour ago, my woman, it ſeems, and Arnold, my Lord's man, had a little converſation on this unexpected propoſal to Miſs Marchmont; in which Arnold ſaid, — ‘Never tell me of your Miſs Marchmonts, Mrs. Nelſon; — between ourſelves — but let it go no farther — Lady Betty is ſtill the woman, and a ſweet creature ſhe is, that's the truth on't, but a little fantaſtical, and doesn't know her own mind —’

Lady BETTY.

I'll aſſure you! — Why Mr. Arnold is a wit.

Mrs. HARLEY.

Well, but hear him out: — ‘Mrs. Nelſon, I know as much of my Lord's mind as any body; let him mary whom he pleaſes, he'll never be rightly happy but with her Ladyſhip; and I'd give a hundred guineas, with all my ſoul, that it cou'd be a match.’ — Theſe Nelſon tells me were his very words. — Arnold is an intelligent fellow, and much in the confidence of his maſter.

Lady BETTY.

Indeed I always thought my Lord happy in ſo excellent a ſervant. — This intelligence is worth a world, my dear Emmy —

Enter Miſs MARCHMONT.
Miſs MARCHMONT.

I have been looking for your Ladyſhip.

Lady BETTY.
[57]

Have you any thing particular, my dear Hortenſia? — But why that gloom upon your features? — What gives you uneaſineſs, my ſweet girl? Speak, and make me happy by ſaying it is in my power to oblige you.

Miſs MARCHMONT.

'Tis in your power, my dear Lady Betty, to oblige me highly — by forgiving the ungrateful diſregard which I juſt now ſhew'd to your recommendation of Lord Winworth.

Mrs. HARLEY.
[aſide.]

Now will I be hang'd if ſhe does not undo every thing by a freſh ſtroke of delicacy.

Lady BETTY.

My dear!

Miſs MARCHMONT.

And by informing his Lordſhip that I am ready to pay a proper obedience to your commands.

Mrs. HARLEY.
[aſide.]

O the devil take this elevation of ſentiment!

Lady BETTY.

A proper obedience to my commands my dear! I really don't underſtand you.

Miſs MARCHMONT.

I ſee how generouſly you are concerned, for fear I ſhou'd, upon this occaſion, offer violence to my inclination: — But, Lady Betty, I ſhou'd be infinitely more diſtreſs'd by the ſmalleſt act of ingratitude to you, than by any other misfortune. — I am therefore ready, in obedience to your wiſhes, to accept of his Lordſhip, and if I can't make him a fond wife, I will, at leaſt, make him a dutiful one.

Mrs. HARLEY.
[58]
[aſide.]

Now her delicacy is willing to be miſerable.

Lady BETTY.

How cou'd you ever imagine, my dear Hortenſia, that your rejection of Lord Winworth cou'd poſſibly give me the ſmalleſt offence? — I have a great regard for his Lordſhip 'tis true, but I have a great regard for you alſo; and wou'd by no means wiſh to ſee his happineſs promoted at your expence; — think of him therefore no more, and be aſſur'd you oblige me in an infinitely higher degree by refuſing than accepting him.

Miſs MARCHMONT.

The more I ſee your Ladyſhip's tenderneſs and delicacy, the more I ſee it neceſſary to give an affirmative to Lord Winworth's propoſal. — Your generoſity muſt not get the better of my gratitude.

Mrs. HARLEY.

Did ever two fools plague one another ſo heartily with their delicacy and ſentiment? —

[aſide.]

Dear Lady Betty, why don't you deal candidly with her? —

Lady BETTY.

Her happineſs makes it neceſſary now, and I will.

Mrs. HARLEY.

Ay, there's ſome ſenſe in this. —

Lady BETTY.

Your uncommon generoſity, my dear Hortenſia, has led you into an error —

Miſs MARCHMONT.

Not in the leaſt, Lady Betty.

Lady BETTY.

Still, Hortenſia, you are running into very great miſtakes. — My eſteem for Lord Winworth, let me now tell you —

[59] Enter WINWORTH.
WINWORTH.

Ladies, your moſt obedient! — As I enter'd, Lady Betty, I heard you pronounce my name: — May I preſume to aſk, if you were talking to Miſs Marchmont on the buſineſs I took the liberty of communicating to you this morning?

Mrs. HARLEY.
[aſide.]

Ay, now it's all over I ſee.

Lady BETTY.

Why, to be candid, my Lord, I have mentioned your propoſal —

WINWORTH.

Well, my dear Miſs Marchmont, and may I flatter myſelf that Lady Betty's interpoſition will induce you to be propitious to my hopes? — The heart now offer'd to you, Madam, is a grateful one, and will retain an eternal ſenſe of your goodneſs. — Speak, therefore, my dear Miſs Marchmont, and kindly ſay you condeſcend to accept it.

Mrs. HARLEY,
[aſide.]

So—here will be a comfortable piece of work.— I'll e'en retire and leave them to the conſequences of their ridiculous delicacy.

[Exit.]
Miſs MARCHMONT.

I know not what to ſay, my Lord, — you have honoured me, greatly honoured me — but Lady Betty will acquaint you with my determination.—

Lady BETTY.

I acquaint him my dear—ſurely you are yourſelf the moſt proper to—I ſhall run diſtracted—

[aſide]
Miſs MARCHMONT.
[60]

Indeed madam I can't ſpeak to his lordſhip on this ſubject.

Lady BETTY.

And I aſſure you, Hortenſia, 'tis a ſubject upon which I do not chuſe to enter.

