ACT the FIRST.

WHY then I'd marry again, and diſinherit him.

Brother Bygrove, you think too ſeverely in theſe matters.

Severely, Sir John? If I had a mind that my ſon ſhould marry, why ſhould he not do as I would have him?

Allowance muſt be made for inclina⯑tion. The ſucceſs of our children depends upon the manner, in which we ſet them out in the world. They are like bowls which, if deliver'd out of hand with a due regard to their bias, our aim is anſwer'd, if otherwiſe, they are ſhort or wide of the mark in view, or perhaps ruſh wildly out of the green.

Well argued, truly! he that ſhould obey is to judge for himſelf, and you that are his go⯑vernor, are to be directed by him.

Why he is chiefly intereſted in the end, and the choice of the means may be fairly left to him⯑ſelf. I can't but be tender of George; a plant of my own rearing, and the tree will hereafter be known by its fruit.

It is a tree that will bear nothing without grafting; and if I could not inoculate what will make it thrive and flouriſh, it ſhould not incumber a foot of my land.

Your ſyſtem and mine differ widely, Brother Bygrove. My ſon is of a large and liberal underſtanding, and I a father of mild authority.

Authority!—your ſon's word is a law to you. Now there is my young graceleſs; he is in the army, and why? Becauſe I choſe it. I had a mind he ſhould ſerve; and ſo he went to be ſhot at. No arguing with me. If I ſee any thing wrong, I accoſt him directly: Look ye, Sir, do you think to go on in this faſhion? Not during my life, I pro⯑miſe you: I will acknowledge you no longer than you prove worthy; and if you can't diſcern what is befitting you, I at leaſt will judge what is proper on my part.

Well, George and I have lived together as friends. From a boy, I endeavoured to ſubject him rather to his reaſon, than his fears. If any little irregularity happened, he was no ſooner ſenſible of it, than his cheek coloured, and the bluſh of youth not only looked decent, but expreſſed an ingenuous and well-diſpoſed mind.

But the conſequence of all this? Has he a ſettled opinion? a fixed principle for a moment? He is grown up in caprice; his judgment has not vi⯑gour to be deciſive upon the mereſt trifle; he is de⯑ſtracted by little things, and of courſe is periſhing by little and little.

Oh! no; all from a good cauſe; his knowledge of life occaſions quick reflection: quick reflection ſhews things in a variety of lights. I am not angry. He will ſettle in the world; you will ſee him married before long.

In what a variety of lights his wife will ap⯑pear to him.

I beg your pardon for a moment. I ſee perſon there. Charles, Charles, this way.

Well, Charles, what is he about?

Very buſy, Sir, a thouſand things in hand.

And all at the ſame time, I'll warrant.

We have a deal to employ us, Sir.

Have you ſounded him in regard to what I mentioned laſt night?

That's what I wanted to tell your Ho⯑nour. Laſt night, Sir, as he was going to bed, I touch'd upon the ſubject; dropt a hint or two, that it is now time to think of raiſing heirs to himſelf; en⯑larged upon the comforts of matrimony, and I think with no ſmall degree of eloquence.

The fellow is laughing at you.

Well, and how? What effect?

A very viſible effect, Sir. This morn⯑ing early, my maſter rings his bell. Charles, ſays he, I have been conſidering what you ſaid laſt night: I ſhall pay a viſit to the young ladies, and, I believe, I ſhall marry one of them.

There, Mr. Bygrove; I am for ever ob⯑liged to you, Charles. Well, go on.

I fly immediately to get him his things to dreſs, and return in an inſtant. Charles, ſays he, then toſſed himſelf back in his chair, beat the ground with his heel, and fell a reading. Won't your Honour get ready to viſit the young ladies?—The ladies? what ladies, you blockhead?—Lady Bell, and Lady Jane, your Honour, Mrs. Bromley's handſome nieces. Po! you're a numſkull, ſays he, with an oblique kind of a ſmile; ſtretched his arms, yawned, talked to himſelf, and bade me go about my buſineſs.

I knew it would end ſo. There is not a crane-neck carriage in town can give a ſhort turn with [4]him. He will continue going on from one thing to another, and end in nothing at laſt.

This is provoking. Any body with him this morning?

He has had a power of people with him, Sir—A commiſſion-broker, to ſell him a com⯑pany in a marching regiment; the Mayor of a bo⯑rough, about a ſeat in parliament. And there are ſeveral with him now, Sir. There is Sir Harry Love⯑wit, and—

Aye! Sir Harry! I am glad he is of age, and that I am no longer his guardian. He has not had a new idea in his head ſince he was five years old, and yet the blockhead affects to be lively. He runs after wits, who do nothing but laugh at him. He repeats ſcraps and ſentences; all memory and no underſtanding; a mere retailer of what falls from other people, and with that ſtock he ſets up for a wit.

He is with my maſter, Sir; and there is Mr. Malvil, and Mr. Daſhwould, and—(bell rings) —He rings, Sir: you will pardon me; I muſt be gone, Sir.

And that fellow, Daſhwould; he is the ruin of your ſon, and of poor Sir Harry into the bargain. He is the Merry Andrew of the town: honour has no reſtraint upon him; truth he ſets at nought, and friendſhip he is ever ready to ſacrifice to a joke.

Po! mere innocent pleaſantry. Daſh⯑would has no harm in him.

No harm in him? I grant you the fellow has a quick ſenſe of the ridiculous, and draws a charac⯑ter with a lucky hit. But every thing is diſtorted by him. He has wit to ridicule you; invention to frame a ſtory of you; humour to help it about, and when he has ſet the town a laughing, he puts on a familiar air, and ſhakes you by the hand.

Oh! ho! ho! I ſhall certainly expire one day, in a fit of laughing.

What's the matter, Sir Harry?

What fool's errand brings him hither?

That fellow, Daſhwould, will be the death of me. The very ſpirit of whim, wit, humour, and raillery poſſeſs him.

Ay! wit and humour for the meridian of your underſtanding.

By the ſhade of Rablais, he is the moſt entertaining creature! He has play'd off ſuch a fire-work of wit. I'll tell you what he ſaid this moment.

No, Sir, no; if you are a pedlar in ſmart ſayings and briſk repartees, we don't deſire you to unpack for us.

A plague on him for an agreeable de⯑vil! And then the rogue has ſo much eaſe.

Yes, the eaſe of an executioner. He puts all to death without remorſe. He laughs at every thing, as if Heaven intended to make its own work ridicu⯑lous. He has no reliſh for beauty, natural or moral. He is in love with deformity, and never better pleaſed, than when he has moſt reaſon to find fault.

There is a picture of as harſh features as any in Daſhwould's whole collection.

But the picture is true. No exaggerationin it.

He gave us a miniature of you, this morning, my dear guardian, and you ſhall have it. Daſhwould has made a diſcovery, Sir John. What reaſon do you think he gives for Mr. Bygrove's rail⯑ing for ever at your ſon's inconſtancy of temper?

Ay, now! now!

You poſitively ſhall hear it. Mr. Bygrove's deſires being all ruſted to a point, looking directly toward the land of matrimony—

Matrimony! now gild the pill with humour, and down it goes.

Daſhwould has found you out. Mr. Bygrove's deſires being all collected and fixed on ma⯑trimony, he rails at the variety of my friend Mila⯑mour's whimſies, like Sir George Bumper, with chalkſtones on his knuckles, as big as nutmegs, hobbling along and thanking Doctor Le Fevre that he has no ſmall humours flying about him.

That's a diſcovery indeed.

Sir John, can you mind what ſuch a fellow as Daſhwould ſays? Every thing that paſſes through the medium of his fancy appears deformed, as the ſtraiteſt ſtick looks crooked in troubled water.

Well daſhed out, upon my ſoul, with tolerable ſpleen, and ſome vivacity.

Po!—if you had taken my advice, Sir Harry and renounced his acquaintance long ago, you had been now a young man coming into life, with ſome promiſe of a character. Continue in diſſipation, Sir. For my part it is a rule with me, neither to give nor take a joke.

Ho! ho! ho! a pleaſant rule, poſi⯑tively —ho! ho! ho! Daſhwould ſhall have it this moment; do you take the conſequence; and in the mean time, I'll leave you to the practice of your ſo⯑cial humour.

It is ſuch coxcombs as that butterfly, that encourage him to fix his paſquinades upon every man's character. Matrimony!—a licentious— No, Sir John, I ſtill cheriſh the memory of your ſiſ⯑ter; ſhe was the beſt of wives; 'ſdeath, interrupted again by that—No, it's my friend Malvil; he is a man of true value.

Daſhwould ſays, he is a compound of falſe charity, and real malice.

And it is enough for you that Daſhwould ſays it. Malvil is a man of honour, Sir; and an enemy to all ſcandal, though wit prove a palateable ingredient in the poiſon.

Intolerable! there is no being ſafe where he is. A licentious railer! All truth, all morality ſacrificed to a jeſt: nothing ſacred from his buf⯑foonery.

I told you, Sir John, how it is.

Oh! ſuch indiſcriminate ſatire!

Yes, the fellow runs a muck, and nothing eſcapes him.

There is no enduring it. Ridicule is a very unfair weapon, Mr. Bygrove: it is by no means the teſt of truth, Sir John.

Nay, but you are too grave about this matter.

Too grave! Shall he wantonly ſtab the re⯑putation of his neighbour, and then tell you it was in jeſt? For my part, I had rather throw a veil over the infirmities of my friend, than ſeek a malicious pleaſure in the detection. That's my way of think⯑ing.

I fancy you are right. This ſon of mine does ſo perplex me.

Pray, Mr. Bygrove, give me leave. I am ſorry to hear certain whiſpers about a friend of ours.

About whom? the widow, Mrs. Bromley?

Oh! no, no; I have a great reſpect for her: though I—Pray don't you think ſhe throws out the lure for a young huſband?

For a huſband, yes, but not too young a one; you can ſerve my intereſt in that quarter.

I know it: rely upon my friendſhip. But have you heard nothing of an eminent Turkey mer⯑chant?

Mr. Freeport?

I ſay nothing: I don't like the affair: have you really heard nothing?

Not a ſyllable.

So much the better: though it is fit you ſhould be put upon your guard. Any money of yours in his hands?

Po! as ſafe as the bank.

I may be miſtaken. I hope I am: I was in company the other night; ſeveral members of par⯑liament preſent; they did not ſpeak plainly; hints and inuendos only; you won't let it go any further. His ſeat in the houſe they all agreed, is perfectly con⯑venient at this juncture. I hope the cloud will blow over.—I ſhall remember you with the widow.

One good turn deſerves another: I ſhan't be unmindful of your intereſt.

There, now you hurt me: you know my delicacy: muſt friendſhip never act a diſintereſted part? I eſteem you, Mr. Bygrove, and that's ſuffi⯑cient. Sir John, give me leave to ſay, the man who buſies himſelf about other people's affairs, is a prag⯑matical character, and very dangerous in ſociety.

So I have been telling Sir John. But to laugh at every thing is the faſhion of the age. A pleaſant good-for-nothing fellow is by moſt people preferred to modeſt merit. A man like Daſhwould, who runs on—So! here come Scandal in folio.

Sir John, I rejoice to ſee you. Mr. By⯑grove, I kiſs your hand. Malvil, have you been un⯑eaſy for any friend ſince?

Po! abſurd!

I have been laughing with your ſon, Sir John. Pray have I told you about Sir Richard Doriland?

You may ſpare him, Sir, he is a very worthy man.

He is ſo: great good-nature about him: I love Sir Richard. You know he was divorced from his wife; a good fine woman, but an invincible ideot.

Look ye there now, Mr. Bygrove!

My Lady Doriland, Sir, was always counted a very ſenſible woman.

She was ſo; with too much ſpirit to be ever at eaſe, and a rage for pleaſure, that broke the bubble as ſhe graſped it. She fainted away upon hearing that Mrs. All-night had two card tables more than herſelf.

Inveterate malice!

They waged war a whole winter, for the ho⯑nour of having the greateſt number of fools thinking of nothing but the odd trick. Firſt, Mrs. All-night kept Sundays; her Ladyſhip did the ſame: Mrs. All-night had forty tables; her Ladyſhip roſe to fifty. Then one added, then t'other; 'till every room in the houſe was cramm'd like the black hole at Cal⯑cutta; and at laſt, upon caſting up the account, Sir Richard ſold off fifteen hundred acres, to clear in⯑cumbrances.

Ridiculous! and ſo they parted upon this?

Don't you know the hiſtory of that buſineſs?

Now mark him; now.

Tender of reputation, Malvil!—The ſtory is well known. She was detected with—the little foreign Count—I call him the Salamander—I ſaw him ſive times in one winter upon the back of the fire at Bath, for cheating at cards.

Go on, Sir, abuſe every body. My Lady was perfectly innocent. I know the whole affair: a mere contrivance to lay the foundation of a divorce.

So they gave our. Sir Richard did not care a nine-pin for her while ſhe was his. You know his way: he deſpiſes what is in his poſſeſſion, and languiſhes for what is not. Her Ladyſhip was no ſooner married to—what's his name?—His father was a footman, and Madam Fortune, who every now and then loves a joke, ſent him to the Eaſt Indies, and in a few years brought him back at the head of half a million, for the jeſt's ſake.

Mr. Daſhwould, upon my word, Sir, — Families to be run down in this manner!

Muſhroon was his name: my Lady Do⯑riland was no ſooner married to him, but up to his eyes Sir Richard was in love with her. He dreſſed at her; ſighed at her; danced at her; ſhe is now libelled in the Commons, and Sir Richard has a crim. con. againſt him in the King's Bench.

Pſhaw! I ſhall ſtay no longer to hear this ſtrain of defamation.

Malvil, muſt you leave us? A pleaſant character this ſame Mr. Malvil.

He has a proper regard for his friends, Sir.

Yes, but he is often preſent where their characters are canvaſſed, and is anxious about whiſpers which nobody has heard. He knows the uſe of hypocriſy better than a Court Chaplain.

There, call honeſty by a burleſque name, and ſo pervert every thing.

Things are more perverted, Mr. Bygrove, when ſuch men as Malvil make their vices do their work, under a maſk of goodneſs; and with that ſtroke we'll diſmiſs his character.

Ay, very right; my brother Bygrove has a regard for him, and to change the ſubject. My ſon, Mr. Daſhwould, what does he intend?

Up to the eyes in love with Lady Bell, and determined to marry her.

I told you ſo, Mr. Bygrove; I told you, you would ſoon ſee him ſettled in the world. Mr. Daſhwould, I thank you; I'll ſtep and conſirm George in his reſolution.

A good-natur'd man, Sir John, and does not want credulity,

Ay! there, the moment his back is turned.

Gulliver's Travels is a true hiſtory to him. His ſon has ſtrange flights. Firſt he was to be a lawyer; bought chambers in the Temple, eat his commons, and was called to the bar. Then the law is a damn'd dry, municipal ſtudy; the army is fitter for a gentleman; and as he was going to the War⯑office to take out his commiſſion, he ſaw my Lord Chancellor's coach go by; in an inſtant, back to the Temple, and no ſooner there, ‘Po! pox! hang the law; better marry, and live like a gentleman.’ Now marriage is a galling yoke, and he does not know what he'll do. He calls his man Charles; ſends him away; walks about the room; ſits down; aſks a queſtion; thinks of ſomething elſe; talks to himſelf, ſings, whiſtles, lively, penſive, pleaſant, and melancholy in an inſtant. He approves, ſinds fault; he will, he will not; and in ſhort, the man does not know his own mind for half a ſecond.—Here comes Sir John.

