SCENE I.

HA! Delamour! welcome from Paris, my dear friend

and honeſt Thady, how doſt do?

Je vous remercies; I am bravely, ſir, thank your axing.

The ſight of my dear Woodville, in good health, gives me infinite pleaſure. I am well, [2] you ſee; but my heart, ah, Woodville, not all the ſparkling beauties of the Louvre have had power to efface my charming Emily's dear, dear idea. But how does the lovely girl?—ſay, is ſhe in town, that I may fly—ha! what?

I am extremely ſorry that I am oblig'd, like your evil genius, to meet you with ill news on your arrival; but all the conſolation I can afford my dear friend, is an aſſurance of my ſiſter's conſtancy—To keep you no longer in ſuſpenſe—my father has promis'd her hand to Sir Geofry Ginkle—

Curſed, infernal avarice! What motive elſe could have induced, the hitherto kindeſt parent, to make a ſacrifice of his darling, his blooming Emily, to ſuch an old—By Heaven I'll go this inſtant, and—

Arrah ſir, ſir, your putting yourſelf into paſſions, and flurries, is mighty ſilly—might ſilly; upon my ſoul—Couggar—I'll be bound to put you in a way, that you may have your own game with him. I'll tell you, d'ye ſee, I'll watch this Mr. Gingle, if it's Gingle you call him, and Manumſhandoul, if I don't put the ſpeak out of him,—and then, when the old divil is quiet in his grave, you may cuckold him as faſt as you pleaſe. Eh, ſir,

wou'dn't there be ſome fun in that?

What, Thady, ſure you would not commit murder.

Murther, arrah fat, murther, an ould ſon of a whore that has one leg already in the grave, and if I trip the other after it, is that murther? Oh the devil a murther in that, ſure.

Come, come, Delamour, don't be ſo uneaſy, your caſe is not deſperate, the in⯑diſſoluble knot is yet to be tied.

Happy Woodville, happy in being con⯑ſcious you poſſeſs my ſiſter's heart unrivall'd, free from the harſh injunctions of an obdurate parent to thwart your loves—but I—

Ah, Delamour, I am no object to be envied, and far from having an aſſurance of Florimel's affections; happy, then, indeed ſhould I be; but ſhe is ſtill the ſame gay, unthink⯑ing, lovely, witty rogue; if in the moſt un⯑feign'd rapture I breathe my love, the return is a loud laugh, an opera tune, or a ridiculous ſimile, which, faith, ſometimes makes me look very ſilly; indeed, in her more ſerious moments, which are but few, ſhe, perhaps, gives me an hearing, when all at once a crowd of gayer thoughts ruſh on, and kill at once the hopes wherewith I was elated a few minutes before.

You ſhall find me a powerful advocate in your cauſe, but excuſe me for deviating from the maxims of our modern profeſſors of the law; my proceedings in your favour, will not be [4] wholly diſintereſted; you muſt give me all the aſſiſtance in your power, to break the meaſures of your father and Sir Geofry; but how ſuch a notion enter'd into his doating brain, is to me amazing. I've often heard him expreſs the ut⯑moſt abhorrence to matrimony; but then, when I reflect upon my Emily's beauty, I can't wonder at his being caught; old goat—

Love is far from being the ſole motive of Sir Geofry's addreſſes to Emily; the vain hopes of having an heir of his own beget⯑ting, to inherit his eſtate, (which, you know, is conſiderable,) and to mortify his nephew; theſe are the ſpurs which prick him on, in the road which has hitherto appear'd ſo dreadful to him. I dare ſay, you know this nephew; as Sir Geofry had no children of his own, and intended never to marry, he bred him up under his own care, placed his chief felicity in having him receive thoſe ac⯑compliſhments, proper for a perſon, who (as he was to inherit Sir Geofry's eſtate after his deceaſe) probably might make a figure in the great world; theſe accompliſhments, join'd to a natural fine genius, a graceful perſon, and a beneficent cour⯑teous diſpoſition, gain'd him the eſteem of all who knew him—He was the darling of his uncle. But in this happy ſtate, he, following the dic⯑tates of love before thoſe of his intereſt, un⯑known to his uncle, eſpous'd a young lady whoſe only want was a fortune ſufficient to ren⯑der [5] her a match ſuitable for the heir of Sir Geofry.