Lord WINWORTH.

If you had a kind anſwer from Miſs Marchmont, Lady Betty, I am ſure you would enter upon it readily: — But I ſee her reply very clearly in your reluctance to acquaint me with it.—

Miſs MARCHMONT.

Why Madam will you force me to —

Lady BETTY.

And why Hortenſia? — What am I going to ſay? —

[aſide.]
Lord WINWORTH.

Don't, my dear Ladies, ſuffer me to diſtreſs you any longer, — to your friendſhip, Madam, I am as much indebted

[addreſſing himſelf to Lady Betty.]

as if I had been ſucceſsful, — and I ſincerely wiſh Miſs Marchmont that happineſs with a more deſerving man, which I find it impoſſible for her to confer on me.

[going.]
Lady BETTY.
[aſide.]

Now I have ſome hope.—

Miſs MARCHMONT.

My Lord I entreat your ſtay. —

Lady BETTY.

Don't call his Lordſhip back my dear, it will have an odd appearance.

[61] Enter Lord WINWORTH.
Miſs MARCHMONT.

He is come back. — And I muſt tell him what your unwillingneſs to influence my inclinations, makes you decline.

Lord WINWORTH.

Your commands Madam.—

Lady BETTY.
[aſide.]

Now I am undone again!

Miſs MARCHMONT.

I am in ſuch a ſituation my Lord that I can ſcarcely proceed — Lady Betty is cruelly kind to me — but as I know her wiſhes —

Lady BETTY.

My wiſhes, Miſs Marchmont! — indeed my dear there is ſuch a miſtake.—

Miſs MARCHMONT.

There is no miſtaking your Ladyſhip's goodneſs, you are fearful to direct my reſolution, and I ſhould be unkind to diſtreſs your friendſhip any longer.

Lady BETTY.

You do diſtreſs me indeed Miſs Marchmont.

[half aſide and ſighing.]
Lord WINWORTH.

I am all expectation, Madam! —

Miſs MARCHMONT.

I am compell'd by gratitude to both, and from affection to my dear Lady Betty, to break through the common forms impos'd on our ſex, and to declare that I have no will but her Ladyſhip's.

Lady BETTY.

This is ſo provoking.

[aſide.]
Lord WINWORTH.
[62]

Ten thouſand thanks for this condeſcending goodneſs, Madam — a goodneſs which is additionally dear to me, as the reſult of your determination is pronounc'd by your own lips.

Miſs MARCHMONT.

Well, Lady Betty, I hope I have anſwer'd your wiſhes now.

Lady BETTY.

You cannot conceive how ſenſibly I am touch'd with your behaviour my dear.

[ſighs.]
Miſs MARCHMONT.

You feel too much for me Lady Betty. —

Lady BETTY.

Why I do feel ſomething my dear — this unexpected event has fill'd my heart — and I am a little agitated. — But come, my dear, let us now go to the company.

Miſs MARCHMONT.

How generouſly, Madam, do you intereſt yourſelf for my welfare!

Lord WINWORTH.

And for the welfare of all her friends:

Lady BETTY.

Your Lordſhip is too good.—

Lord WINWORTH.

But the buſineſs of her life is to promote the happineſs of others, and ſhe is conſtantly rewarded in the exerciſe of her own benignity.

Lady BETTY.

You can't imagine how I am rewarded upon the preſent occaſion I aſſure your Lordſhip.

[Exeunt]
[63] SCENE the Paddock behind Lady BETTY's Garden.
Enter Miſs RIVERS and SALLY.
SALLY.

Dear Madam don't terrify yourſelf with ſuch gloomy reflections.

Miſs RIVERS.

O, Sally, you can't conceive my diſtreſs in this critical ſituation. — An elopement even from a tyrannical father, has ſomething in it which muſt ſhock a delicate mind. — But when a woman flies from the protection of a parent, who merits the utmoſt return of her affection, ſhe muſt be inſenſible indeed, if ſhe does not feel the ſincereſt regret: — If he ſhoud'nt forgive me! —

SALLY.

Dear Madam he muſt forgive you — are'nt you his child. —

Miſs RIVERS.

And therefore I ſhoud'nt diſoblige him. — I am half diſtracted, — and I almoſt repent the promiſe I gave Sir Harry — when I conſider how much my character may be leſſened by this ſtep, and recollect how it is likely to affect my unfortunate father. —

SALLY.

But I wonder where Sir Harry can be all this time. —

Miſs RIVERS.

I wiſh he was come. —

SALLY.

Courage, Madam — I hear him coming.

Miſs RIVERS.

It muſt be he, let's run and meet him. —

[64] Enter RIVERS. Sally ſhrieks and runs off.
Miſs RIVERS.

My father!

RIVERS.

Yes, Theodora — your poor, abandoned, miſerable father.

Miſs RIVERS.

Oh! Sir! —

RIVERS.

Little, Theodora, did I imagine I ſhou'd ever have cauſe to lament the hour of your birth, and leſs did I imagine when you arrived at an age to be perfectly acquainted with your duty, you wou'd throwevery ſentiment of duty off. — In what, my dear, has your unhappy father been culpable, that you cannot bear his ſociety any longer? — What has he done to forfeit either your eſteem, or your affection? — From the moment of your birth to this unfortunate hour, he has laboured to promote your happineſs. — But how has his ſolicitude on that account been rewarded? You now fly from theſe arms which have cheriſhed you with ſo much tenderneſs, when gratitude, generoſity and nature, ſhould have twin'd me round your heart. —

Miſs RIVERS.