You find him diſpoſed to marry, Sir John?

I hope ſo; he wavers a little; but ſtill I—

Po! I have no patience; my advice has been all loſt upon you. I wiſh it may end well. A good morning, Sir John.

Mr. Bygrove, your's: Sir John will defend you in your abſence.

If you will forget your friends in their ab⯑ſence, it is the greateſt favour you can beſtow upon them.

Did I ever tell you what happened to him laſt ſummer, at Tunbridge?

Excuſe me for the preſent: This light young man! I muſt ſtep, and talk with my lawyer.

I'll walk part of the way with you. A ſtrange medley this ſame Mr. Bygrove: with ſome⯑thing like wit, he is always abuſing wit.—You muſt know, laſt ſummer, at Tunbridge—

Another time, if you pleaſe.

The ſtory is worth your hearing: a party of us dined at the Suſſex—

Mr. Daſhwould! Mr. Daſhwould!

What's the matter, Charles?

My maſter deſires you won't go.

Hey! what going to leave us?

Only a ſtep with Sir John. Strange va⯑garies in your maſter's head, Charles!—Sir Harry! going to wait upon Miſs Neville, I ſuppoſe. She has beauty, and you have a heart.

Pſhaw! there you wrong me now! Why will you?

Very well; be it ſo; I can't ſee to be ſure; but take my word for it, you will marry that girl. Come, I follow you.

I muſt not part with you: I had ra⯑ther loſe the whole College of Phyſicians.

March on, Sir Harry.—

Did you ever ſee ſuch a Baronet? This fellow, Charles, is as ridiculous himſelf as any of them.

Now have I but one man in the houſe, and he will be fifty different men in a moment. Hur⯑ry! hurry! nothing but hurry! Get me this; get me that; get me t'other; bring me the blue and ſil⯑ver; ſcoundrel! what do you fetch me this for? let me have the brown and gold. A poor ſervant does not know which way to turn himſelf in this houſe.

Well, Richard, what are you about?

Why a man in a whirlwind may as well tell what he is about. Going to order the coachman to put up. He intends to change his dreſs, and walk to the Temple.

What does he mean by talking of the Temple again? I hope we are not going to take to our ſtudies once more. I hate the law: there is not a footman in the Temple has a grain of taſte. All mere lawyers! They have not an idea out of the profeſſion.

Richard! Richard! where is he gone?

What's in the wind now?

The wind's in another quarter. He has been writing verſes as he calls them, ever ſince the com⯑pany left him. He has torn a quire of paper, I be⯑lieve, and now he wants the carriage directly.

Run and order it. I had rather be a country curate, than go on in this manner.

What is he at now?

Charles:—who an⯑ſwers there?

Ay; now for the old work.

Is the chariot ready?

At the door, Sir.

Do you ſtep to Mrs. Bromley's, and—per⯑haps it would be better to—No, do you ſtep, Charles, and—you need not mind it—another time will do as well.

There again now: this is the way from morning to night.

The ſooner the better: I promi⯑ſed Sir John, and I will pay this viſit. Lady Bell reigns ſovereign of my heart. That vivacity of mind! "Quick as her eyes, and as unfix'd as thoſe."

She is by far preferable to her ſiſter, your Honour.

Po! you are illiterate in theſe matters. The ſober graces of Lady Jane!—Lady Bell advances like a conqueror, and demands your heart: Lady Jane ſeems unconſcious of her charms, and yet enſlaves you deeper.

Which of them does your Honour think—

Which of'em, Charles?

"I look'd, and I ſigh'd, and I wiſh'd I could ſpeak."

Captain Bygrove, Sir.

That's unlucky. I am not at home; tell him I went out an hour ago.

My dear Bygrove, I longed to ſee you. But why that penſive air? Still in love, I ſuppoſe,

My dear Millamour, you have gueſſed it. I am in love, and I glory in my chains.

Shall I tell you a ſecret? I ſuſpect myſelf, plaguily. Every thing is not as quiet here as it uſed to be.

Indulge the happy paſſion. Let wits and libertines ſay what they will; 'there is no true happineſs, but in the married ſtate.

Why I have thought much upon the ſubject of late, and with a certain refinement, I don't know but a man may faſhion a complying girl to his taſte of happineſs. Virtuous himſelf, he confirms her in her virtue; conſtant, he ſecures her fidelity: and by continuing the lover, inſtead of commencing the ty⯑rant huſband, he wins from her the ſweeteſt exertion of tenderneſs and love. I ſhall moſt poſitively mar⯑ry. Who is your idol? My dear boy, impart.

There I beg to be excuſed. You know my father. I muſt not preſume to think for myſelf. I muſt contrive ſome ſtratagem to make him propoſe the match. Were it to move firſt from me, I ſhould be obliged to decamp from before the town at once.

I wiſh you ſucceſs. My reſolution is taken, and with the moſt amiable of her ſex. She romps about the room like one of the Graces; and deals about her wit with ſuch a happy negligence—

An agreeable portrait, but mine is the very reverſe. That equal ſerenity in all her ways! Wit ſhe has, but without oſtentation; and elegance itſelf ſeems the pure effect of nature.

I don't know whether that is not the true character for a wife. And pray, what progreſs have you made in her affections?

Enough to convince me that I am not quite unacceptable My dear Millamour, I had ra⯑ther fold that girl in my arms, than kiſs his Majeſty's hand for the firſt regiment of guards.

I am a loſt man, I ſhall moſt poſitively marry. We will wonder at each others felicity; and be the envy of all our acquaintance.

I am as good as my word, you ſee. Moſt noble Captain, your father was here this morning. A good agreeable old gentleman, and about as pleaſant as a night mare. Millamour, whom do you think I met ſince I ſaw you?

Whom?

Our friend Beverly, juſt imported from Pa⯑ris, perfectly frenchified, and abuſing every thing in this country— ‘Oh! there is no breathing their Eng⯑liſh atmoſphere.—Roaſt beef and liberty will be the death of me.’

Ha! ha! poor Beverley! I ſaw him, laſt ſummer, at Paris, dreſſed in the ſtile of an Engliſh fox-hunter: he ſwore there was not a morſel to eat in their country; kept an opera-ſinger upon beef-ſteaks and oyſter-ſauce; drove to his villa every Saturday in a phaeton, and returned on the Monday, like a young Buck, juſt come upon town.

He has done his country great honour a⯑broad.

He will ſettle at home now: he is going to he married.

Yes, I hear he is in love, and much good may it do him. I wiſh I may die, if I know ſo ri⯑diculous a thing as love.— ‘My life!—My ſoul!—Hybla dwells upon her lips; extaſy and bliſs! blank verſe and paſtoral nonſenſe!’ In a I'ttle time, the man wonders what bewitched him: an arm chair after dinner, and a box and dice till five in the morning, make all the comforts of his life.

Very true! Love is a ridiculous paſſion in⯑deed.

Do you take up arms againſt me? But a moment ſince, juſt as you came in, he was acknow⯑ledging to me—

No, not I, truly; I acknowledge nothing. [17]Marriage is not to my taſte, I promiſe you. The handſome wife!—ſhe is all affectation; routs, drums, hurricanes, and intrigue!

And the ugly! ſhe makes it up with good ſenſe; pronounces upon wit! and talks you dead with maxims, characters, and reflections.

And the woman of high birth, ſhe produces her pedigree, as her patent for vice and folly. "Seven's the main," and away goes your whole fortune.

Mere common place.

And the tender maukin! ſhe doats upon you. ‘Don't drink any more, my dear: you'll take cold near that window, my love; pray don't talk ſo much; you'll flurry your ſpirits’—And then kiſſes you before company.

And the ſick madam! ſhe has the vapours, and finds that ſhe has nerves.—"I wiſh I had none.'— ‘But it is too true that I have nerves, as ſlight as ſo many hairs.’

Ha! ha! the whole ſex is divided into ſo many claſſes of folly.

Right! ſo it is. Ha! ha! ha!

You play finely into one another's hands.

Now mark the champion of the ſex!

Yes; he'll throw down the gauntlet for 'em.

Nay, decide it your own way. Since you won't hear, gentlemen, there is a clear ſtage for you.

Fare ye well, moſt noble Captain. A fa⯑cetious companion! did you ever hear him ſay any thing?

He is in for it; and my father would fain reduce me to the ſame condition with one of Mrs. Bromley's nieces. A good fine woman, Mrs. Brom⯑ley!

Has been! Were ſhe now to rub her cheek [18]with a white handkerchief, her roſes and lilies would go to the clear ſtarcher.

Ha! ha! and yet ſhe ſets up for the rival, of her nieces.

The young ladies are pretty well in their way too. Lady Bell has a briſk volubility of no⯑thing, that ſhe plays the pretty ideot with: and Lady Jane, a ſly piece of formality, ready to go poſt for Scotland, with the firſt red-coat that aſks her the queſtion. We all dine at the Widow's to day, are you to be with us?

Yes, to meet you: the party will be di⯑verting.

Obſerve old Bygrove. He pronounces with rigour upon the conduct of others, and hopes his own follies lie concealed. His whole ſtruggle is to eſcape detection, He hoodwinks himſelf, and thinks he blinds you. Poſitive and dogmatical in his opinions, yet a dupe to the deſigns of others; and flattering himſelf that a peeviſh and cenſorious ſpirit hides every defect, he gives you the full ridi⯑cule of his character.

I have marked him before now.

Mark him with the widow: you will ſee him ſighing for his deceaſed wife and Mrs. Bromley's charms at the ſame time. One eye ſhall weep for the dead, and the other ogle the living.

Ha! ha!—And then Malvil laying ſiege to Miſs Neville!

Miſs Neville is the beſt of them. Mrs. Bromley has taken her into her houſe, as a poor re⯑lation, whom ſhe pities; and her pity is no more than the cruel art of tormenting an unhappy de⯑pendant upon her generoſity.

But ſhe has generoſity. She has promiſed Miſs Neville a fortune of five thouſand pounds.

And ſo the hook is baited for Malvil. The widow flings out that ſnare, to counteract Sir Harry.

Sir Harry!

Yes; he is in love with Miſs Neville; and the beſt of the ſtory is, he is afraid I ſhall think him ridiculous. If I ſay the word, and promiſe not to laugh at him, he breaks his mind at once. Miſs Neville ſees clearly that he admires her, and of courſe will never liſten to Malvil. The ſelf-inte⯑reſted deſigns of that fellow ſhall be diſappointed.

Admirable! thou art a whimſical fellow. Come, I attend you. A pleaſant group they are all together. It is as you ſay,

ACT the SECOND.

WHY, to be ſure, Neville, there is ſomething in what you ſay; one is ſo odd, and ſo I don't know how in a morning.

Certainly, madam; and then people of your turn, whoſe wit overflows in converſation, are liable to a waſte of ſpirits, and the alteration ap⯑pears ſooner in them.

So it does: you obſerve very prettily upon things. Heigho! I am as faded as an old luteſtring to-day.

No indeed, madam, you look very tolerably, conſideting.

Conſidering! ſhe grows pert, I think.—I am glad you think me not altogether intolerable.

Ma'am!

Tolerably! ſhe is Lady Bell's prime agent

. Has Sir Harry given you hopes lately?

Sir Harry! I really don't underſtand why he is mentioned.

Do you think it will be a match? And have you made up your quarrel with Lady Bell?

The ſweetneſs of her diſpoſition re⯑conciles every thing.

And is Millamour reconciled to Lady Bell?

There was only a ſlight miſtake, which I explained.

Oh! you explained? that was pru⯑dently done; I am glad to hear this: and do you think he loves her? Tell me; tell me all. Why? why do you think he loves her?

He cannot be inſenſible of her merit; and the other day he aſked me if you were likely to approve of his propoſing for Lady Bell.

And you told him.—Well!— what did you tell him?

That you, no doubt, would be ready to promote the happineſs of ſo amiable a young lady.

You told him ſo?

And ſo you are turned match-maker: you buſy yourſelf in my family?—Hey!—Mrs. Start-up! you are dizened out, I think: my ward⯑robe has ſupplied you.

Your pardon, ma'am: I had theſe things in the country, when you firſt ſhewed ſo much goodneſs to me.

What airs! you know I hate to ſee creatures give themſelves airs. Was not I obliged to provide you with every thing?

You have been very kind; I always acknowledge it.

Acknowledge it! Does not every body know it.

Yes, ma'am. I dare ſay every body does know it.

That's maliciouſly ſaid: I can ſpy a ſneer upon that falſe face. You ſuppoſe I have made my brags. That's what lurks in your am⯑biguous meaning. I deſerve it: deliver me from poor relations.

Now the ſtorm begins! I am ſure I have ſaid nothing to offend you. I am help⯑leſs, it is true, but your relation, and by that tie a gentlewoman ſtill.

I made you a gentlewoman. Did not I take you up in the country, where you lived in the parſonage-houſe, you, and your ſiſter, with no other company to converſe with, than the me⯑lancholy tomb-ſtones, where you read the high and mighty characters of John Hodge, and Deborah his wife? While your father's miſerable horſe, worn to a ſhadow with carrying double to the next market⯑town, limped about, with a dull alms begging eye in queſt of the wretched ſuſtenance, that grew thriftily between the graves? Did not I take you out of your miſery?

You did, ma'am.

Did not I bring you home to the great houſe?

You did, ma'am!

And I am finely thanked for it. Warm the ſnake, and it will turn upon you.

I cannot bear to be inſulted thus!

So! your ſpirit is humbled, is it?

Give me leave to tell you, madam, that when people of ſuperior fortune, whom Provi⯑dence [22]has enabled to beſtow obligations, claim a right, from the favours they confer, to tyrannize over the hopes and fears of a mind in diſtreſs; they exerciſe a cruelty more barbarous than any in the whole hiſtory of human malice.

Is this your gratitude?

I could be thankful for happineſs, if you permitted me to enjoy it: but when I find my⯑ſelf, under colour of protection, made the ſport of every ſudden whim; I have a ſpirit, madam, that can diſtinguiſh between real benevolence, and the pride of riches.

O brave! that is your ſpirit!

A ſpirit, give me leave to ſay, that would rather, in any obſcure corner, ſubmit to drudgery, for a ſlender pittance, than continue to be an unhappy ſubject, for cruelty to try its experi⯑ments upon.

I faney I have been too violent. After all this ſower, I muſt ſweeten her a little. Come, dry up your tears: you know I am good⯑natured in the main. I am only jealous, that you dont't ſeem to love me.

Were that left to my own heart, every principle there would attach me to you. But to be dunned for gratitude!—

You are right; the obſervation is very juſt: I am in the wrong.—Come, let us be friends, I have a great regard for you, Neville.

The creature ſhould viſit with me, only ſhe looks ſo well—How! did not I hear Mr. Malvil's voice? yes, it is he; I am viſible; I am at home; ſhew him in. Walk in, Mr. Malvil.

To a perſon of ſentiment, like you, ma⯑dam, a viſit is paid with pleaſure.

You are very good to me. Neville, do you ſtep and bring me the letter that lies upon my table

I am obliged to go out this morning.

She looks mighty well: I have been ſpeaking for you: our ſcheme will take. Sir Harry will not be able to rival you: ſhe will be your reward for all your ſervices to me.

Your generoſity is above all praiſe, and ſo I was ſaying this moment to Mr. Bygrove: he is coming to wait on you.

That's unlucky: I wanted to have ſome talk with you: well, have you ſeen Millamour▪

Yes, and I find him apt: I have hopes of ſucceding.