Upon my word I commend his notion.

This imprudence of the young gentleman ſo exaſperated the old knight, that, when he heard of it, he ſwore he ſhould never be a ſhilling the better for him; refus'd to ſee him; and now this unfortunate couple are oblig'd to ſubſiſt upon a ſmall patrimony, left him by his father, in a remote part of Cornwall.

By your account, I really pity them, and wiſh with my ſoul, for their ſake as well as my own, the current of his affections cou'd be turn'd to its former channel.

Oh 'tis the moſt inflexible, poſitive Curmudgeon; you might as ſoon perſuade a Jewiſh Rabbi to turn Jeſuit.

A Rabbit turn Jeſhit—upon my ſoul a comical change. Howſomever, they've very pretty boroughs; where we were they call 'em Colleges.

He's ſo fix'd on the completion of this marriage, that, to make ſure of my father's conſent, he has offer'd to take Emily without a portion; there he touch'd the vein; my father, at firſt, ſhock'd at ſuch an odd propoſition, gave his old friend very little encouragement; but the mention of no fortune, together with Sir Geofry's great eſtate, ſtifled all parental tender⯑neſs, and he now exerts all his authority, to [6] oblige poor Emily to name the day, and, till then, to look upon Sir Geofry as a gentleman, whom his prudence has deſtin'd her for a huſ⯑band. You may judge the diſtreſs theſe com⯑mands gave her, and the conflict ſhe ſuffers, be⯑tween her averſion to Sir Geofry, and the conſe⯑quence of her acquieſcence to her father's will.

Poor dear girl! But cou'd I not get a ſight of her?

Oh, by no means, if my father knew of your arrival, 'twould bar all acceſs to your future happineſs, as he'd oblige her to marry Sir Geofry immediately; as yet, I'll not inform Emily you're in town; I'll meet you this evening at Fynmore's in Pall-mall, where, I hope, we'll think of ſome expedients, for our mutual ad⯑vantages; adieu, dear Delamour.

Farewel, you'll not fail. Come Thady:

Sir, Sir—Sir, I've one favor to beg of your Honor.

Well, Thady let me hear; if it's in my power to do you one, you may command me.

I want to know, ſir—you'll, pardon my boldneſs—But—Sir, are you ſure ſhe is not—

Am I ſure ſhe is not; who is not—what, or who do you mean?

Betty, Sir, little Betty, madam Emily's maid.

But am I ſure ſhe is not, what?

Married, ſir.

Oh—Thady, I underſtand you; why Thady you're very far gone in love; and is little Betty ſo happy as to be the object of your flame?

Burn me, ſur, but I'm in a flame, ſure enough; but, ſur, may be ſome ould crab-jaw'd fellow or other, with a long purſe, has laid a claw over her, as well as her miſtreſs—Ogn, I am very fond of Betty.

Well, Thady, to comfort you, I believe Mrs. Betty has kept both heart and hand for you.

Oh, upon my word, ſhe loves me well enough; oh, that the poor devil does.

Farewel, honeſt Thady—But you muſt not think of ſeeing your little Betty, as 'twould be contrary to your maſter's intereſt, for any of our family to know he's in town.

Oh, never fear, ſur; I'll be bound ſhe ſhan't know I'm in London; no, no; but, ſur, if you'd give your kind love, and ſurreverance to her for me, I'd—

Ha, ha, why Thady, that wou'd be letting her know I had ſeen you.

Aarah now aghra—Oh, upon my ſoul ſo it wou'd, ſure enough; oh what a gooſe I am.

Farewel, Thady.

Sur, I'm your moſt humble and obſqueſe.

SCENE II.

How cruel is it for fathers to aſſume ſo unjuſt a prerogative, as to oblige children to marry who they pleaſe.—Becauſe they are the means of bringing us into the world, they think to be ever after the ſole diſpoſers, and maſters of our inclinations, and will make us happy, or miſerable, according to their capri⯑cious tempers. Ah, unkind Delamour! after repeated vows of inviolable conſtancy, to leave me to the perils I now ſuffer—on the eve of being torn from you for ever.—But here comes my father and my wrinkled Strephon—Heigh ho—

Why, how now child,—Milly,—what, ſtill melancholy. Milly—what the plague, you'll make me angry at laſt.—Come, receive Sir Geofry as you ought.