Dear Sir!

RIVERS.

Look back, infatuated child, upon my whole conduct ſince your approach to maturity: Hav'n't I contracted my own enjoyments on purpoſe to enlarge yours, and watched your very looks to anticipate your inclinations? Have I ever, with the obſtinacy of other fathers, been partial in favour of any man to whom you made the ſlighteſt objection. — Or have I ever ſhewn [65]the leaſt deſign of forcing your wiſhes to my own humour or caprice? On the contrary has'nt the engagement I have enter'd into been carried on [...] ſeemingly with your own approbation. — And hav'n't you always appeared reconciled at leaſt to a marriage with Mr. Sidney?

Miſs RIVERS.

I am ſo aſham'd of myſelf!

RIVERS.

How then, Theodora, have I merited a treatment of this nature? You have underſtanding, my dear, though you want filial affection, and my arguments muſt have weight with your reaſon, however my tranquility may be the object of your contempt.—I lov'd you, Theodora, with the warmeſt degree of paternal tenderneſs, and flatter'd myſelf the proofs I every day gave of that tenderneſs, had made my peace of mind a matter of ſome importance to my child. — But, alas! a paltry compliment from a coxcomb undoes the whole labour of my life; and the daughter whom I looked upon as the ſupport of my declining years, betrays me in the unſuſpecting hour of ſecurity, and rewards with her perſon, the aſſaſſin who ſtabs me to the heart. —

Miſs RIVERS.

Hear me dear Sir, hear me —

RIVERS.

I do not come here, Theodora, to ſtop your flight, or put the ſmalleſt impediment in the way of your wiſhes. — Your perſon is your own, and I ſcorn to detain even my daughter by force, where ſhe is not bound to me by inclination. — Since therefore neither duty nor diſcretion, a regard for my peace, nor a ſolicitude for your own welfare, [66]are able to detain you, — go to this man, who has taught you to obliterate the ſentiments of nature, and gain'd a ready way to your heart, by expreſſing a contempt for your father. — Go to him boldly, my child, and laugh at the pangs which tear this unhappy boſom. — Be uniformly culpable, nor add the baſeneſs of a deſpicable ſlight to the unpardonable want of a filial affection.

[Going]
Miſs RIVERS.

I am the moſt miſerable creature in the world.—

RIVERS.
[Returns.]

One thing more, Theodora, — and then farewell for ever. — Though you come here to throw off the affection of a child, I will not quit this place, before I diſcharge the duty of a parent, even to a romantic extravagance, and provide for your welfare, while you plunge me into the moſt poignant of all diſtreſs. — In the doating hours of paternal blandiſhment, I have often promiſed you a fortune of twenty thouſand pounds, whenever you chang'd your ſituation. — This promiſe was indeed made when I thought you incapable either of ingratitude, or diſſimulation, — and when I fancied your perſon wou'd be given, where there was ſome reaſonable proſpect of your happineſs. — But ſtill it was a promiſe, and ſhall be faithfully diſcharged. — Here then in this pocketbook are notes for that ſum.

[Miſs RIVERS ſhews an unwillingneſs to receive the pocket-book.]

— Take it — but never ſee me more. — Baniſh my name eternally from your remembrance;—and when a little time ſhall remove me from a world, which your conduct has rendered inſupportable, boaſt an additional title, my dear, to your huſband's regard, by having ſhorten'd the life of your miſerable father. —

[Exit.]
[67] Enter SALLY.
SALLY.

What, Madam, is he gone?

Miſs RIVERS.

How could I be ſuch a monſter — ſuch an unnatural monſter as ever to think of leaving him. — But come, Sally, let us go into the houſe.—

SALLY.

Go into the houſe, Madam! — Why are'nt we to go off with Sir Harry? —

Miſs RIVERS.

This inſenſible creature has been my confident too! — O I ſhall eternally deteſt myſelf. —

Enter Sir HARRY and CECIL.
Sir HARRY.

I beg a thouſand pardons, my dear Miſs Rivers, for detaining you. — An unforeſeen accident prevented me from being punctual, — but the carriage is now ready, and a few hours will whirl us to the ſummit of felicity. — My couſin Cecil is kindly here to aſſiſt us — and —

Miſs RIVERS.

Sir Harry, I can never forſake my father. —

Sir HARRY.

Madam!

Miſs RIVERS.

By ſome accident he diſcovered our deſign, and came to this ſpot, while I was trembling with expectation of your appearance. —

Sir HARRY.

Well, my dear creature? —

Miſs RIVERS.
[68]

Here, in a melancholy but reſolute voice, he expatiated on the infamy of my intended ſlight, and mentioned my want of affection for him in terms that pierc'd my very ſoul: — Having done this, he took an abrupt leave, and, ſcorning to detain me by force, forſook me to the courſe of my own inclinations.

Sir HARRY.

Well, my angel, and ſince he has left you to follow your own inclinations, you will not, ſurely, heſitate to —

Miſs RIVERS.

Sir Harry, unlooſe my hand; — the univerſe wou'd'nt bribe me now to go off with you. — O, Sir Harry! if you regarded your own peace you wou'd ceaſe this importunity; — for is it poſſible that a woman can make a valuable wife, who has prov'd an unnatural daughter?

Sir HARRY.

But conſider your own happineſs, my dear Miſs Rivers —

Miſs RIVERS.

My own happineſs, Sir Harry! — What a wretch muſt the woman be, who can dream of happineſs while ſhe wounds the boſom of a father!