Huſh!—not ſo loud!—you think me mad, I believe. May I hazard myſelf with that wild man?

Your virtue will reclaim him. I have a friendſhip for Millamour, and that is my reaſon for counteracting the deſigns of my friend Bygrove.—Mr. Bygrove has deſired me to ſpeak favourably of him to your ladyſhip.

Oh! but he kept his laſt wife mew'd up in the country; I ſhould certainly expire in the country.

Why, I can't ſay much for a country life: you are perfectly right. Rooks and crows about your houſe; fox-hounds in full cry all the morning; the country 'ſquires as noiſy at dinner as their own hounds; diſputes about the game; commiſſioners of turnpikes, juſtices of the peace, and pedigrees of horſes; ‘Oroonoko, brother to White Surry, got by Briſk Lightning, his dam by Bold Thun⯑der.’ —That's the whole of their converſation.

Deliver me! it would be the death of me. But don't tell Mr. Bygrove: amuſe him with hopes.

He is a very worthy man. I am ſorry to ſee ſome oddities in him; but that is very common in life. Vices always border upon virtues. Daſh-would ſays, —but there is no believing his ſlander;— he ſays Mr. Bygrove's ſorrow for his deceaſed wife, is all mere artiſice, to weep himfelf into the good graces of another. But I don't believe it.

I hear him coming. Do you go and take care of your intereſt with Neville.

I obey your commands.

I ſhall make her fortune five thou⯑fand. Be ſure you ſpeak to Millamour. Go, go; ſucceſs attend you.

Madam!

This attention to one in my forlorn ſtate is ſo obliging—

It is a favour on your part to receive aloſt, dejected, ſpiritleſs—

I admire your ſenſibility, Mr. By⯑grove. That tender look, which you are for ever caſting back to a beloved, but irrecoverable object, ſhews ſo amiable a ſorrow! oh! there is ſomething exquiſite in virtuous affection.

Is this the letter you want, Madam?

I thank you, Neville. Yes, there is a luxury in hankering after a valuable perſon, who has been ſnatched away. I have found a plea⯑ſing indulgence in contemplations of that ſort; have not I, Neville?

Ma'am!

Ma'am! are you deaf? Are you ſtupid? I was telling Mr. Bygrove, what a taking I was in, when poor dear Mr. Bromley died.

I was not with you then, Ma'am.

Was not with me! what memories ſome folks have!—Go, and try if you can recover your memory: leave the room.

Ungenerous, narrow minded woman!

Oh! you little know what a profu⯑ſion of goodneſs I have laviſhed on that creature. She returns it all with ſullenneſs, with ill humour; with averſion. She perfectly remembers the afflic⯑tion I was in, when I loſt the beſt of men.

I have had my trials too. Heigho!

I beg your pardon: I am recalling your afflictions: you ſhould not give way; you ſhould ſtruggle a little. Heaven knows how I have ſtruggled. I have appeared, indeed, with an air, but it was all ſtruggling.

I could divert you this morning. Do you know that your ſon is in love with lady Jane?

In love! has he ſaid any thing?

I don't know as to that; but I can ſee what is working in his heart. He is above ſtairs now: I don't half like his choice: Lady Bell is the proper match for him, and her fortune is the beſt. An eſtate, you know, muſt come to her, by the fa⯑mily ſettlement. You ſhould direct his choice.

This comes of his preſuming to think for himſelf. Has he declared himſelf?

I fancy not; but he hinted ſome⯑thing to me, about a match in my family.

Why, a match in your family has diverted me of late—Heigho!—It is the only thing that has entertained me for a long time.

I have had my fancies too. I ſhould like to talk further, but I am engaged abroad this morning. Can I ſet you down? Will you truſt yourſelt with me?

You encourage a ſmile, Madam.

We ſhall be the town talk: but let them talk: what need we mind? I will juſt ſtep and ſay a word to Neville—You ſhould not be too ſolitary.

So my friends tell me.

I ſhall be with you in a moment. (returns) Do you know that we are very like each other in our tempers? After all, that is the true foundation of laſting friendſhips. Poor, dear Mr. Bromley!

It was ſimilitude of tem⯑per brought us together; and if ever I could be prevailed upon again, ſimilitude of temper muſt do it. Well, you have diverted me this morning. Here comes your ſon, talk to him now.

Well, Sir, what brings you to this houſe?

A morning viſit, Sir; merely to kill half an hour.

There is nothing I hate ſo much as hypo⯑criſy. I know your errand; you muſt pretend to be in love.

I, Sir!

What have you been ſaying to Lady Jane? I thought I had cautioned you againſt preſuming to think for yourſelf.

You have been very kind in that way.

See what comes of your friend Millamour's being left to his own diſcretion. The aſs in the fable, divided in his choice, and ſtill doubting on, till it is too late to reſolve, gives but a faint image of him

And if I, Sir, to avoid his irreſo⯑lution—

You are in the oppoſite extreme: he thinks too much and never decides. You never think at [27]all, and ſo reſolve without judgment. Take the advice of your friends before you come here to play the antic tricks of love; to kneel, cringe, fawn, flatter, and make yourſelf ridiculous. Do you know enough of the world to judge for yourſelf? Can you tell what they are all doing in the gay ſphere of life? The young are all bred up under the veterans of vice and folly. The ſee their mothers with autumnal faces, playing the agreeable, and for⯑geting that they are no longer young. The men are advanced beyond all former bounds, and the wo⯑men preſs cloſe aſter them. A club for the ladies! intrepidity is now the female charm: to compleat their career, there is nothing left but to build a turf Coterie, at Newmarket, and ride their own matches, over the four mile courſe.

An admirable picture, Sir; Daſh-would could not colour it higher.

Daſhwould! an indiſcriminate railer! I ſpeak for your good, and remember, I tell you, you know nothing of the world. After all, Sir; Lady Bell is the perſon I wiſh to ſee you married to:—go, and pay your addreſſes to her. I will ſet⯑tle that matter for you: you may then marry the perſon, to whom you have not degraded yourſelf, by pining, ſighing, love vetſes, and I know not what.

This is all unaccountable to me, Sir. If you will but hear me—

No, Sir, no; I won't allow you to fetch a ſingle ſigh, till I ſay the word; when I give leave, you may then go and ſigh till your heart is ready to break. I'll hear no more: no parlying with me. Leave the houſe, this moment.

I obey.

I interrupt you.

No, no; I am glad to ſee you. Well, have you had any opportunity with the widow?

I have; ſhe ſurprizes me a little: ſhe has dropt the maſk. I did not think ſhe had been ſo eager to marry. We had ſome talk about you. You know my heart: I am always true to my friends: I ſee but one difficulty: ſhe will never agree to live in the country.

The lover need not diſpute that point, whatever the huſband may do hereafter.

Very true; and beſides, though I am not inclined, with the malicious part of the world, to ſuſpect her virtue, yet this town has temptations. It grieves me to ſee the ways of this great city; fine women without principle; friends without ſincerity: marriages to day, divorces to-morrow; whole eſtates ſet upon the caſt of a die; maſquerades without wit or humour; new comedies that make you cry, and tragedies that put you to ſleep: It grieves me to ſee all this. You are in the right to prefer good ſenſe and tranquility in the country.

I beg your pardon, gentlemen. Ne⯑ville, mind what I ſay to you: don't let thoſe giddy girls go out in my abſence; to walk in the Green Park, or run to hideous painters, under pretence of ſeeing odious pictures, that they may have an inter⯑view with more odious originals. Keep them at home; I will reward your pains. Allons, Mr. By⯑grove.

Come, Mr. Malvil.

Had not I better ſtay, and—

No, no; come now, you may re⯑turn to her.

You ſee that I am torn from you; but I ſhall return as ſoon as poſſible.

Tyrannical woman! ſome virtues ſhe has; but they are overſhadowed by their oppoſite qualities. Her love of praiſe, is a groſs appetite [29]of flattery. She oppreſſes with kindneſs, and her very civilities are ſure to be diſobliging. Oh! ſtate of dependance! for mere ſupport, to be ſubject every hour to caprice and arrogance!—Is it pride that makes me feel with this ſenſibillity?—No, my heart can anſwer it is not. I can bow to the hand that relives me; but I cannot ſtoop to the ſervile office of pampering vanity and oſtentation, with low and fulſome flattery. What does Lady Bell mean by talking to me of Sir Harry? She does it—I know her goodneſs—ſhe does it to ſoften affliction, and, if poſſible, divert a mind depreſſed with ſorrow. Sir Harry never threw away a thought on me. He behaves, indeed, with marked civility; but I don't know what to think of him. I muſt not aſpire too high: no, I have no pretenſions.

Miſs Neville, I am very angry with you. What is the matter? Has any thing made you uneaſy?

No; I am not remarkable for high ſpirits, you know.

Why would not you give us your company? How can you be ſo croſs? That ſiſter of mine is the verieſt madcap!

Lady Bell is rather lively to be ſure.

But when ſhe once begins, ſhe ha⯑zards every thing, and talks ſometimes like a very libertine.

The overflowing of gaiety, and good humour.

I wiſh ſhe would reſtrain herſelf a little. Madam La Rouge is with her: ſhe has the ſweeteſt Point eyes ever beheld. I was endeavour⯑ing to cheapen it, but Lady Bell was ſo trouble⯑ſome; [30]ſhe called me a thouſand prudes, and will have it that nothing runs in my head but a lover.

I don't know but ſhe may be right. We are apt to deceive ourſelves. We talk of va⯑pours, and fidgets, and retirement, but it is often artful, ſly, inſinuating man, that lurks at the bot⯑tom.

Well, I vow you'll make me hate you.

Has Captain Bygrove made no diſtur⯑bance in your heart?

How can you? You are as great a plague as my ſiſter. As I live and breathe, the gid⯑dy romp is coming. You muſt take my part.

What would I give to have ſome miſerable ſwain talk in that ſtyle of me? "Belinda has undone me;" charming!

A lively imagination is a bleſſing, and you are happy, Lady Bell.

I am ſo: but then I am not talked of: I am loſing all my time.

Why, you bold creature! I hate to hear you talk with ſo much intrepidity.

Prudery! my dear ſiſter, downright pruderyl I am not for making myſteries of what all the world knows.

And how do I make myſteries pray?

Why, you confident thing! I'll prove it againſt you.

But what? what? what will you prove?

That you are ready to jump out of your little wits for a huſband, my demure, ſober ſiſter. Miſs Neville, a poet is not more eager for the ſucceſs of a new comedy, nor one of his brother poets more deſirous to ſee it fail, than that girl is to throw herſelf into the arms of a man.

All ſcandal, ſiſter.

Miſs Neville ſhall be judge.

Your ſtory is mere invention.

Was there ever ſuch a wrangler?

You'll not make good your words.

Hold your tongue, Miſs, will you?

Very well, go on.

Will you have done? Now mind, Miſs Neville. She does not want to be married, ſhe ſays. The other night, my young Madam, whoſe thoughts are always compoſed and even, went to ſleep as ſoon as we got to bed, and then her buſy imagination went to work with all the vivacity of an intriguing chambermaid.

And how can you tell that, pray?

Out of your own mouth you ſhall be judged. Miſs Neville, ſhe talked in her ſleep, like a beauty in a ſide box, and then fell a ſinging,

Oh! you ſcurrilous creature.

Fairly caught, Lady Jane.

All odious ſlander; you judge of me by yourſelf.

I do ſo. I mean to be married, and am frank enough to own it. But you may let "con⯑cealment feed on your damaſk cheek." My damaſk cheek, I hope, was made for other purpoſes.

Gracious! there is no bearing this. What a mad girl you are!

Not in the leaſt. A natural charac⯑ter. One would not, to be ſure, tell a hideous man that one loves him: but when one has encouraged him by degrees, and drawn him on, like a new glove, and perhaps done him a miſchief in the doing it, why then one would draw him off again, and may be aſk a pretty fellow to help a body; and then the wretch looks ſo piteous, and kneels at your feet, then riſes in a jealous fit. ‘I take my everlaſting farewell; never to return; no, never; what to her? who en⯑couraged me? encouraged him? who promiſed? broke her promiſe? The treacherous, faithleſs, dear deluding’—then returns in an inſtant; hands dangling; eyes imploring; tongue faultering; ‘La⯑dy Bell, —Lady Bell—when you know that I adore you’—And I burſt into a fit of laughter in his face: Oh! that's my joy, my triumph, my ſupreme delight.

And is not there a kind of cruelty in all this?

Oh! your very humble ſervant, my ſweet Lady Graveairs. Cruelty! The difference be⯑tween you and me, ſiſter, is this; you deny your love to your female friends, and own it to the man; now I deny it to him, but among ourſelves, I fairly own that Miſs Neville is not more impatient to be mar⯑ried to Sir Harry, than I to—

Who, I? Spare me, I beg of you. Why Sir Harry?

Now, now, your turn is come. Ne⯑ver ſpare her, ſiſter?

You muſt excuſe me, I am not in ſpirits for all this raillery.

You ſhan't leave us.

Give me leave; I beg you will. I'll go and talk to Madam La Rouge. Perhaps I may ſucceed for you.

Well, if you muſt go.—How you run on, ſiſter! And are you really in love?

Over head and ears.

With whom?

Not with Capt. Bygrove: how alarm⯑ed you are! With Millamour, ſiſter.

Fix that roving temper, if you can; he will be on his knees to you, and the firſt pair of black eyes that enters the room will be through his heart.

As to that, I give myſelf very little trouble: but if I could once catch him paying his adoration to me, my aunt Bromley does not raiſe and ſink poor Miſs Neville's ſpirits with ſuch ex⯑quiſite ſkill in the art of tormenting, as I ſhould his. I ſhould uſe him as the men do their punch; a little more ſweet; a little more ſower; a little more ſpirit; more acid again; then perhaps ſay it's good for no⯑thing, and then, perhaps—

What?

Sip it up at laſt, as you would do at firſt. You wicked girl, how could you aſk me ſuch a queſtion? Law! what am I about? I have a thouſand things to do.

Ah! my Lady! always ſo gay; Engliſh climate no effect upon you. De maniere de Paris for all de vorl. En verite, vous eſt charmante.

Oh! Madam La Rouge, you ſay ſuch polite things; but you rob me of all my money. [34]My ſiſter is rich: you had better deal with her. Siſ⯑ter, you'll be married before me.

Was ever any thing ſo crazy?

It is all vivacite! and, my Lady, you have ver great wit en partage; vous avez les graces! you have de grace; but you no deal vid me.

I ſhall call at your houſe in Pall mall. Miſs Neville, you joined againſt me: I am very angry with you.

Madamoiſelle, I tell you; perſuade my Lady to have de lace, and you come to my houſe, me give you ver pretty preſent.

Oh! you have a national talent for ap⯑plying a little bribery.

Diantre; 'tis falſe delicateſſe. You not know de manieres of the vorl.—Ah! Monſieur Malvil!

Madam La Rouge. I did not expect this pleaſure.

It is always pleaſure to ſee mes amis; to ſee my friends; and I glad to ſee you here vid de Lady. You have ver good choice. And I can tell you, make diſpatch: you have rival.

Rival?

You not know? Sir Harry have taſke as well as you. Madamoiſelle, you are ver great favourite.

A favourite! keep your vivacity for ſome other ſubject: don't make me the town talk.

It is ver true: He come to my houſe in Pall-mall, and ſay ver fine ting of Madamoiſelle Neville, and Monſieur Daſh would praiſe you ver much.

Ay, his malice is at work.