CECIL.

What a noble girl! — I ſhall love her myſelf for her ſenſe and her goodneſs.

SALLY, aſide, to Sir HARRY.

She won't conſent, I know, Sir Harry, — ſo, if the coach is at hand, it will be the beſt way to carry her off directly.

Sir HARRY.

Then, my dear Miſs Rivers, there is no hope.—

Miſs RIVERS.
[69]

Sir Harry, I muſt not hear you. — This parting is a kind of death —

Sir HARRY.

Part, Madam! — by all that's gracious we muſt not part. — My whole ſoul is unalterably fix'd upon you, — and ſince — neither tenderneſs for yourſelf, nor affection for me, perſuade you to the only meaſure which can promote our mutual felicity, you muſt forgive the deſpair that forces you from hence, and commits a momentary diſreſpect to avoid a laſting unhappineſs.

Miſs RIVERS.

Hear me, Sir Harry — I conjure you hear me!

Sir HARRY.

Let me but remove you from this place, Madam, and I'll hear every thing. — Cecil, aſſiſt me.

Miſs RIVERS.

O, Mr. Cecil, I rely upon your honour to ſave and protect me!

CECIL.

And it ſhall, Madam. — For ſhame kinſman, unhand the Lady!

Sir HARRY.

Unhand her, what do you mean Cecil?

CECIL.

What do I mean, I mean to protect the Lady. — What ſhould a man of honour mean?

Miſs RIVERS, breaking from Sir Harry.

Dear Mr. Cecil don't let him follow me

[She runs off.]
SALLY, following.
[70]

I'll give her warning this moment, that's the ſhort and the long of it.

[Exit.]
Sir HARRY.

Mr. Cecil, this is no time for triſling, — Did'nt you come here to aſſiſt me in carrying the Lady off?

CECIL.

With her own inclinations, kinſman; — but as they are now on the other ſide of the queſtion, ſo am I too. — You muſt not follow her Sir Harry —

Sir HARRY.

Zounds! but I will!

CECIL.

Zounds! but you ſhan't. — Look'ye, Harry, I came here to aſſiſt the purpoſes of a man of honour, not to abet the violence of a ruſſian; — your friends of the world, your faſhionable friends, may, if they pleaſe, ſupport one another's vices, but I am a friend only to the virtues of a man; and where I ſincerely eſteem him, I always endeavour to make him honeſt in ſpite of his teeth.

Sir HARRY.

An injury like this! —

CECIL.

Harry! — Harry! — don't advance: — I am not to be terrified, you know, from the ſupport of what is juſt; — and, though you may think it very brave to ſight in the defence of a bad action, it will do but little credit either to your underſtanding or your humanity.

Sir HARRY.

Dear Cecil, there's no anſwering that. — Your Juſtice and your generoſity overpower me; — [71]You have reſtored me to myſelf. — It was mean, it was unmanly, it was infamous to think of uſing force. — But I was diſtracted; — nay, I am diſtracted now, and muſt entirely rely upon your aſſiſtance to recover her.

CECIL.

As far as I can act with honeſty, Harry, you may depend upon me; — but let me have no more violence, I beg of you.

Sir HARRY.

Don't mention it, Cecil, — I am heartily aſham'd —

CECIL.

And I am heartily glad of it. —

Sir HARRY.

Pray let us go to my houſe and conſult a little. — What a contemptible figure do I make! —

CECIL.

Why, pretty well, I think; but to be leſs ſo, put up your ſword, Harry —

Sir HARRY.

She never can forgive me.

CECIL.

If ſhe does, ſhe will ſcarcely deſerve to be forgiven herſelf.

Sir HARRY.

Don't, Cecil; 'tis ungenerous to be ſo hard upon me. — I own my faults, and you ſhould encourage me, for every coxcomb has not ſo much modeſty.

CECIL.

Why, ſo I will, Harry; for modeſty, I ſee, as yet, ſits upon you but very aukwardly.

[Exeunt.]
End of the fourth ACT.

ACT V.

[72]
SCENE an Apartment at Lady BETTY's.
Enter RIVERS and SIDNEY.
SIDNEY.

I AM deeply ſenſible of Miſs Rivers's very great merit, Sir; — but —

RIVERS.

But what, Sir, —

SIDNEY.

Hear me with temper, I beſeech you, Colonel.

RIVERS.

Hear you with temper: — I don't know whether I ſhall be able to hear you with temper; — but go on, Sir. —

SIDNEY.

Miſs Rivers, independent of her very affluent fortune, Colonel, has beauty and merit which would make her alliance a very great honour to the firſt family in the kingdom — But, notwithſtanding my admiration of her beauty, and my reverence for her merit, I find it utterly impoſſible to proſit either by her goodneſs, or your generoſity.

RIVERS.

How is all this, Sir! do you decline a marriage with my daughter?

SIDNEY.

A marriage with Miſs Rivers, Sir, was once the object of my higheſt ambition, and, had I been honoured with her hand, I ſhould have ſtudied to ſhew my ſenſibility of a bleſſing ſo invaluble; — but, at that time, I did not ſuppoſe [73]my happineſs to be incompatible with her's. — I am now convinced that is ſo, and it becomes me much better to give up my own hopes, than to offer the ſmalleſt violence to her inclinations.

RIVERS.

Death and hell, Sir! — what do you mean by this behaviour? — Shall I prefer your alliance to any man's in England? — Shall my daughter even expreſs a readineſs to marry you? — and ſhall you, after this, inſolently tell me you don't chooſe to accept her? —

SIDNEY.