Monſieur, you loſe all your time—

You wait de fortune from Madam Bromley: Sir Harry vil take her vidout any money at all. Vat you ſlow for?

Are the apartments kept ready at your houſe?

De apartment it is ready. You take it two, tree week ago, and pay de rent for noting— I leave you vid de lady; and I go mind mes affaires. Bon voyage.

I have diſengaged myſelf, to have the hon⯑our of attending you.

Your attention is thrown away. Did not I hear Mr. Millamour's voice?

Yes; he came with me; he is gone into the next room to pay his compliments to Lady Jane. I am ſorry to ſee him for ever diſtracted; always reſolv⯑ing, and yet every day beginning the world over again. You look chagrin'd, what has diſturb'd you?

The old ſtory; Mrs. Bromley's eternal whims.

She is not ſpoken of as I could wiſh. Good natured and arrogant, generous and cruel, obliging and oppreſſive, at the ſame time.

There cannot ſurely, be a more diſ⯑treſsful ſituation than to remain under daily obliga⯑tions, and yet not be able to eſteem our benefactreſs.

Your delicacy charms me: It has fixed me yours. I long for nothing ſo much, as to ſee you out of her power. They have a ſtrange report about town: people will be talking: the whiſper goes that Mr. Bygrove, amidſt all his grief, is ſlily in a hurry for another wife. Mrs. Bromley, they ſay, encourages him; and at the ſame time has a deſign upon my friend Millamour.

The world is not always wrong.

Malice will be buſy; and does not ſpare the young ladies.

If any thing is ſaid to their diſadvan⯑tage, believe me, they do not deſerve it.

I dare ſay not: I don't think they are too forward. I am ſorry to ſee, in one of the papers to-day, a character of Sir Harry, not at all favour⯑able. His little follies, his whims, and caprices one does not mind: He may walk in Daſhwould's train as long as he pleaſes; that only makes him ridiculous. But it grieves me to hear that perfidy ſtains his character, and, as I am told, the worſt of perfidy: the ruin of beauty and innocence is his ruling paſſion.

This is very odd: ſomebody has been at the trouble of ſending me an anonymous letter to that very effect: and why to me? I am not able to decypher.

I don't like anonymous letters. In general they aim at miſchief, but this perhaps, is meant as a caution to you: it muſt be a friend that ſent it.

No; I can gueſs the quiver from whence that arrow comes.

Daſhwould, perhaps?

I don't ſay that.

Nor I; I never-charge any body; but upon recollection, the letter in the news-paper is imputed to him. Mrs. Bromley, I know, has no opinion of Sir Harry. His deſigns, with regard to you, ſhe does not think honourable. My heart in⯑tereſts me for you. You know I am all heart. The plan which Mrs. Bromley has propoſed—Hark! I think I hear Millamour coming. I'll follow you up ſtairs.

Oh! Sir! you have frighten'd me out of my wits.

She loves Sir Harry, I ſee; and yet ſhe ſhan't ſlip thro' my hands. I can ſet on Mrs. Brom⯑ley [37]to lead her a weary life, and if I can prevail upon Millamour to renounce Lady Bell, and marry the widow, my buſineſs is done. When Miſs Ne⯑ville is heartily tormented by Mrs. Bromley, afflic⯑tion ſoftens the mind, and I may then decoy her away, and ſtand upon terms with the family. But Daſhwould's wit will fly about. No matter: he is a ſad ſcoundrel, and does not mind how he murders reputations. So! here comes Millamour. I muſt get clear of him, and talk further with Miſs Neville.

From this moment I blot all other woman from my memory. malvil, wiſh me joy. The perplexity of choice is now at an end.

Why, what has happen'd?

Lovely Lady Jane. "And yield her charms of mind with ſweet delay."—I can't ſtay to tell you now.

Nor will I ſtay to interrupt your raptures. You know, I wiſh you ſucceſs.

There is ſome⯑thing commanding in that air of vivacity.

"Oft at your door let him for entrance wait, There let him"— How! Millamour here! how could you ſurprize me ſo? You horrid thing! how long have you been here?

Been, Madam?—I have been—I have been in the next room, paying my reſpects to your ſiſter.

And never enquired for poor Lady Bell?

Your Ladyſhip wrongs me. You doin⯑juſtice to your own charms: they can never beforgot.

I ſee how it is: the other day you was liſted in my ſervice, and now a deſerter to my ſiſter! you are right, you would have been upon hard duty with me.

Any duty but a forlorn hope would be—

Hope!—why ſure, you would not have had the intolerable aſſurance, to entertain the ſmalleſt degree of hope? My ſiſter, I ſuppoſe, has given you ſome hope. Ay! that's her way: She moves by ſettled rules, and ſhines with equal light. Now I—I am a mere comet, I blaze of a ſudden; dazzle for a while, then wheel away, and am thought of no more.

That gaiety of her's is charming,

The impreſſion your ladyſhip makes—

Words; mere words;—No; I am a ſtrange piece of wild nature; never the ſame for two minutes together. Now, my ſiſter, ſhe is a Pruſſian blue, holds her colour, and is always the ſame.—I—I am a mere changeable ſilk—I ſhift about, and diſplay my wit, and my folly, ſo curi⯑ouſly blended, that no body can tell where one be⯑gins, or the other ends. I am not worth your no⯑tice.

She has deſcribed herſelf admirably; without variety, a woman is a down⯑right piece of inſipidity.

Yes; I have my whims. Never the ſame for two minutes together. Now I love to give a ſcope to folly, and the men ſay, "curſe catch her, ſhe pleaſes more, when in the wrong, than other women when they are in the right. Then good ſenſe is the word; and the next moment I can't bear the fatigue of thinking; why won't ſomebody write a comedy to divert me? Then all ſpirit, and I long to lead up the ball.

Lade Jane is mere mediocrity com⯑pared to her.

Lord! I run on at a ſtrange rate. Yours, Mr. Millamour: Au revoir.

A moment longer: you muſt not leave me: You poſſeſs my heart: poſſeſs it without a rival.

Hey! what's the matter now?

Do not trifle with a paſſion ſincere as mine. I adore you, my Lady Bell; adore your matchleſs charms; thus on my knees adore.

Stay, ſtay; let me ſee what the poet ſays,

There, ſtay there; don't offer to ſtir. Now put up both your hands, and pray, pray, have compaſſion, Lady Bell.

ACT the THIRD.

AND laid his commands upon you to addreſs my ſiſter?

Moſt peremptorily.

You have obeyed him I hope.

You know your power too well; you [40]know that I am devoted to you, and that my hap⯑pineſs depends upon the promiſe you have made me.

There, that is always the way with you men: our ſmiles, are ſure marks of approbation; and every civil thing we ſay, is conſtrued into a promiſe.

And have not you promiſed?

Need I an⯑ſwer that queſtion? How eaſily frightened you are! but you have ſome reaſon to be alarmed. Millamour has been on his knees to me, breathing ſuch rap⯑tures—

Ay!—who has ſet him on?—what can be at the bottom of this?—And have you liſtened to him?—Here comes Daſhwould; he perhaps can explain.

He will only laugh at us; and ſo I'll make my eſcape.

Not to hear Millamour again, I hope.

Well, well to purchaſe my liberty, you need not fear. I have received his vows, delivered with ſuch ardour!—how terrified you look?—I have liſtened to him, to alarm my ſiſter with an idea of Millamour's growing paſſion for me. If her jea⯑louſy is once touched, it may fix her reſolution. At preſent, ſhe is as volatile as Millamour himſelf.

As volatile as Millamour! what can that be? I never knew any thing that would bear a com⯑pariſon

What think you of my ſiſter?

Lady Bell has her whims. I left her above ſtairs, in cloſe conference with Millamour; he has deſerted your Ladyſhip already. Mrs. Bromley will be the next, I hope: your father, would Cap⯑tain, [41]would grieve more for that, than for his de⯑ceaſed wife.

And then Miſs Nevill's turn may come.

Oh! no. To ſport with her would be inhumanity. But a briſk widow, is fair game.

Yes, and it may help to cure my fa⯑ther of his folly.

It would be ſport, but I deſpair of it. You know, Mr. Daſhwould, you allow that Millamour has underſtanding.

But he does not act from his underſtand⯑ing. Fits and ſtarts of paſſion govern him. If in any one purſuit of real uſe, he had half the alacrity of mind, with which he runs on, from one folly to another, he would be a man for the ladies to pull caps for. But he lives for ever in inconſiſtencies. One action of his life is the ſure forerunner of the contrary. Firſt Malvil is his favourite! then arm in arm with me: Can any two things be more op⯑poſite? It is the ſame among the ladies! they all have him by turns, and the whim of one moment, is ſure to find a ridiculous antitheſis in the next.

He ſat for that picture, I'll ſwear.— Well, there's a gentleman wants your advice, and ſo I'll leave you together.

My dear Daſhwould, you muſt aſſiſt me.

What diſtreſſes you?

My evil genius is at work. You know what my father has reſolved upon. Lady Bell is the perſon he chuſes for me.

I know all that buſineſs: a counterplot of the widow's fertile brain, to diſappoint Lady Bell, and wreak her malice on Millamour.

But the malice falls on me only. Why will not Millamour know his own mind? Lady Bell [42]loves him; I know ſhe does. I am thwarted in the tendereſt point; what muſt be done?

Do as they would have you: you enſure ſucceſs. Millamour's jealouſy takes fire upon the firſt alarm, and while the paſſion holds, he will have vigour enough to act deciſively.

May I hazard the Experiment?

It's a ſure card. Take my advice.

Mrs. Bromley's coach has juſt ſtopp'd at the door: had not you better ſtep up ſtairs, gen⯑tlemen?

Daſhwould, you are abſent too long. They are all as dull as a funeral, above ſtairs.

How the Baronet follows Miſs Neville from room to room!—Come, Captain, I'll play a game of picquet with you be⯑fore dinner.—Allons!

If I might have the liberty, ma'am, to—

Another time, if you pleaſe, Sir Har⯑ry. Mrs. Bromley is coming: I hear her voice.

And you promiſe me the hearing?

You are entitled to it, Sir. I beg you'll leave me now.

I obey your commands; I am gone; you'll remember.

Here ſhe comes; and I think in good humour.

Oh! I am heartily tired. I have been paying viſits to people who have never been let [43]into my houſe, and who, I hope, will never be at home for me. I hate them all, but out of civility, we muſt keep up an acquaintance. Where are the girls? Has any body been here?

Mr. Millamour, ma'am, and the reſt of the gentlemen that dine here: they are all above ſtairs.

Stupidity! did not I give orders— How long has Millamour been here?

About an hour.

With Lady Bell, I ſuppoſe— Thou baſe ingratitude! and Sir Harry is here too, I reckon. Does your match go on? You ſhall go back to the country, I promiſe you. You'll be the ruin of thoſe girls. They ſhall have no viſitors, when my back is turned. I'll give orders to all the ſervants this very moment.

To ſee Mrs. Bromley looking ſo well—

You are very polite, Sir. Buſineſs calls me now, Sir John; I beg your pardon.

Has my ſon been here to-day?

He is above ſtairs with Lady Bell, Sir.

Miſs Neville, Neville, I ſay.

You'll excuſe me, Sir John; what can ſhe want?

This viſit portends ſome good, I hope. I ſhall be happy if he has declared himſelf. I'll ſtep and ſee what he [...] about.

Exquiſite! lovely angel!

Well!—how!—what!

I beg your pardon, Sir; I am not at leiſure; I am in the third region; and can't deſcend to the language of the nether world.

Then you are in love, George.

She is a ſiſter of the Graces, and ſurpaſſes the other three. I am fixed; unalterably fixed; and am going about the marriage articles directly.

They are at my lawyer's, ready en⯑groſſed; and only wait for the lady's name, to fill up the blanks.

I know it, Sir; I muſt ſtep for them; I have it through my heart: I feel it here: I am your humble ſervant, Sir.

No, no, do you ſtay here; I'll ſtep for Mr. Copyhold. The writings ſhall be here in ten minutes.

The ſooner the better, Sir.

Loll, tol, lol.

Bravo! you ſeem in prodigious ſpirits.

I am ſo: I am happy in myſelf, and happy in my friends, and happy in every circumſtance, and in tip-top ſpirits, and—my dear Malvil, your's down to the ground.

Methinks I ſympathize with you. When our friends are happy, the ſenſation is well called a fellow feeling.

Malvil, I thank you: your turn of mind is formed for laſting friendſhips. With Daſhwould it is all diſſipation, and giddy mirth, the mere bub⯑ble of pleaſure. To you, I may talk ſeriouſly, The topic of the day is enough for Daſhwould. I can now tell you, that I ſhall be happy for life. But [45]for Daſhwould, I ſhould have been ſettled long ago. That fellow has led me into a thouſand errors.

He has his admirers, and not without rea⯑ſon. He thinks me his enemy, but he is miſtaken. I never harbour reſentment.

You are growing grave, and I am a flight above common ſenſe at preſent.

Daſhwould, notwithſtanding all his faults, does hit the mark ſometimes. I don't uſually laugh at his pleaſantry; I don't like to encourage him too much; but it muſt be owned, he is often right. Be⯑hind his back I cannot help being diverted by him. He has a quick inſight into characters.

No want of penetration there.

No, no; he ſays, and perhaps rightly, your lively ladies often want common prudence; and giddy in the purſuit of pleaſure, they are frequently miſerable in the end.

But Lady Bell's good ſenſe, that refinement of underſtanding—

There are falſe refinements; the ſhadow for the ſubſtance. Who is it that obſerves, we all diſcover early ſymptoms of the diſeaſe, by which our minds and bodies go to ruin?

Po! with Lady Bell there can be no riſk.

I don't know whether Daſhwould is good authority.—You know him beſt. He ſays—

Well!

He is a ſhrewd obſerver.

Nobody more ſo.

If he has a regard for any body, it is for you. You are the only man I never heard him ſpeak ill of. A match with Lady Bell is not to his mind. He talk'd ſeriouſly on the ſubject. Has not he told you?

Not a ſyllable.

I wonder at that. Lady Bell, he ſays, ſhew'd herſelf early. Impatient of advice, atten⯑tive to nothing but her beauty! whole days at her looking glaſs—I repeat his very words—he ſeemed to ſpeak out of downright regard for you.—At her toilette every feature had its inſtructions how to look; but no inſtruction for the mind. And then, ſays he, that terrible love of gaming!

Gaming!

Don't you know it? I can't ſay I ever ſaw it myſelf. Time will determine her character.

If ſhe loves gaming, it is pretty well deter⯑mined already.

Perhaps not: I ſtill hope for the beſt.

Why yes; a man of ſenſe may form her mind, and then the gentler affections may take their turn.

The very thing I ſaid.—But our pleaſant friend had an anſwer ready—Gentle affections, ſays he! don't you ſee that it is with people that once love play, as with perſons addicted to ſtrong cordials? they never return to cooler liquors.

Thereis ſome truth in that. I am for ever obliged to you. It is ingenuous, it is friendly in you to convey the hint.

Don't build too much upon it. I have told you my author; and you know his way: he may deny it all.

Shall I talk to him?

I don't know what to ſay to that. In his vein of pleaſantry, he may give it another turn.

He may ſo. I am glad to know all this. But my Lady Jane, there's a model for her ſex to imitate.

Have you watch'd her well? People ſhould appear what they really are. Let a precipice look like a precipice. When covered over with flowers, [47]it only ſerves to deceive the unwary. Mrs. Bromley has been very communicative about Lady Jane.

You alarm me. My dear friend explain.