Dear Colonel, you totally miſconceive my motive, — and, I am ſure, upon reflexion, you will rather approve than condemn it — A man of common humanity, Sir, in a treaty of marriage, ſhould conſult the lady's wiſhes as well as his own, and, if he can't make her happy, he will ſcorn to make her miſerable.

RIVERS.

Scorn to make her miſerable! — why the fellow's mad, I believe — Does'nt the girl abſolutely conſent to have you? — Would you have her drag you to the altar by force? — Would you have her fall at your feet, and beg of you, with tears, to pity one of the fineſt women, with one of the beſt fortunes, in England?

SIDNEY.

Your vehemence, Sir, prevents you from conſidering this matter in a proper light. — Miſs Rivers is ſufficiently unhappy in loſing the man of her heart, but her diſtreſs muſt be greatly aggravated, if, in the moment ſhe is moſt keenly ſenſible of this loſs, ſhe is compelled to marry another. — Beſides, Colonel, I muſt have my ſeelings [74]too. — There is ſomething ſhocking in a union with a woman whoſe affections we know to be alienated; and 'tis difficult to ſay which is moſt entitled to contempt, he that ſtoops to accept of a pre-engaged mind, or he that puts up with a proſtituted perſon.

RIVERS.

Mighty well, Sir, — mighty well; but let me tell you, Mr. Sidney, — that under this ſpecious appearance of generoſity I can eaſily ſee your your motive for this refuſal of my daughter, — let me tell you I can eaſily ſee your motive, Sir, — and, let me tell you, that the perſon who is in poſſeſſion of your affections ſhall no longer find an aſylum in this houſe.

SIDNEY.

Colonel, if I had not been always accuſtomed to reſpect you, — and if I did not even conſider this inſult as a kind of compliment, I don't know how I ſhould put up with it: as to your inſinuation, you muſt be more explicit before I can underſtand you.

RIVERS.

Miſs Marchmont, — Sir. — Do you underſtand me now, Sir? If Miſs Marchmont had not been in the caſe my daughter had not received this inſult. — Sir Harry was right; and had not I been ridiculouſly beſotted with your hypocritical plauſibility I might have ſeen it ſooner, but your couſin ſhall know of your behaviour, and then, Sir, you ſhall anſwer me as a man.

SIDNEY.

Miſs Marchmont, Colonel, is greatly above this illiberal reflexion; as for myſelf, I ſhall be always ready to juſtify an action which I know to [75]be right, though I ſhould be ſorry ever to meet you but in the character of a friend.

[Exit.]
RIVERS,
[alone.]

Well! — well! — well! — but it doesn't ſignify, — it doesn't ſignify, — it doesn't ſignify. — I won't put myſelf in a paſſion about it. I won't put myſelf in a paſſion about it. I'll tear the fellow piece-meal. — Zounds! I don't know what I'll do.

[Exit.]
Enter Mrs HARLEY and CECIL.
CECIL.

Why this is better and better.

Mrs. HARLEY.

What a violent paſſion he's in.

CECIL.

This is the very thing I could wiſh — 'twill advance a principal part of our project rarely — well is'nt Sidney a noble young fellow, and does'nt he richly deſerve the regard which my poor little girl entertains for him?

Mrs. HARLEY.

Why really I think he does — but how ſecretly my Lady Sentimental carried matters — O I always ſaid that your grave, reflecting, moralizing damſels — were a thouſand times more ſuſceptible of tender impreſſions than thoſe lively open hearted girls who talk away at random, and ſeem ready to run off with every man that happens to fall into their company.

CECIL.

I don't know, widow, but there may be ſome truth in this, you ſee at leaſt I have ſuch a good opinion of a madcap, that you are the firſt perſon I have made acquainted with the ſecret.

Mrs. HARLEY.
[76]

Well and hav'nt I returned the compliment by letting you into my deſign about Lady Betty and Lord Winworth?

CECIL.

What a ridiculous buſtle is there here about delicacy and ſtuff—your people of refin'd ſentiments are the moſt troubleſome creatures in the world to deal with, and their friends muſt even commit a violence upon their nicety before they can condeſcend to ſtudy their own happineſs: — But have you done as we concerted?

Mrs. HARLEY.

Yes, I have pretended to Lady Betty that my Lord deſires to ſpeak with her privately on buſineſs of the utmoſt importance; and I have told his Lordſhip that ſhe wants to ſee him, to diſcloſe a ſecret that muſt intirely break off the intended marriage with Miſs Marchmont.

CECIL.

What an aukward figure they muſt make, each imagining that the other has deſired the interview — and expecting every moment to be told ſomething of conſequence — but you have not given either the leaſt hint of Hortenſia's ſecret inclination for Sidney?

Mrs. HARLEY.

How could you poſſibly ſuppoſe ſuch a thing?

CECIL.

Well, well, to your part of the buſineſs then, while I find out the Colonel and try what I can do with him for my rattle-pated Sir Harry.

Mrs. HARLEY.

O never doubt my aſſiduity in an affair of this nature.

[Exeunt.]
[77] Enter Lady BETTY, in another Apartment.
Lady BETTY.

What can he want with me I wonder?—Speak with me again in private, and upon buſineſs of the utmoſt importance! he has ſpoken ſufficiently to me already upon his buſineſs of importance to make me miſerable for ever. — But the fault is my own, and I have nobody to blame but myſelf. — Bleſs me here he is.

Enter WINWORTH.
WINWORTH.

Madam your moſt devoted, I come in obedience to your commands to —

Lady BETTY.

My commands my Lord?

WINWORTH.

Yes, Madam, your meſſage has alarm'd me prodigiouſly — and you cannot wonder if I am a little impatient for an explanation.

Lady BETTY.

Impatient for an explanation, my Lord.

WINWORTH.

Yes, Madam, the affair is of the neareſt concern to my happineſs, and the ſooner you honour me with —

Lady BETTY.

Honour you, with what my Lord?

WINWORTH.

My dear Lady Betty this reſerve is unkind, eſpecially as you know how uneaſy I muſt be till I hear from yourſelf—

Lady BETTY.

Really my Lord I am quite aſtoniſhed — uneaſy till you hear from myſelf — impatient for an explanation — I beg your Lordſhip will tell me what is the meaning of all this?

WINWORTH.
[78]

Surely, Madam, you cannot ſo ſuddenly change your kind intentions —

Ledy BETTY.

My kind intentions, my Lord!

WINWORTH.

I would not, Madam, be too preſuming, but, as I know your Ladyſhip's goodneſs, I flatter myſelf that —

Lady BETTY.

Your Lordſhip is all a myſtery—I beg you will ſpeak out — for upon my word I don't underſtand theſe half ſentences. —

WINWORTH.

Why, Madam, Mrs. Harley has told me.

Lady BETTY,
[with eagerneſs.]

What has ſhe told you, my Lord?

WINWORTH.

She has told me of the ſecret, Madam, which you have to diſcloſe, that muſt entirely break off my marriage with Miſs Marchmont.

Lady BETTY.

Has ſhe then betrayed my weakneſs? —

WINWORTH.

Madam, I hope you won't think your generous intentions in my favour a weakneſs, for be aſſur'd that the ſtudy of my whole life —

Lady BETTY.

I did not think that Mrs. Harley could be capable of ſuch an action; — but ſince ſhe has told you of the only circumſtance which I ever wiſh'd to be conceal'd, I cannot deny my partiality for your Lordſhip.

WINWORTH.

Madam —

Lady BETTY.
[79]

This ſecret was truſted with her, and her alone; but though ſhe has ungenerouſly diſcover'd it, her end will ſtill be diſappointed. I acknowledge that I prize your Lordſhip above all the world; — but even to obtain you I will not be guilty of a baſeneſs, nor promote my own happineſs by any act of injuſtice to Miſs Marchmont.

WINWORTH.

I am the moſt unfortunate man in the world; — and does your Ladyſhip really honour me with any degree of a tender partiality?

Lady BETTY.

This queſtion is needleſs, my Lord, after what Mrs. Harley has acquainted you with.

WINWORTH.

Mrs. Harley, Madam, has not acquainted me with particulars of any nature —

Lady BETTY.

No!

WINWORTH.

No. — And happy as this diſcovery would have made me at any other time, it now diſtreſſes me beyond expreſſion, ſince the engagements I have juſt enter'd into with Miſs Marchmont put it wholly out of my power to receive any benefit from the knowledge of your ſentiments. — O, Lady Betty, had you been generouſly candid when I ſolicited the bleſſing of your hand, how much had I been indebted to your goodneſs; but now, think what my ſituation is, when, in the moment I am ſenſible of your regard, I muſt give you up for ever.

Enter CECIL and Mrs. HARLEY from oppoſite Places.
Mrs. HARLEY,
[repeating ludicrouſly.]
‘Who can behold ſuch beauty and be ſilent!’
CECIL,
[80]
[in the ſame accent.]
‘Deſire firſt taught us words. —’
Mrs. HARLEY.
‘Man, when created, wander'd up and down.’
CECIL.
‘Forlorn and ſilent as his vaſſal beaſts;’
Mrs. HARLEY.
‘But when a heav'n-born maid like you appear'd,’
CECIL.
‘Strange pleaſure fill'd his eyes, and ſeiz'd his heart,’
Mrs. HARLEY.
‘Unloos'd his tongue.’
CECIL.
‘And his firſt talk was love.’
[Both, ha! ha! ha!]
WINWORTH.

Pray, Mr. Cecil, what is the meaning of this whimſical behaviour?

Lady BETTY.

The nature of this conduct, Mrs. Harley, bears too ſtrong a reſemblance to a late diſingenuity, for me to wonder at.

Mrs. HARLEY.

What diſingenuity, my dear?

Lady BETTY.

Why, pray, Madam, what ſecret had I to diſcloſe to his Lordſhip?

Mrs. HARLEY.

The ſecret which you have diſclos'd, my dear,—

[courtſeying.]
CECIL.

I beg, my Lord, that we may'nt interrupt your heroics, ‘when, in the moment you are ſenſible [81]of her regard, — you muſt give her up for ever.’ — A very moving ſpeech, Mrs. Harley, —I am ſure it almoſt makes me cry to repeat it.

WINWORTH.

Mr. Cecil, liſtening is —

Mrs. HARLEY.

What are we going to have a quarrel? —

CECIL.

O, yes! your lover is a mere nobody without a little bloodſhed, two or three duels give a wonderful addition to his character.

Lady BETTY.

Why, what is the meaning of all this?

CECIL.

You ſhall know in a moment, Madam, — ſo walk in, good people, — walk in, and ſee the moſt ſurpriſing pair of true lovers, who have too much ſenſe to be wiſe, and too much delicacy to be happy.

Mrs. HARLEY.

Walk in, — walk in.