To do Lady Bell juſtice, ſhe is above diſ⯑guiſe. And though ſhe has her faults, I have ſeen her pleaſe by thoſe very faults.

And ſo have I. Her very blemiſhes are beauty ſpots.

No frankneſs about the youngeſt girl. It is friendſhip for you that makes me ſpeak. Her character is all forced, ſtudied, put on with her rouge.

Does ſhe paint?

A little; the prudent touch. I am ſorry for her. When ſhe is ſettled in the world, many qualities, which now lie concealed, will break out into open day-light.

What a maſked battery there will be to play off upon her huſband!

Their aunt told me all in confidence. You may judge how painful it is to her. I have known the family for ſome time. I can't but be ſorry for the young ladies.

And ſince this is the caſe, I don't care how little I know of them, or their family.

No occaſion to quarrel with the family. Great merit about Mrs. Bromley. She made an ad⯑mirable wife, and that at an early period. She was but ſeventeen when ſhe married.

No more?

Not an hour: ſhe is not thirty: an eſtate in her own right, and the command of half a borough. No oppoſition there; the old houſes have the votes. A man may get a ſeat without trouble. Does not Sir John want to ſee you in parliament?

Yes. It would give him pleaſure.

Well, you will judge for yourſelf. Were I as you, I ſhould know what courſe to take. Here ſhe comes! a good fine woman! a man may there ſit down to his happineſs at once.

Mr. Millamour,

Mr. Mal⯑vil, what have you done with Mr. Bygrove?

I parted with him where you ſet us down.

I have talked to Millamour, and I think it will do.

Go you up ſtairs.

How charmingly you look! like Lady Bell's eldeſt Siſter!

Po! you are laughing at me.

Not I truly: I appeal to Millamour. I'll take the liberty to join the company above.

She is the beſt of the family.

A valuable man Mr. Malvil is! He has a great eſteem for you, Sir. His ſincerity is unequall'd. You ſeem thoughtful, Mr. Millamour.

Thoughtful, Ma'am!—There are certain ſubjects that—what Malvil ſays is true—A man may marry her, and ſit down to his happineſs at once

Sir John has been ſaying a great deal to me about you.

Has he, Ma'am!—There is a circumſtance, which he is as yet a ſtranger to—a circumſtance, which to communicate, will perhaps—It is what I have long wiſhed, and—

Faultering! heſitating!

I interrupt you.

There is a circumſtance, Ma'am—the affair is—My father for a long time—Sir John, for a long time—Sir John has wiſhed—

To ſee you married?

To ſee me married, Ma'am—and—he has —he has wiſhed it much.—And a ſettlement, by way of jointure—long ready for the lady's name—that is—any lady, who ſhall honour me with her affec⯑tion —and—

No lady can be inſenſible of your pretenſions.

You are very good, Ma'am; and after long obſervation, and a laſting paſſion grafted on it, which, tho' ſilent hitherto, —yet working ſecretly—when diſcloſed at length—may to the perſon in the world— who already formed by experience, may in every re⯑ſpect —and if without preſuming too far—

What a delicate confuſion he is in.

And if this paper, Ma'am—

When given by you, Sir—

Perverſe and cruel!

You both look grave; nothing amiſs, I hope.

Every thing is as it ſhould be, Sir.

Not if he knew all.

Sir John has been complaining—

Paſs that by; adviſe your own ſon; had not you better ſtep up ſtairs? Mr. Millamour will do what is right.

You may leave it all to him; truſt to his judgment.

Millamour, I have ſuch a ſtory for you: Malvil and Daſhwould have been quarrelling about you, and—

Po! and here they all come; I knew the ſubſtance could not be far off, when the ſhadow projected before it.

Mr. Daſhwould, do you think I'll bear this? What liberty will you take next? You think, becauſe I laugh, that I am not offended.— Aunt, I received a letter, and he has attempted to ſnatch it from me.

Why it brings a little cargo of ridicule from the country, and my friend Malvil ſees no joke in it.

When my friend's name is brought in queſ⯑tion, Sir—

It is diverting notwithſtanding.— Aunt, what do you think? My Couſin Cynthia, you know, was to be married to Sir George Squander⯑ſtock; her mother oppoſed it, and broke off the match, and now it's come out, that ſhe was all the time the clandeſtine rival of her own daughter.

Not inapplicable to the preſent buſineſs.

Go, you giddy girl, no ſuch thing!

She charms by her very faults.

And Daſhwould has been ſaying—

Po! repeat none of his ſayings to me.

Did you ſay any thing, Mr. Daſh⯑would? What was it?

Oh! nothing. Sir George Squanderſtock is my very good friend.

And for that reaſon you might ſpare him No man is without his faults.

Ay, allow him faults, out of tenderneſs.

Sir George is a valuable man, Sir, and re⯑preſents his county to great advantage.

He does ſo; takes a world of pains; no⯑thing can eſcape him; Manilla ranſom not paid; there muſt be a motion about that matter: he knots his handkerchief to remember it.—Scarcity of corn! another knot—triennial parliaments—

Juries Judges of law as well as fact

national debt (knots) bail in criminal caſes

and ſo on he goes, till his handkerchief is twiſted into queſtions of ſtate; the liberties and fortunes of all poſterity dangling like a bede roll; he puts it in his pocket, drives to the gaming table, and the next morning his handkerchief goes to the waſh, and his country and the minority are both left in the ſuds.

What a deſcription!

Hey! lively Lady Bell!

Ho! ho! I thank you, Daſhwould.

How can you encourage him? Let us leave 'em to themſelves.

You ſee, Mr. Bygrove—

Ay! thus he gets a ſtory to graft his malice upon, and then he ſets the table in a roar at the next tavern.

Never be out of humour with Daſh⯑would, Mr. Bygrove; he keeps me alive; he has been exhibiting pictures of this ſort all the morning, as we rambled about the town.

Oh! no; no pictures; I have ſhewn him real life.

Very true, Daſhwould: and now mind him: he will touch them off to the life for you.

Millamour ſo cloſe with Lady Bell! the forward importunity of that girl.

There is poſitively no ſuch thing as going about this town, without ſeeing enough to ſplit your [52]ſides with laughing. We called upon my friend Sir Volatile Vainlove: he, you know, ſhines in all polite aſſemblies, and is, if you believe himſelf, of the firſt character for intrigue. We found him drinking Va⯑lerian tea for his breakfaſt, and putting on falſe calves.

And the confuſion he was in, when we entered the room!

In the next ſtreet, we found Jack Spin⯑brain, a celebrated poet, with a kept miſtreſs at his elbow, writing lampoons for the news-paper; one moment murdering the reputation of his neighbours, and the next a ſuicide of his own.—We ſaw a young heir, not yet of age, granting annuity bonds, and five Jews and three Chriſtians, duped by their ava⯑rice to lend money upon them. A lawyer—

Hear, hear; it is all true. I was with him.

A lawyer taking notes upon Shakeſpeare: a deaf Nabob raviſhed with muſic, and a blind one buying pictures. Men without talents, riſing to preferment, and real genius going to a jail.—An of⯑ficer in a marching regiment with a black eye, and a French hair-dreſſer wounded in the ſword arm.

Oh! ho! ho! by this light I can vouch for every word.

Go on, Sir Harry, ape your friend in all his follies; be the nimble marmozet; grin at his tricks, and try to play them over again yourſelf.

Well now, that is too ſevere: Daſh⯑would, defend me from his wit. You know I hoard up all your good things.

You never pay me in my own coin, Sir Harry: try now; who knows but you will ſay ſome⯑thing?

Friend or foe it is all alike.

And where is the mighty harm? I like pulling to pieces of all things.

To be ſure it is the [53]life of converſation. Does your Ladyſhip know Sir George Squanderſtock's ſiſter?

I have ſeen her.

She is a politician in petticoats; a fierce re⯑publican; ſhe talks of the dagger of Brutus, while ſhe ſettles a pin in her tucker; and ſays more about ſhip money, than pin-money.

And now you muſt turn buſſoon?

I know the lady; ſhe ſcolds at the loyaliſts, goſſips againſt the act of ſettlement, and has the fid⯑gets for magna charta.

She encourages a wrinkle againſt bribery; flirts her fan at the miniſtry, and bites her lips at taxes, and a ſtanding army.

Mr. BYCROVE, will you bear all this?

Very well, Neville, I'll come preſently.

I ſhall ſtay no longer. Mr. Bygrove, will you walk?

No, Sir, I ſhall not leave the enemy in this room behind me: a bad tranſlator of an antient poet, is not ſo ſure to deface his original, as his licentious ſtrain to diſparage every character.

Sir Harry, he will neither give, nor take a joke.

No, I told you ſo.

Let me tell you once for all, Sir—

I wiſh you would.

Why interrupt? Do you know what I was going to ſay?

No, do you?

I'll leave 'em all to themſelves.

Millamour gone!

Let me tell you, Sir, with all your flaſhes of wit, you will find that you have been playing with an edge-tool at laſt. And what does this mighty witamount [54]to? The wit in vogue, expoſes one man; makes another expoſe himſelf; gets into the ſecrets of an intimate acquaintance, and publiſhes a ſtory to the world; belies a friend; puts an anecdote, a letter, an epigram into the news-paper; and that is the whole amount of modern wit.

A ſtrain of moroſe invective is more di⯑verting, to be ſure.

Well, Sir, we'll adjourn the debate. You may go on; miſ⯑repreſent every thing; if there is nothing ridiculous, invent a ſtory: and when you have done it, it is but a cheap and a frivolous talent. Has a lady a good natural bloom? Her paint muſt be an expenſive ar⯑ticle. Does ſhe look grave? She will ſin the deeper. Is ſhe gay and affable? Her true character will come out at the Commons. That is the whole of your art, and I leave you to the practice of it.

Satyrical Bygrove! now the widow has him in tow.

Could not you ſtay till my back was fairly turned?

What a look there was!

At what a rate you run on! you keep the field againſt them all.

Sir Harry, ſtep up, and watch him with the widow.

I will; don't ſtay too long.

I'll follow you: and hark, make your party good with Miſs Neville.

You ſee, Lady Belt, a ſling at every body.

The Baronet does not want parts; that is to ſay, he has very good materials to play the fool with. I ſhall get him to marry Miſs Neville.

Bring that about, and you will for once do a ſerious action, for which every body will honour you.

In the mean time, do you watch your aunt Bromley: ſhe is your rival.

Rival? That would be charming!

It is even ſo. Now Millamour's under⯑ſtanding is good, but his paſſions quick: if you play your cards right—

Are you going to teach me how to manage a man?

Coquettry will never ſucceed with him. A quickſand does not ſhift ſo often as his temper. You muſt take him at his word, and never give him time to change, and veer about.

Totally out of nature.

Oh! very well. I give up the point.

You may leave the man to my ma⯑nagement. My aunt Bromley rival me! that would be delightful.

Well, ſiſter!

Can you be ſerious for a moment?

Well, the ſolemnity of that look! Muſt I ſet my face by yours, and contract a wrinkle, by a formal oeconomy of features, which you, like the reſt of the world, miſtake for wiſdom?

Will you hear me? They are hurry⯑ing this match too faſt, I think. Sir John is come, and his lawyer is expected every moment. He wants to conclude the affair this day, and my aunt does not oppoſe it. But I don't like all this hurry.

And why need you be concerned about it?

Do you think Millamour capable of love?

For the moment. It will be difficult to fix him.

What would you have me do?

Do?—Nothing.

How ſilly! you know it is not my ſeeking.

What are you about? Talking in your ſleep again? Lady Jane, wake yourſelf. What have you taken into your head?

Why ſince Mr. Millamour has pre⯑vailed with me—

His affections then are fixed upon you?—Why the man has been dying at my feet, with a face as rueful as a love elegy.

You will permit me to laugh in my turn.

Oh! I can laugh with you, and at you, and at him too. This gives ſpirit to the buſi⯑neſs: here are difficulties, and difficulties enhance victory, and victory is triumph.

Very well! oh! brave! laugh away! you will be undeceived preſently.—If this does not take, I am at the end of my line.

What does all this mean? Rivall'd, outwitted by my ſiſter! Inſupportable! This be⯑gins to grow ſerious.

'Sdeath! ſhe here! Sir John is quite im⯑patient, and I am going for his attorney.

And Lady Jane is impatient too: ſhe is the object of your choice.

Lady Jane! you are pleaſant, very pleaſant!

She has told me with inflexible gravity!

She is a great wit; and great wits have great quickneſs of invention; and ſo a ſtory is eaſily dreſſed up. I could crack my ſides with laughing. If trifling civilities have been received as a declara⯑tion of love—

And is that the caſe? Very whimſical indeed!

Yes, very whimſical! I am eternally yours, ma'am, and I am on the wing, and your Ladyſhip's adorer.

Now to plague 'em both.— Siſter, you may hear it from himſelf.

Confuſion!

That lady, Sir, has the ſtrangeſt notion.—

You will be ſo good as to explain all to my ſiſter.

Both upon me at once.—I have explained, madam, and all further talk about it is unneceſſary.

Only to ſatisfy her curioſity.

To ſhew my ſiſter her miſtake.

I have made every thing clear, ma'am.—

Have not I, Lady Bell? And—

every thing now is upon a proper footing.

Very well; only give her to under⯑ſtand—

Your underſtanding is admirable.

I told you ſhe would talk in this ſtyle.

You are perfectly right, and nobody underſtands things better.

Nobody whatever.

But give me leave. You muſt ſpeak out, Sir.

Never argue about it, it is not worth your while.

There is ſome myſtery in all this.

No; all very clear:

drop it for the preſent.

But I deſire no doubt may remain.

And I don't like to be kept in ſuſpenſe.

Diſtraction! I am like a lawyer, that has taken fees on both ſides. You do me honour, la⯑dies; but upon my ſoul, I can't help laughing. It will divert us ſome day or other, this will. Oh! ho! ho! I ſhall die with laughing.

What is all this uproar for?

Another witneſs of my folly!

Millamour, I give you joy: Mr. Copy⯑hold, your attorney, is come with the deeds. What's the matter?

The ſtrangeſt adventure! I can't ſtay now. The ladies have been very pleaſant. You love hu⯑mour, and they have an infinite deal. I'll come to you in a moment.

George, don't run away: let us finiſh the buſineſs.

If he ſays he'll marry, you may depend upon him. A poet, determined to write no more, or a gameſter forſwearing play, is not ſo ſure to keep his word. I wiſh I may die, if I don't think him as much to be relied upon as a prime miniſter.

Aunt? Would you believe it? The demure Lady Jane—

She has taken ſuch a fancy into her head! Millamour ſhe thinks is up to the eyes in love with her.

Ha! ha! ha! poor Lady Jane!

And my ſiſter's pride is hurt. She carries it with an air, as if ſhe had made a complete conqueſt.

How ridiculous the girls are! your ſon has open'd his mind to you, Sir John?

He has, and I approve of his choice. I hope it is as agreeable to you, as to his father.

I don't know how to refuſe my conſent.

What does all this mean?

As I could wiſh, There he is.

Since it has your approbation, Sir John, I believe I muſt yield my conſent. I never thought to marry again, but ſince you will have it ſo—

Lady Bell I underſtand, is willing to do me the honour of being my daughter in law.

Oh! ho! ho! ho! this makes a⯑mends for all. My dear Aunt Bromley, are you impoſed upon? Did you liſten to the traitor's vows?— The dear, perfidious?

He will ſoon be ſettled, Sir John, ſince there are now three rival goddeſſes contending for him. Mr. Bygrove, you are come in good time.