Enter RIVERS, Miſs RIVERS, Miſs MARCHMONT, Sir HARRY, and SIDNEY.
Lady BETTY.

O, Emmy! is this behaving like a friend?

Mrs. HARLEY.

Yes, and like a true friend, as you ſhall ſee preſently. —

RIVERS.

My Lord, I give you joy, joy heartily. — We have been poſted for ſome time under the direction of Marſhal Cecil, and General Harley, in the next room, who have acquainted us with every [82]thing; and I feel the ſincereſt ſatisfaction to think the perplexities of to-day have ſo fortunate a concluſion.

WINWORTH.

The perplexities of to-day are not yet concluded, Colonel.

Miſs MARCHMONT.

O, Lady Betty, why wou'dn't you truſt me with your ſecret? I have been the innocent cauſe of great uneaſineſs to you, and yet my conduct entirely proceeded from the greatneſs of my affection.

Lady BETTY.

I know it, my dear, — I know it well; — but were you to give up Lord Winworth this moment — be aſſured that I wou'dn't accept of any ſacrifice made at the expence of your happineſs.

CECIL.

At the Expence of her happineſs! — O, is that all? — Come here maſter Soberſides [to Sidney] and come here, Madam Gravity [to Miſs Marchmont] come here, I ſay, — I ſuppoſe, my Lord, I ſuppoſe, Lady Betty, that you already know from what very manly motives—Sidney, here, has declined the marriage with Miſs Rivers?

WINWORTH.

I do, and though I lament the impoſſibility of a relation to the Colonel's family, I cannot but admire his behaviour on that occaſion.

Lady BETTY.

And I think it extremely generous.

Mrs. HARLEY.

Come, Cecil, ſtand by a little, you ſhan't have the whole management of this diſcovery.

CECIL.

Did you ever ſee ſuch a woman!

Mrs. HARLEY.
[83]

Well, my Lord and Lady Betty, ſince we have agreed thus far, you muſt know that Mr. Sidney's behaviour has produced more good conſequences than you can imagine. — In the firſt place it has enabled Colonel Rivers, without a breach of his word, —

CECIL.

To give his daughter to my fooliſh kinſman.

Mrs. HARLEY.

You wont hold your tongue.

CECIL.

And, in the next place, it has enabled Mr. Sidney —

Mrs. HARLEY.

To marry Miſs Marchmont.

CECIL.

Ay, ſhe will have the laſt word. — For it ſeems that between theſe two turtles there has long ſubſiſted —

Mrs. HARLEY.

A very tender affection, —

CECIL.

The devil's in her tongue, — ſhe has the ſpeed of me.

WINWORTH.

What an unexpected felicity?

Lady BETTY.

I am all amazement!

RIVERS.

Well, well, my dear ſiſter,—no wondering about it, — at a more convenient time you ſhall know particulars; for the preſent let me tell you, that now I am cool, and that matters have been properly [84]explain'd to me, I am not only ſatisfied but charm'd with Mr. Sidney's behaviour, though it has prevented the firſt wiſh of my heart; and I hope that his Lordſhip and you, by conſenting to his marriage with Miſs Marchmont, will immediately remove every impediment in the way of your own happineſs.

WINWORTH.

If my own happineſs was not to be promoted by ſuch a ſtep, I ſhould inſtantly give my conſent; — and therefore, my dear Miſs Marchmont, if I have Lady Betty's approbation, and your own concurrence, I here beſtow this hand upon as deſerving a young man as any in the univerſe. — This is the only attonement I can make for the uneaſineſs I have given you, and if your happineſs is any way proportion'd to your merit, I need not wiſh you a greater ſhare of felicity.

SIDNEY.

What ſhall I ſay, my Lord?

WINWORTH.

Say nothing, Charles, for if you only knew how exquiſite a ſatisfaction I receive on this occaſion, you would rather envy my feelings than think yourſelf under an obligation; — and now, my dear Lady Betty, if I might preſume —

Lady BETTY.

That I may not be cenſur'd any longer, I here declare my hand your Lordſhip's whenever you think proper to demand it; for I am now convinc'd the greateſt proof which a woman can give of her own worth, is to entertain an affection for a man of honour and underſtanding.

WINWORTH.

This goodneſs, Madam, is too great for acknowledgment.

Lady BETTY.
[85]

And now, my dear Theodora, let me congratulate with you: I rejoice that your inclinations are conſulted in the moſt important circumſtance of your life, and I am ſure Sir Harry will not be wanting in gratitude for the partiality which you have ſhewn in his favour.

Miſs RIVERS.

Dear Madam, you oblige me infinitely.

Sir HARRY.

And as for me, Lady Betty, it is ſo much my inclination to deſerve the partiality with which Miſs Rivers has honour'd me, as well as to repay the goodneſs of her family, that I ſhall have little merit in my gratitude to either; I have been wild, I have been inconſiderate, but I hope I never was deſpicable; and I flatter myſelf I ſhan't be wanting in acknowledgment only to thoſe, who have laid me under the greateſt of all obligations.

RIVERS.

Sir Harry, ſay no more: — My girl's repentance has been ſo noble, your Couſin Cecil's behaviour has been ſo generous, and I believe you, after all, to be a man of ſuch principle; — that next to Sidney I don't know who I ſhou'd prefer to you for a ſon-in-law. — But you muſt think a little for the future, and remember that it is a poor excuſe for playing the fool, to be poſſeſſed of a good underſtanding.

WINWORTH.