What fool's part are you to play now?

Sir John, I deſire I may not be made your ſport. Have not I here, under his hand, a de⯑claration of his mind; here, in this copy of verſes, given to me by himſelf, an earneſt of his affection?

Verſes! Aunt?

Verſes to you?

Verſes to me: only hear, Sir John.

Stay, ſtay; mine begin the ſame way:

The very words of mine.

Will thoſe girls have done?

"But when I endeavour'd the matter to break,"

"Still then I ſaid leaſt of my paſſion."

Will you be quiet?

"And reſolv'd I would try.

"Some way my poor heart to recover."

Oh! ho! ho! ho! Mr. Daſhwould, what a piece of work has he made?

And the verſes copied from Congreve.

Copied from Congreve!

There, Sir John, there is your ſon's behaviour!

There, Mr. Bygrove, there is the widow's behaviour.

And now, Mr. Daſhwould, now for your wit.

I am not diſap⯑pointed in the leaſt, Sir.

I never was ſo cover'd with confuſion!

I never was ſo diverted in all my days.

He has acted with great propriety upon the occaſion.

He has made himſelf very ridiculous. [61]He has expoſed nobody but himſelf. Contempt is the only paſſion he can excite. A crazy, mad, abſurd—

An inconſtant, wild, irreſolute—

Ha! ha! ha! ſo whimſical a charac⯑ter.

This be⯑haviour will give him prodigious luſtre. He will ſhine after this. I hope his viſits will ceaſe at this houſe.

If ever you marry again, ſimilitude of temper muſt do it.

Diſtraction! muſt you plague me too?

You have appear'd with an air, but it was all ſtruggling.

I cannot bear this.

Heavens knows how you have ſtruggled!

And you too?

"A march in your family has diverted me of late." I renounce you all. Come, Lady Bell, Lady Jane, let us leave them to themſelves.

You would not believe me, ſiſter.

Oh! this to me is as good as a co⯑medy.

What ſhall I give you for your chance?

More than I'll give you for your wit. And there's your anſwer.

The old pike is hooked, and ſtruggles ſtill at the end of her line.

Mr. Daſhwould, ſpeak to this ſilly young man. You have influence over him. Keep him to dinner. You will for ever oblige me. I muſt go and pacify the ladies.

Poor Millamour! Dryden has painted him to a hair.

ACT the FOURTH.

THIS way, Sir Harry. While they are all en⯑gaged in the pleaſures of the table, I want a word with you in private.

With that face of importance! what is coming now?

Liſten to me: know a little of the ſubject before you give your opinion.

I am all attention.

Did you mark Miſs Neville, at dinner?

You know I did. And when Mrs. Bromley railed at her—

She railed at her with a littleneſs of ſpirit, that diſgraced wealth and affluence, and gave to po⯑verty the ſuperior character. You muſt have ſeen in the behaviour of that girl, though treated with pride and arrogance, a propriety that was elegant, and went even further; it intereſted every heart for her. She is the beſt of the group. Were I, at the head of ſuch a fortune as yours, to chooſe a wife, ſhe ſhould be the object of my affection.

You have ſome ſcheme in all this.

I have; to ſerve you. I ſhould mortify the pride of Mrs. Bromley, by placing a valuable, but helpleſs, young lady upon a level with her at once.

This is to end in ſome joke.

Wait for the wit before you laugh. I am in ſerious earneſt. Her underſtanding is the beſt among them. The others are all artificial; ſhe is a natural character; and if I am not miſtaken, has a heart. If I wanted heirs to my eſtate, ſhe ſhould be the mother of my children.

Were I to be the dupe of all this, how you would laugh at me? Ha! ha! ha! I know you too well.

Again! laughing without the provocation of a joke. Don't be the dupe of your own cunning. I know you love her; and will it not be a generoſity worthy of you, to extricate merit out of diſtreſs? Nay, the merit which you admire? The merit which would do honour to the choice of any man in England?

Well, I cannot contain.

What's the matter?

The ſcrape in which you involved Mil⯑lamour with the widow!

Fooliſh! that was Malvil's doing. You'll hear more of it by and by. There is an underplot in all his actions. I adviſe you for the beſt. Here is a lady in queſtion, untainted by the faſhions of the age. Make her your own. She has no fortune; what then? Shew yourſelf ſuperior to the ſordid views, that govern the little mercenary ſpirits of the world.

I have juſt recollected what you ſaid of Jack Invoice, upon his marriage.

Jack Invoice! He never was intended for any thing but to be laughed at. Upon the death of a rich uncle in the city, he comes to the weſt end of the town, with a plumb in his pocket, and not an idea in his head; marries a fantaſtical woman of rank, and with a ſovereign contempt of all his former ac⯑quaintance, mixes with lords and people of quality, [64]who win his money, and throw his wig in the fire to divert themſelves. He laughs at their wit, and thinks himſelf in good company.

Admirable! you have him to a hair.

Hey! the picture is like.—

—Pretty well, is not it?

Oh! ho! ho! the very thing! poor Jack Invoice! you have hunted him down.

Have I?

Yes, I think I have been pleaſant upon him. But come; to our point: in marrying Miſs Neville, there is nothing ridiculous. You like her, that's clear.

But ſhe does not like me, and that's as clear. Somebody has done me a prejudice there. She received this letter, and gave it me to read.

"To Miſs Neville—

With⯑out a name?

A poiſon'd arrow in the dark.

‘Anonymous letters are generally the effect of clandeſtine malice; this comes from a friend. If your honour, your virtue, and your peace of mind, are worth your care, avoid the ac⯑quaintance of Sir Harry. He is the deceiver of innocence, and means to add your name to the liſt of thoſe whom his treachery has already ruined. Make uſe of this hint, and act accordingly.’—A pretty epiſtle—

Don't I know this hand?— So, ſo! I underſtand it: I can trace this: ſay no more, Sir Harry: purſue Miſs Neville the cloſer for this. Will you let ſuch a fellow as Malvil, rob you of a treaſure?

You don't ſuſpect him?

Leave it all to me. Aſſure Miſs Neville that this ſhall be cleared up. Huſh! we are inter⯑rupted: go and join the company.

Pſhaw! pox! the company without you—

Very well; leave me now:

What's the matter, Malvil?

It will be over preſently: a ſudden ſenſation; I can't bear to ſee others made unhappy. Mrs. Bromley is a very valuable woman, but at times ra⯑ther violent.

And that's much to be lamented, is not it?

You may laugh at it, Sir, but I think it a ſerious matter. I left poor Miſs Neville in a flood of tears; and—here ſhe comes.

Not riſing from table ſo ſoon?

Excuſe me, Sir, I had rather not ſtay.

Never mind Mrs. Bromley's humours; come, we will all take your part.

I am not fit for company, Sir.

I am ſorry to loſe you: I'll leave you with my worthy friend; he will adminiſter conſolation.

Was there ever ſuch inhuman tyranny? Inſulted before the whole company!

It hurts me to the quick. I could not have believed her capable of ſuch violence.

You ſaw that I gave her no provocation.

It pains me to ſee what I do.

She breaks out in ſuch paſſionate onſets, and never conſiders that an overbearing pride is the worſt of cruelty to an ingenuous mind.

There are few who know how to confer an obligation. A diſintereſted action gives ſuch mo⯑ments of inward pleaſure! Oh! there are moments of the heart, worth all the giddy pleaſures of life. [66]One benevolent action pays ſo amply, and yields ſuch exquiſite intereſt, that I wonder people are not fond of laying out their money in that way.

During the whole time of dinner, it was one continued invective againſt me.

Millamour's behaviour had diſconcerted her. But that is no excuſe. Goodneſs by fits, and generoſity out of mere whim, can never conſtitute a valuable character. I am ſorry to ſee you ſo afflicted.

You are very good, Sir.

No, I have no merit in it; the inſtincts of my nature leave me no choice. I have ſtudied my⯑ſelf, and I find I am only good by inſtict. I am ſtrangely intereſted for you. I have thought much of your ſituation: our time is ſhort; they will be all riſing from table, preſently. Attend to what I ſay: ſince Mrs. Bromley is ſo inceſſant in her tyranny, do as I already hinted to you. Withdraw from this houſe at once. Madam la Rouge has an apartment ready for you. You may there remain concealed. In the mean time I ſhall be at work for you. I ſhall prevail upon Mrs. Bromley to keep her word, about the five thouſand pounds. That added to what is in my power, will make a handſome ſettlement for you.

You heard what ſhe ſaid to Sir Harry.

She wants to drive you to ſome act of deſ⯑pair; perhaps to give you up a ſacrifice to Sir Harry's looſe deſires.

Are you ſo clear about Sir Harry?

Sdeath! I ſee ſhe loves him.—Here⯑after I will open a ſcene to aſtoniſh you.

You can never be happy under this roof. Mrs. Bromley will make this quarrel up, I know ſhe will. The whole of her virtue conſiſts in repentance, but what kind of repentance? A ſpecious promiſe to reform her conduct, and a certain return of the ſame vices.

She has made me deſperate. I can ſtay here no longer. I'll go back to the country. I ſhall there be at peace.

You will be there too much out of the way. When you are ſettled at Madam La Rouge's, the haughty Mrs. Bromley will ſee to what ſhe has driven you, and for the ſake of her character, will begin to relent. Sir Harry muſt not know where you are. He means your ruin, I am ſorry to ſay it, but I can give you ſuch convincing proof.—

BROM. Do you go to your room, madam; let me ſee you no more to-day.

It was a mere unguarded word that fell from Miſs Neville.

Millamour is aſhamed of his conduct, He is under my influence ſtill: I ſhall mould him to your wiſhes.

BROM.

I am a fool to think any more about him. Go to him; watch him all day; you will not find me ungrateful.

And pray tell thoſe girls to come up ſtairs.

Mighty well, madam.

You muſt ſit next to Sir Harry: You have pretenſions, have you? And you muſt vouch for Lady Bell too? She does not love gaming; that ſtory is all calumny: beſpeak yourſelf a place in the ſtage coach; you ſhall quit this houſe, I promiſe you.

It will be the laſt time I ſhall receive thoſe orders, madam. Your favours are ſo embit⯑tered; there is ſuch a leaven of pride, even in your acts of bounty, that I cannot wiſh to be under any further obligations. If doing juſtice to Lady Bell, if avowing my ſentiments in the cauſe of ſo amiable a friend, can give you umbrage, I am not fit to re⯑main in this houſe.

O brave! you ſhall travel. Give her a fortune! No, let Lady Bell reward her. How! —Millamour, as I live.

Deliver me, fate! ſhe here:—Madam— I—I—I—you are not going to leave us, I hope.

And how can you look me in the face?

I am glad you are come, Sir, I wanted to—

Perverſe! what brings Sir John?

—I ſhall expect you above ſtairs, gentlemen. I muſt try once more to fix that irreſolute, inconſtant man.

What a day's work have you made here?

Sir!

Can you expect any good from all this? Ever doing and undoing! Theſe proceedings are ter⯑rible to your father.

You know, Sir, that to gratify you is the height of my ambition.

For ſhame! don't imagine that you can deceive me any longer. Are you to be for ever in ſuſpence? Always reſolving, and yet never decided? Never knowing your own mind for five minutes?

I have not been haſty to determine.

My indulgence has made me too ridi⯑culous. You will force me to tell you my mind in harſher terms than I ever thought I ſhould have oc⯑caſion to do.

What has happened to-day, was but a mere frolic, and it has all paſſed off in a little raillery.

And do you think that ſufficient? While you remain inſenſible of your folly; transfer⯑ring your inclinations from one object to another; hurried away by every caſualty, you will prove the jeſt of all your acquaintance. You will ceaſe to live, before you have begun.

This is rather too much, Sir. If I have, in a few inſtances, departed from a reſolution that ſeemed fixed, you know very well, it is not uncom⯑mon; and when a perſon means an extraordinary leap, he retires back, to take advantage of the ground, and ſpring forward with greater vigour.

And thus you amuſe yourſelf, com⯑pounding upon eaſy terms, for the folly of every hour. There is no relying upon you.

After all, Sir, it is the prudent part to con⯑ſider every thing. The ladies were rather haſty in their concluſion. In our moments of reflection, as objects paſs before us, opinion will wear different colours.

The very cameleon has that merit: but is there to be nothing inward? No ſelf-governing principle? A ſhip without a pilot, without rudder, or compaſs, is as likely to avoid rocks, and quick⯑ſands, as you to ſteer clear of ruin.

You ſeem exaſperated, but I really don't ſee the cauſe.

No?—Can't you feel how abſurd it is to be always beginning the world? Forever in a doubt? Day after day embarking in new projects, nay twenty different projects in one day, and often in an hour?

Spare my confuſion: I feel my folly; I feel it all; and let my future conduct.—

George, can I take your word? I know you have been at the gaming table.

The gaming table !

Say no more: I know it all: after the indulgence I have ſhewn you, I now ſee that my hopes are all to be diſappointed. If you have a mind to attone for what is paſt, purſue one certain plan, and be ſomebody. The time now opens a new ſcene, and calls for other manners. Reform your conduct, and I ſhall be happy. But I am tired of this eternal levity: my patience is wore out. I ſhall ſtay no longer in this houſe to be a witneſs of your abſurdity.

I have made myſelf very ridiculous here. I can't ſhew my face any more in this family. I'll go back to the Temple, and not marry theſe ten years. The law leads to great things: a ſeat in Parliament, a vote or two againſt your conſcience, a ſilk gown, and a judge; that's the courſe of things. I'll purſue my ambition.—Honeſt friend,

hiſt! honeſt friend, will you be ſo good as juſt to get my hat?

No, I bar hats. What, going to deſert us? The ſport is but juſt beginning. Bygrove has been lecturing his ſon, and quarreling with Malvil. The integrity of that honeſt gentleman is ſuſpected at laſt. He was the worthieſt man in the world this morning, as good a creature as ever was born, but now he has ſold himſelf to the widow. Lady Bell has been lively upon the occaſion; and Malvil, to ſupport his ſpirits, has plyed the Burgundy, till he looks the very picture of hypocriſy, with a ruddy complexion, and a ſparkling eye.

You may divert yourſelf, Sir; I have done with them all.

But I can't part with you: you ſhall join us; Malvil ſhall have no quarter: he will ſtick to [71]his glaſs till his charity for his neighbour begins to ſtagger; then off drops the maſk: he will have cour⯑age enough to rail at mankind, and his true charac⯑ter will come forth, like letters in lemon juice before the fire.

Po! abſurd! I am on the rack. Why did you force me to ſtay dinner? I have been ſo weak, ſo frivolous.

How ſo? Becauſe you chang'd your mind? There is nothing more natural. Don't you ſee men doing the ſame thing every day? Down goes the old manſion; a new one riſes; exotic trees ſmile on the landſcape, and enjoy the northern air; and when the whole is finiſhed, in less than a twelve-month, the auctioneer mounts his pulpit. "Pleaſing contiguity" —"Beautiful, and pictureſque ſcene"—"Delect⯑ably featured by Nature"—"Shall I ſay twenty thouſand?—Down it goes to the higheſt bidder, who pays his money, and runs away the next morning with an opera ſinger to Italy.

Why, yes, we ſee theſe things every day.

No doubt; men are fickle, and inconſtant

Very true; it is the way through life; in the loweſt rank, as well as the higheſt. You ſhan't ſee a journeyman Weaver, but he has his diſguſt, like a Lord, and changes his lodging, his houſe of call, his barber, and his field preacher.

Certainly; and then there is a real charm in variety. Beſides what you did to day, was a mere frolic.

Nothing more: and that fellow, Malvil, was the occaſion of it. My heart never rightly warm⯑ed to that man. I ſhall never conſult him again. Af⯑fairs were in a right train, if he had not interpoſed.

You ſhall have your revenge. I have a mine to ſpring will blow him up—

His ad⯑vice [72]to-day has ſerved to produce the widow's character.

Yes, it has given a diſplay of her.

How could ſhe think me in earneſt? Marry her! I would go into the army ſooner.

A good pretty trade, the army: if you are killed in battle, it is your affair; if you conquer, you may retire, and live very prettily upon half pay.

Very true: the law is a more certain road.

A good agreeable life the law is: for ever entangled in the cobwebs of Weſtminſter-hall; and you help to ſpin them yourſelf into the bargin.

And at the end of twenty years, you are thought a good promiſing young man.

In the mean time you are conſtantly hiring out your lungs, and ever in a paſſion about other people's affairs.

And travelling circuits, in hopes of finding each county diſtracted: with a barbarous, bloody murder, in every jail, and ſo live upon the calamities of mankind.

Like phyſicians, when a north-eaſt wind, a Lord Mayor's feaſt, or a jail diſtemper, has made a good ſickly time of it.

Come, ſiſter, leave the men to them⯑ſelves. Mr. Daſhwould, has their wit frightened you away?

"Look in her face, and you forget them all."

Won't your Ladyſhip have compaſſion on that gentleman?

Compaſſion!—my ſiſter and I, we hope for his protection?

When you go away from company, Lady Bell, you draw every body in your train.

Oh! you have ſo overpowered me with civil, and tender things!

What does he follow her for?

A l'honneur, gentleman.

Uncle! Uncle Millamour, when you are married to my aunt, I hope you will be kind to us both.

Confuſion! daggers! daggers!

May I ſalute you, uncle?

Po! this foolery!

Let us give him all his titles!—Bro⯑ther —when you marry my Siſter.—

How can you, Lady Bell?

Uncle!—Brother!

And Brother Uncle!

This is too much —No patience can endure it.

Madam, this uſage—

Come, ſiſter, let us leave him.

Oh! ho! ho! I ſhall expire.

Why will you torment me thus?

Am I to be for ever made your ſport?

Oh! you would not have me laugh. To be ſure, when one conſiders, it is a ſerious mat⯑ter. And though Captain Bygrove

has orders to be in love with me; and though he has declared himſelf in the warmeſt terms—

And could you liſten to him?

And yet after all your promiſes, when you had touched my heart—

Jealous of me by this light.

After all your faithleſs vows, to break them as you have done, like a Turk, or a Jew, or a Mahometan,

and leave me, like Dido and Aeneas, it is enough to break a young girl's heart.

ſo it is, it is—There, will that pleaſe you?

Adieu, uncle! my compliments to my aunt—

Damnation!

Did not I hear ſomebody crying?

Yes, and laughing too. Captain Bygrove, you ſaid ſomething to Lady Bell, what was it, Sir?

What I deſire the world to know; I love her, I adore her. My father has order'd it, Mrs. Bromley approves; Lady Bell encourages me; and I ſhall be the happieſt of mankind.

You and I muſt talk apart, Sir. You know my prior claim. Attempt my life rather than my love. You muſt think no more of her, Sir; ſhe is mine by every tie, and ſo I ſhall tell her this mo⯑ment.

Now hold that reſolution, if you can.

I have managed it well.

Admirably!

What does all this mean? Daſhwould, you are wanted in the next room. Malvil is in for it: he ſits toaſting Miſs Neville, while every idea fades away from his countenance, all going out one by one, and his eye ſinks into the dim vacuity of a briſk no meaning at all.

I'll look in upon them.—Bygrove, I ſee Miſs Neville: let us give Sir Harry his opportunity.

I thought Lady Bell was here: I beg your pardon; gentlemen.

Your company is always agreeable, is not it, Sir Harry? The gentleman will ſpeak for himſelf. Come, Bygrove, I have occaſion for you.

May I now preſume, Madam—

You chuſe your time but ill, Sir Harry. I have ſo many things to diſtract me, I cannot liſten to you now.

But you promiſed to hear me; I have long beheld your ſufferings.

They do not warrant improper liber⯑ties. I can be humble as becomes my ſituation. I hope you will not oblige me to ſhew that ſpirit, which virtue is as much intitled to, as the proudeſt fortune in the kingdom.

I mean you no diſreſpect. That letter is a black artifice to traduce my character: the fraud ſhall be brought to light; you may rely upon it; nor will you be ſo ungenerous as to believe the dark aſſaſſin of my honour.

I know not what foundation there is for it, nor is it for me to charge you with any thing. I have no right to take that liberty.

Why harbour ſuſpicions unworthy of you? In me, you behold a warm admirer, who aſ⯑pires at the poſſeſſion of what he loves, and trembles for the event.

I muſt take the liberty to doubt your ſincerity. I know my own deficiencies, and Ibeg leave to withdraw.

By all that's amiable in your mind and perſon, my views are honourable as ever yet inſpired alover's heart.

I would fain expreſs my gratitude.

Why thoſe tears?

Your character, I dare ſay, Sir, will come out clear and unſullied. You will permit me to take care of mine. It is all I have to value. I ſhall not continue any longer in this houſe. Mrs. Bromley has made it impoſſible; I wiſh you all hap⯑pineſs, Sir.

That reſolution I approve of: let me provide you a retreat, and in a few days—

I muſt beg to be excuſed: that I can never think of.

By Heaven, I mean to raiſe you to that independance, which your merit deſerves. I would place you in that ſplendor, which Mrs. Bromley may envy.

I can only return my thanks. Lady Bell will know where I am. I feel no ambition: I do not want to give pain to Mrs. Bromley: I ſeek humble content, and aſk no more.

You do injuſtice to yourſelf and to me: —Hey! all breaking up from table!

You muſt not detain me now, Sir Har⯑ry. I humbly take my leave.

I wonder what Daſh wood will ſay to all this. I ſhall like to hear him: he will turn it to a joke, I warrant him. No end of his pleaſantry.

Very well; make the moſt of it. Since you force me to ſpeak, I ſay her character is a vile one.

Here is a fellow whom wine only inſpires with malice.

Po! malice! Malvil has no harm in him.

You may talk of Mrs. Bromley, but ſhe is as vile a character, as pride, and inſolence, and ava⯑rice, and vanity, and faſhionable airs, and decayed beauty can jumble together.

Here's a return for her hoſpitality!

Marry her, I ſay; marry her, and try.

You ſhall not have a ſhilling with Miſs Neville.

There, the ſecret's out: you want to marry her, and make her break her word. Mankind's a villain! a medley of falſe friends, eloping wives, ſtock jobbers, and uſurers; wits that won't write, and fools that will.

Daſhwould, you are a panegyriſt, compared to this man.

Yes, he takes your trade out of your hands.

She is Mrs. Bromley, the widow, and you are Mr. Bygrove, the widower; and ſo, bite the biter, that's all.

His wit ſoars above you, Mr. Daſhwould.

Wit is a bad trade. Letters have no friend left in theſe degenerate times. Shew a man of letters to the firſt of your nobility, and they will leave him to ſtarve in a garret. Introduce a fellow, who can ſing a catch, write a dull political pamphlet, or re⯑marks upon a Dutch memorial, or play off fireworks, and he ſhall paſs ſix months in the country, by invi⯑tation. Maecenas died two thouſand years ago, and you are not hiſtorian enough to know it.

Daſhwould, he makes a bankrupt of you.

I have found him out: I know him now: a pretended friend, that he may more ſurely betray you. Go, and get ſome coffee, to ſettle your head.

Mrs. Bromley will ſettle your head.

Let us take him up ſtairs; he'll tumble over the tea-table, to ſhew his politeneſs.

Come, the ladies wait for us.

Mankind, I ſay, is a villain!

Bleſs me, Mr. Malvil!

All Daſhwould's doing to expoſe a body. Do you look to Millamour, that's what I ſay to you.

He ſhan't ſtay to plague your Ladyſhip.— Come, Malvil, let us go and be tender of reputation above ſtairs.

I'm always tender, and you are ſcurrilous.

How Millamour follows me up and down! Charming! here he comes.

Lady Bell, allow me but one ſerious moment.

This bracelet is always coming off.

Whatever appearances may have been, I burn with as true a paſſion, as ever penetrated a faithful heart.

I know he is mine. —This ſilly, obſtinate bauble! What were you ſay⯑ing? Oh! making love again.

By this dear hand I ſwear—

Hold, hold, no violence. Give me my liberty, and thus I make uſe of it.

Oh! I have been wiſh⯑ing for you. How could you ſtay ſo long?

They detained me againſt my will. But you ſee, I am true to my appointment.

Are you ſo? You ſhall keep an appointment with me.

I was ſurrounded with darts, and flames. That gentleman was for renewing the old ſtory, but it is ſo ridiculous!

Diſtraction! to be inſulted thus!

You have prevailed upon me to be in earneſt at laſt. Since your father has propoſed it, and ſince you have declared yourſelf, why, if I muſt ſpeak, get my aunt's conſent, and mine follows of courſe.

If ever I forgive this.

Mrs. Bromley has conſented

He has it; this will gall his pride.

No end of her folly. I was bent on mar⯑riage, but now it's all her own fault. And yet ſhe knows my heart is fixed upon her.

You are ſo obliging, and I have ſo many things to ſay to you; but if people will not perceive, when they interrupt private converſation.

If ever I enter theſe doors again, may the ſcorn of the whole ſex purſue me.

We have carried this too far.

The barbarous man, when he ſhould have taken no denial, but have lain on the ground, imploring, beſeeching—Delightful! here he comes again.

Is it not ſtrange, that you can't know your own mind for two minutes together?

Ho! ho! the aſſurance of that re⯑proach!

Appoint your time and place: I muſt have ſatisfaction for this.

To-morrow morning, when the mar⯑riage ceremony is over.

I ſhall expect you, Sir.

This is lucky. I was in queſt of your la⯑dyſhip.

In queſt of me, Sir?

In queſt of you, ma'am. I have been wait⯑ing for an opportunity, and, if the ſincereſt ſorrow can expiate paſt offences—Here's a chair, ma'am.

We may drive him to extremities with Lady Jane: I'll leave you to recover your wanderer.

If you will permit me to aſſure you—

But while my ſiſter is my rival—

Your ſiſter's charms carry their own antidote with them. If there is faith in man, I mean to at⯑tone for what is paſt.

So, ſo; with what pleaſure ſhe hears him? Did you ſpeak to me, Mr. Millamour?

There was a time, ma'am!—

Now ſhe wants to interrupt us: don't let us mind her, and ſhe'll withdraw.

Wear the willow, Lady Bell? Not a word, Sir? You are in the right: my ſpirits are too violent for you; and though what I ſay is not abſo⯑lutely wit—Do you like wit? I am ſure you ought; for it is undeſineable, like yourſelf.

That is not ill ſaid.

Horrid! I ſhall be vapour'd up to my eyes. I'll try my ſong, to ba⯑niſh melancholly. Where is that fooliſh guitar?

Now her jealouſy is at work. I knew ſhe would be mortified. Let us agree to pique her pride, and probe her to the quick.

Though I can't ſing, it diverts a body to try.

Vaſtly well!

Oh! charming! charming!

What are you about, you wretch? Only look, ſiſter: I ſuppoſe, Sir, when you have done, you will give me my hand again.

I promiſe you, ſiſter, your triumph will be ſhort.

How ſhe flung out of the room!

You know, Lady Bell, that I am yours by conqueſt. I adore you ſtill, and burn with a lover's faithful fires.

Come, and have a diſh of tea to cool you.

Hear me but a moment. It is now time you ſhould be tired of this eternal diſplay of your power. Your power is ſufficiently acknowledged and felt by all. You may triumph over adoring crouds, but one lover treated with generoſity, will be more to your honour and your happineſs.

Pretty, very pretty! I have read all that in one of the poets.

Come up ſtairs, and I'll ſhew you the whole poem.

Will you come?

Won't you? Well, conſider of it, and when you know your own mind, you may change it again.

There now! Every thing by turns, and nothing long. Fickle do they call me? A man muſt be fickle, who purſues her through all the whimſies of her temper. Admire her in one ſhape, and ſhe takes another in a moment.

ACT the FIFTH.

AM I to be ſacrificed to your humour?

Am I to be ſacrificed to your abſurdity?

When pleaſantry is out of all time and place—

Why then I ſhall be tired of all time and place.

Look ye, Mr. Daſhwould, it is time to be ſerious. The wit, that wounds the breaſt of a friend, is the peſt of ſociety.

The paſſion, Mr. Millamour, that runs headlong without cauſe, and will not hearken to rea⯑ſon, is a greater peſt of ſociety, than all the little with that has been in the world. What does all this mean, Sir? What is it about?

If I loſt money at play, was it for you to carry the tale to my father? for you to ſubject me to his reproaches?

I don't know by what fatality it happens, but that generally comes laſt, which ought to be mentioned firſt. I repeated nothing to Sir John: who did? Do you aſk that queſtion? Malvil, Sir, with his uſual duplicity.

Malvil? He has this moment told me how pleaſant you were upon the ſubject, and at my ex⯑pence.

Yes, when he had revealed the whole, and with falſe tenderneſs lamented your folly.

'Sdeath! I underſtand it now. I have been abſurd here.

I don't diſlike you for your abſurdity that ſerves to divert one: Malvil excites other feel⯑ings. You know the character he gave you of Lady Bell.

Yes, and all ſlander.

I left him but now, repreſenting you to Lady Bell in the ſame colours—And here—

Here I have him faſt. An anony⯑mous letter againſt Sir Harry, ſent for his own pur⯑poſes, to Miſs Neville. All his contrivance, dic⯑tated by himſelf, and written at an attorney's deſk: You know old Copyhold?

Did he pen the letter?

One of his clerks was the ſcribe. The young man is now in the Houſe, at my requeſt, and ready to prove Malvil the author. Here he comes —things are not ripe as yet. Say nothing now.

Walk in; you come opportunely.

If I can be of any ſervice—

To be of diſſervice, is your province; and when you have done the miſchief, you can transfer the blame to others.

I have been rather off my guard to-day. I am not uſed to be overtaken in that manner; my head is not quite clear.

Then this buſineſs may ſober you. What was your whiſper to me about that gentleman?

That he treated with wanton pleaſantry what I thought a ſerious matter. I may miſtake the means, but the end of my actions I can always an⯑ſwer for. Sir John might hear of the affair from another quarter, and ſo to ſoften his reſentment—

You took care to excite it.

I—I—I am apt to carry my heart at my tongue's end.

I knew his heart was not in the right place.

I did not addreſs myſelf to you, Sir.

I know you have the grimace of character. Mr. Malvil, arm'd at all points with plauſible maxims. But which of your maxims can juſtify the treachery of betraying the ſecret of a friend? Who does it, is a deſtoryer of all confidence; and when he attempts to varniſh his conduct, with the ſpecious name of friendſhip, the malignity ſtrikes the deeper: artful, ſmiling malignity.

I deſerve all this. Friendſhip in exceſs is a fault. There are bounds and limits even to virtue. It would be well if a man could always hit the exact point. There is however ſomething voluptuous in meaning well.

Well expreſs'd, Malvil! ha! ha! you are right.

No more of your muſty ſentences.