Well, there ſeems but one thing remaining undone: — I juſt now took the liberty of exerciſing a father's right over Miſs Marchmont, by diſpoſing of her hand, 'tis now neceſſary for me—

CECIL.
[86]

Hold, my Lord — I gueſs what you are about, but you ſhan't monopolize generoſity I aſſure you: — I have a right to ſhew my friendſhip as well as your Lordſhip; ſo, after your kinſman's marriage, whatever you have a mind to do for him ſhall be equalled, on my part, for Miſs Marchmont; guinea for guinea, as far as you will, and let's ſee who tires firſt in going through with it.

WINWORTH.

A noble challange, and I accept it.

Lady BETTY.

No, there's no bearing this —

Miſs MARCHMONT.

Speak to them, Mr. Sidney, for I cannot —

SIDNEY.

I wiſh I had words to declare my ſenſe of this goodneſs.

RIVERS.

I did'nt look upon myſelf as a very pitiful fellow; but I am ſtrangely ſunk in my own opinion ſince I have been a witneſs of this tranſaction.

CECIL.

Why what the devil is there in all this to wonder at? People of fortune often throw away thouſands at the hazard table to make themſelves miſerable, and nobody ever accuſes them of generoſity.

WINWORTH.

Mr. Cecil is perfectly right, and he is the beſt manager of a fortune who is moſt attentive to the wants of the deſerving.

Mrs. HARLEY.
[87]

Why now all is as it ſhou'd be — all is as it ſhou'd be — this is the triumph of good ſenſe over delicacy. — I could cry for downright joy: — I wonder what ails me — this is all my doing!

CECIL.

No, — part of it is mine, — and I think it extremely happy for your people of refin'd ſentiments to have friends with a little common underſtanding.

RIVERS.

Siſter, I always thought you a woman of ſenſe.—

Mrs HARLEY.

Yes, ſhe has been a long time intimate with me you know.

CECIL.

Well ſaid, ſauce-box.

Sir HARRY.

If this ſtory was to be repreſented on the ſtage the poet would think it his duty to puniſh me for life, becauſe I was once culpable.

WINWORTH.

That wou'd be very wrong. The ſtage ſhou'd be a ſchool of morality; and the nobleſt of all leſſons is the forgiveneſs of injuries.

RIVERS.

True, my Lord. — But the principal moral to be drawn from the tranſactions of to-day is, that thoſe who generouſly labour for the happineſs of others, will, ſooner or later, arrive at happineſs themſelves.

FINIS.

Appendix A EPILOGUE,

[]
Spoken by Mrs. DANCER.
WHEN with the comic muſe a bard hath dealing,
The traffic thrives, when there's a mutual feeling;
Our author boaſts, that well be choſe his plan,
Falſe Modeſty! — Himſelf, an Iriſhman.
As I'm a woman, ſomewhat prone to ſatire,
I'll prove it all a [...]ull, what be calls nature;
And you, I'm ſure, will join before you go,
To maul Falſe Modeſty, — from Dublin ho!
Where are theſe Lady Lambtons to be found?
Not in theſe riper times, on Engliſh ground.
Among the various flowers, which ſweetly blow,
To charm the eyes, at Almack's and Soho,
Pray does that weed, Falſe Delicacy, grow?
O, No. —
Among the fair of faſhion; common breeding,
Is there one boſom, where love lies a bleeding?
In olden times your grannams unrefin'd,
Ty'd up the tongue, put padlocks on the mind;
O, Ladies, thank your ſtars, there's nothing now confin'd.
In love you Engliſh Men, — there's no concealing,
Are moſt, like Winworth, ſimple in your dealing;
But Britons, in their natures, as their names,
Are different as the Shanon, Tweed, and Thames.
As the Tweed flows, the bonny Scot proceeds,
Wunds ſlaw, and ſure, and nae obſtruction heeds;
Though oft repuls'd, his purpoſe ſtill hauds faſt,
Stecks like a burr, and wuns the Laſs at laſt.
The Shannon, rough and vigorous, pours along,
Like the bold accents of brave Paddy's tongue:
Arrah, dear creature — can you ſcorn me ſo?
Caſt your ſweet eyes upon me, top and toe!
Not fancy me? — Pooh! — that's all game and laughter,
Firſt marry me, my jew'l — ho! — you'll love me after.
Like his own Thames, honeſt John Trot, their brother,
More quick than one, and much leſs bold than t'other,
Gentle not dull, his loving arms will ſpread;
But ſtopt — in willows hides his baſhful head;
John leaves his home, reſolv'd to tell his pain;
Heſitates — I — love — fye, Sir — 'tis in vain,
John bluſhes, turns him round, and whiſtles home again.
Well! is my painting like? — Or do you doubt it? —
What ſay you to a trial? — l [...]t's about it.
Let Cupid lead three Britons to the field,
And try which firſt can make a damſel yield;
What ſay you to a widow? — Smile conſent,
And ſhe'll be ready for experiment.
[]
[...]
Notes
*
Mr. Kelly originally intended the prologue to be grave, and accordingly wrote a ſerious one himſelf; but as Mr. King was to ſpeak it, Mr. Garrick, with great propriety, thought a piece of humour would be beſt ſuited to the talents of that excellent actor, and therefore very kindly took the trouble of putting it into a form ſo entirely different from the firſt, that it cannot, with the leaſt juſtice, be attributed to any other author.
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Citation Suggestion for this Object
TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 3760 False delicacy a comedy as it is performed at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane By His Majesty s servants By Hugh Kelly. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-602C-7