Morals are not eapable of mathematical de⯑monſtration. And—now I recollect myſelf—It did not occur at firſt—It was Madam La Rouge told the affair to Sir John. This gentleman here—I ſup⯑poſe you will take his word—he ſays ſhe hears every thing, tells every thing, and he calls her a walking news-paper: not that ſhe means any harm. I only mean to ſay—

Oh! fie, don't be too ſevere upon her.

She ſaid at the ſame time—you know her manner—ſhe told Sir John that you are in love with half a dozen, and will deceive them all, and Lady Bell into the bargain.

Diſtraction! ſhe dare not ſay it. This is another of your ſubterfuges. You know, Sir, how you traduced Lady Bell, and made that gentleman the author of your own malevolence. At any other time and place, this ſword ſhould read you a lecture of morality.

You are too warm: and ſince I ſee it is ſo, to avoid contention, I ſhall adjourn the debate

Deceive Lady Bell!—Whoever has dared to ſay it, —Madam La Rouge lives but a little way off. I'll bring her this moment, to confront this arch im⯑poſtor.

You'll be ſure to return.

This very night ſhall unmaſk him.

I ſhall depend upon you, Malvil ſhall anſwer to Sir Harry: all his artifices ſhall be fairly laid open.

Mr. Daſhwould, we are now good friends, I have repoſed a confidence in you. You know every thing between me and Mrs. Bromley, but you ſee how ſhe goes on.

And I ſee how you go on. You are the dupe of your own policy.

How ſo?

The Widow's ſchemes are ſeconded by your own imprudence. Can't you ſee, that if Millamour were once married out of your way, Mrs. Bromley would then be at her laſt ſtake, and you might have ſome chance? And yet your ſon has it in command to defeat my friend Millamour with Lady Bell.

How! light breaks in upon me. Gull that I was! my ſon ſhall marry Lady Jane directly.

To be ſure; and the conſequence is, that Lady Bell declares for Millamour.

Right: I am for ever obliged to you: I'll go, and ſpeak to my ſon, this moment: Lady Jane ſhall be his, without delay.

So much for my friend, the Captain: I have ſettled his buſineſs.

Mr. Daſhwould, I am ſo diſtracted —a terrible buſineſs has happened.

What's the matter?

Miſs Neville! I can't think what is become of her—ſhe is not to be found, high or low. We have ſearched every where for her. What can be the meaning of this?

Is Malvil gone?

This very moment: he has no hand in it. He ſees, and pities my diſtreſs. He is gone to make enquiry. A girl that I was ſo fond of, and never ſaid an angry word to.

You have been remarkably mild.

You know how tender I have been of her.—What can have put this into her head? How long has Millamour been gone?—I underſtand it now. This is his exploit.

You wrong him. I will undertake to diſ⯑cover this plot for you.

You can comfort the Lady, Sir; I ſhall return immediately.

May I take the liberty, Madam—

Why torment me thus? You are all in a plot againſt me.

There, Lady Bell, there is your lo⯑ver run away with your couſin.

I can depend upon her. I can ſtill venture to anſwer for her honour.

She will come back, you need not alarm yourſelf.

You have ſeduced her, for any thing I know. I am diſtracted by you all, and will hear no more.

Mrs. Bromley, permit me to ſay a word.

I hope there is nothing amiſs. I can rely upon Miſs Neville's diſcretion; I think I can. Come, ſiſter, let us go and enquire.

Hey! you two are ſtaying, to ſay delicate things to each other.

Our difficulties, you know, are at an end. I have my father's orders to follow my incli⯑nation. Had Millamour ſtaid, I have a plot would have fixed him your Ladyſhips for ever.

And we ſha'n't ſee him again this month, perhaps.

Let him take his own way. I am on⯑ly uneaſy about Miſs Neville at preſent.

This way, you are wanted: I have a letter here, that diſcovers all.

But what does it ſay? Let us go and hear it directly.

Have you ſent to Daſhwould?

Yes, I have ſend him letter.

Miſs Neville here you ſay?

She come an hour ago, all in tear.

Then ſhe is ſafe.—You are ſure you never ſaid any thing to Sir John about the gaming buſineſs?

Sur mon honneur. What I tell? I know noting. And I not ſee Sir John in my houſe, it is two tree month.

You ſhall come, and confront Malvil at Mrs. Bromley's.

Bagatelle! what go dere for?— Bo, dis is all put me off—pay your littel bill. Vat is money to you? I ſo poor, you ſo rich.

You did not ſay that I ſhould deceive Lady Bell?

Monſieur Malvil, he tell you ſo?

Yes; and I tremble for the conſequence.

It is one great villain—I great reſpect for you. Vous eſt aimable. Monſieur Malvil, he is great fripon. And I ver ſorry he be marry to Madamoiſelle Neville.

Married to her?

You not know it?—He is marry to her dis day. He take my apartment tree week ago. He not have it known dat he is marry for five ſix day; write letter to me dis afternoon; he muſt be let in ver private; de ſervant not to ſee him; go up de back ſtairs to her room, and ſo l' affaire eſt faite.

And thus he has ſeduced her from her rela⯑tions? Let me ſee the letter.

I not tink him ſo bad to talk of me, and tell ſuch parcel of ſtory, vid not one word of true.

So; here he is in black and white. To come privately, is he? If I could detain him here, and prevent all means of an eſcape—

Eſcape? Up back ſtairs, he muſt come thro' dat apartment;

I turn de key in de back door: viola votre priſonier; he is priſoner.

Exquiſite woman! I'll lock this door, and ſecure the key.

Huſh!

Le voila: he come now.

Fly, let him in; ſend once more to Daſh⯑would; I want him this inſtant; fly, diſpatch.

I do all vat you bid me

It is honeſt of her to make this diſcovery. If this be Malvil—a ſoft whiſper that—

'Tis he, I hear his voice—I ſhall have the merit of de⯑feating villany, and protecting innocence—Don't I hear Miſs Neville?

Miſs Neville!

Madam La Rouge!—Oh, Sir! what brings you hither?

It is your intereſt to hear me; your happi⯑neſs depends upon it.

Alas! I fear I have been too raſh.

Command your attention, and liſten to me: Malvil has planned your ruin.

Impoſſible: [...]e has too much honour: why will you alarm me thus? I am unfortunate, and you, Sir, need not add to my afflictions.

You have truſted yourſelf to a villain: he means, at midnight, to gain acceſs to your perſon; to triumph over your honour, and then leave you to remorſe, to ſhame, and miſery. Read that letter.

She's an ami⯑able girl, and I dare ſay, will make an admirable wife—Hark! I hear him in yonder room. Sup⯑preſs each wild emotion of ſurprize, and wait the event.

I can ſcarce believe what I read. What have I done?

You have led me into a maze of doubts and fears, and there I wander, diſtracted, loſt; without a clue to guide me.

I will direct you: rely upon me.

La Rouge has told us the whole ſtory.

Huſh! no noiſe.

My ſweet girl, how could you frigh⯑ten me ſo?

I bluſh for what I have done. But Mrs. Bromley's cruelty drove me to diſpair.

My dear, all will be well: don't flurry yourſelf.

Tho' my aunt vexed you, why run away from me?

Where is this unhappy girl?

A moment's patience.

Is he ſafe?

He is dere in de room as ſafe as in Baſtile.

Speak to him thro' the door: now all be ſilent.

Monſieur Malvil, open de door.

Do you open it, you have the key.

De key, it is dere: Miſs Neville, it is gone to bed; all de houſe aſleep: I in de dark; now is your time.

Huſh! here is the key.

Will you diſpatch?

Attendez: here is de key: I let you out.

All in darkneſs: Is ſhe gone to bed?

She wait for you: vere was you married?

St. James's pariſh: Sir Harry has not ſuc⯑ceeded: ſhe prefers me. Say nothing of it yet awhile.

No; not a vord: tenez, I get light for you.

So; I have carried my point. The fa⯑mily will be glad to patch up the affair, to avoid the diſgrace.

Ah! you look en cavalier; ver good apartment for you; and dere is good pic⯑ture. It is Tarquin and Lucrece; Tarquin go to raviſh de lady in the night. It was villain, was it not?

A terrible fellow!

And dis room it is velle furniſh: look about you; more picture, and all original.

Ha! ha! ha! your ſervant Mr. Ivlalvil!

Hell and confuſion!

There are bounds and limits even to virtue.

Morals are capable of mathematical demonſtration.

Let us withdraw from all this buſtle. Sir Harry, ſtep this way, I want you.

This is all according to the fitneſs of things.

Something voluptuous in meaning well.

Daſhwould, your ridicule is now in ſeaſon to expoſe ſuch a character. He is fair game, and hunt him down as you pleaſe.

Ah! Monſieur Tartuffe!

The fiends about me!—Mr. Bygrove, you are a thinking man, I appeal to you.

I appeal to this letter, Sir.

Ha! ha! ha!

The letter is forged—let me ſee it.

And I have another proof! this anonymous ſcrowl, written by your direction, and ſent to Miſs Neville, to give a ſtab to the character of Sir Harry. Do you deny it, Sir? Your ſecretary is now in the houſe; I brought him with me; he is ready to prove you the author of this mean, clandeſtine miſchief.

All falſe; all a forgery. Where is this French impoſtor? Where is your witneſs, Sir?

I'll put them both to the proof this moment.

No private parlying.

No; we muſt all hear.

Yes; all muſt hear.

My preſence may be neceſſary.

Millamour, ſtay and give me joy.

Of what?

The idol of my heart! To-morrow makes her mine.

Well, I give you joy. Who is ſhe?

My Lady Bell, thou dear fellow: come, let us go and ſee what they are about.

Let us go and ſee who ſhall cut the other's throat.

A pleaſant employment.

You ſhall tear this heart out, before you tear Lady Bell from me.

Very well; have your frolic—This works as I could wiſh.

Deſpair and phrenzy! if ſhe is capable of a treachery like this—

You have done ſome good at laſt, Mr. Millamour.

Lady Bell!

I once thought—but you will break my heart.

It will bend a little, but never break.

Will you liſten to me? There is a tyrant fair, and you have intereſt with her; you can ſerve me; all the joys of life are center'd there.

He is mine againſt the world. And ſo you want my intereſt? That's lucky, for I have a favour to requeſt of you.

Is there a favour in the power of man, you may not command at my hands?

You are very good, Sir; there is a a perſon, but the levity of his temper—

She means me—Your beauty will reclaim him.

May I rely upon you?

What an angel look there was! And do you aſk the queſtion?

When ſincere affection—

It is generous to own it.

And ſince the impreſſion made by—

Do not heſitate.

Made by Captain Bygrove—

Made by Captain Bygrove!

That wounds deep—and if you will aſſiſt my fond, fond hopes, —it will be generous in⯑deed.

This is a blow I never looked for—Yes, ma'am, it will be generous, —and in return, if you [95]will intercede for me with Lady Bell—po! with a— with Lady Jane, I ſay—I ſay if you will intercede for me with Lady Jane—

Oh! by all means. And as I ap⯑prove of your choice,

I hope you will approve of mine; and by mu⯑tual acts of friendſhip, we may promote each other's happineſs.

Malvil is detected.

And Sir Harry has ſettled every thing with Miſs Neville. Go and wiſh hm joy.

My ſweet friend will be happy at laſt.

But you won't marry the Captain?

Will you make intereſt for me?

How can you torment me thus?

You have done ſome ſervice, and you may now entertain a degree of hope.

But have you another copy of verſes for my aunt?

How can you?

—She yields, and I am bleſſed indeed.

The fact is too clear, Mr. Malvil.

And ſhall the word of that French im⯑poſtor—

She has acted fairly, Sir; what reparation can you make the lady, whoſe ruin you have attempted?

Mrs. Bromley promiſed her a fortune, and I have promiſed her marriage.

And I forbid the banns. Sir Harry has concluded a match with Miſs Neville: I ſhould have thought him ridiculous if he had not.

That you will do, whether he deſerves it or not.

You, Sir, deſerve ſomething worſe than ri⯑dicule. You are thoroughly underſtood. Your tenderneſs for your neighbour, is malignant curio⯑ſity; your half hints, that heſitate ſlander, ſpeak the louder; and your ſilence, that affects to ſuppreſs what you know, is a mute, that ſtrangles.

The probity of my character, Sir—

Ay, probity is the word. He has had pretty perquiſites from his probity; legacies, truſt money, and the confidence of families. For aught I ſee, probity is as good a trade as any a going.

Ha! ha! ha!

The ſtill voice of truth is loſt: you are all in a combination.

And you have forced me to be of the number.

Mrs. Bromley! you will judge with candour.

Oh! Sir, it is all too plain.

It is in vain to contend: I ſhall be cautious what I ſay of any of you: my heart is with you all.

Farewel, hypocrite!

Ha! ha! ha!

Here, Sir Harry, in the preſence of this company, I give you, in this friend of mine, [97]truth, good ſenſe, and virtue. Take her, Sir, and now you have got a treaſure.

It ſhall be my pride to raiſe you to that ſphere of life, which your merit, and your ſufferings from—

Why fix on me, Sir?

They are much miſtaken, who can find no way of ſhewing their ſuperior rank, but by letting their weight fall on thoſe, whom fortune has placed beneath them.

And that ſentiment, however I may rattle, I wiſh impreſſed upon all the patrons of poor rela⯑tions, throughout his Majeſty's dominions.

Mrs. Bromley, I have much to ſay to you. My obligations to you I ſhall never forget. I am not aſhamed, even in the preſence of Sir Harry, to own the diſtreſs in which you found me. If at any time I have given offence; if under your diſpleaſure, I have been impatient, you will allow for an educa⯑tion that raiſed me much above my circumſtances. That education ſhall teach me to act as becomes Sir Harry's Lady, with affection, with duty to him; and to you, madam, with gratitude, for that bounty which ſaved me from calamity and ruin.

Your words overpower me. I feel that I have done wrong. I now ſee, that to demand in return, for favours conferred, an abject ſpirit, and mean compliance, is the worſt uſury ſociety knows of. I rejoice at your good fortune: your merit de⯑ſerves it.

Why this is as it ſhould be.—Mr. Bygrove, I hope ſoon to wiſh you joy.

Compared to Malvil, thou art an honeſt fellow, and I thank you.

Millamour, is there no recompence for your virtue? in a modern comedy, you would be re⯑warded with a wife.

Lady Bell has more than poetical juſtice in her power. I wiſh Sir John were here: he would now ſee me reclaimed from every folly, by that lady.

If it is ſo, I congratulate you both.

It is even ſo, aunt; the whim of the preſent moment. Mr. Millamour has ſerved my amiable friend, and I have promiſed him my hand— and ſo—

which will you have? Puzzle about it, and know your own mind if you can.

With rapture thus I ſnatch it to my heart.

Siſter, what nunnery will you go to? Mr. Bygrove, command your ſon to take her.

That command I have obeyed already.

Since the truth muſt out; we made uſe of a ſtratagem to fix my ſiſter, and that gentleman.

To fix yourſelf, if you pleaſe I knew you would be married before me.

Daſhwould, give me your hand. Your wit ſhall enliven our ſocial hours, and while I laugh with you at the events of life, you ſhall ſee me endeavour to weed out of my own mind every folly.

You do me honour, Sir. And, if Mr. Bygrove will now and then give and take a joke—

As often as you pleaſe:—but take my advice, and don't loſe your friend for your joke.

By no means, Mr. Bygrove, —except now and then, when the friend is the worſt of the two.

Come, gentlemen, your differences are all at an end. Lady Bell, the varieties of life, till now, diſtracted my attention.