But, dear ſir, conſider.

I tell you I'll conſider nothing, only—Sir Geofry, I beg your pardon; I was talking with my daughter, about ſome affairs relative to the marriage.—I muſt ſtep to the Bedford Coffee-houſe for half an hour, or ſo—to meet a gentleman—Sir Geofry, as you'll eat a bit of [9] dinner with us; I hope to find you here when I come back; bye, bye, Milly—Servant, Sir Geofry.

Ay, ay, Sir Anthony; here, in the ſun of my Emilia's preſence, will I baſk till thy return.

Ah, ha! well ſaid, Sir Geofry; ſhew me a young dog of them a more ardent lover; ah, ha!

I wou'd, ſir, that ſun had ſufficient power to melt you into pity. (I muſt ſummon all my little rhetoric, to turn this perſecution from me,

) Think, ſir, the violence you are doing me, in ſeparating me for ever from the man I love; affinity in years, ſentiment, circumſtan⯑ces, with him, all, all conſpire to render me un⯑happy, in marrying you; if ſo, you ſhall have my hand alone; as my heart is the property of another, you can't expect it.—

Zounds! at that rate ſhe'd think nothing of giving the poſſeſſion of her whole body to him that has her heart, if ſhe'd a good opportunity; one comfort, he's in Paris; wou'd to heaven ſome teſty Monſieur wou'd run him through the body.

What, ſir, am I not worthy of an an⯑ſwer?

Madam, I hope you'll pardon me. But I was conſidering, whether I ſhould be married in a ſuit of brocade, (which, I aſſure you, is a very elegant ſuit,) or a ſuit of white [10] and ſilver: Oh! the white and ſilver is very pretty, very pretty, indeed! Now, Madam, I'd conſult your taſte, which I know is exquiſite; which do you think moſt proper?

The monſter mocks me; well, I'll ſerve him in his turn.—Oh, ſir, white and ſilver, by all means, (I'll pluck up my ſpirit;) how unfortunate am I, to be prepoſſieſs'd in favour of another; numbers of ladies of beauty and rank would be rejoiced, and with extaſy accept of the honor of being lady Ginkle; ſet⯑ting your fine perſon, your graceful figure, your polite addreſs, your—

Dear madam, where are you going? (Ay, the girl's in love with me, that's poz, tho' ſhe won't own it, or how could ſhe find out my perfections? She's a fine girl!)

I ſay, ſir, ſetting aſide theſe irreſiſtible perfections, your vaſt eſtate might captivate ſome gambling Dowager of threeſcore. Ha, ha, ha! ſince I can't bring him to reaſon, I'll give him a furfeit of my company; I wiſh Florimel were here to help me out.

. Thank heaven, my wiſh is ac⯑compliſh'd.

Ah, zounds! I wiſh I was out of the houſe; now will they cut me up; they'll have no more mercy upon me, than an alder⯑man would have upon a Turtle, at a city feaſt.

Oh, bleſs me—Emily—where got you this figure? Oh, at the ſale at Spring-gardens, I ſuppoſe; 'tis very pretty, quite antique, moves admirably; by clockwork, to be ſure; the noſe, for all the world, like a bunch of Grapes.—

Zounds! my noſe like a bunch of Grapes, what the devil is ſhe at?—Hem—Madam—I—

As I live and breathe, Sir Geofry Ginkle; my dear knight, pardon me; I heard that Wil⯑liams, the Chinaman, had imported ſome new figures as large as life, and as I knew Emily was, there yeſterday, I proteſt, I took your worſhip for a purchaſe ſhe had made; your head went admirably

better than any Mandarin, tho' you look more like an odious, old faſhioned Britiſh Druid; no, no, you do not neither, for ſweet ſimplicity ſits on each contracted feature of that reverend viſage; I'll tell you; ſtand you two together, as I live, you put me in mind of Chaucer's Tale of January and May.

Ay, ay, 'tis what I expected,

Hem, ladies, I'm obliged to mortify myſelf, by a little abſence from this amiable preſence.

Oh, my dear ſir, I proteſt you ſhall not leave us,

What, ſir Geofry, is it thus you'll forſake me; inconſtant, cruel ſir Geofry; and is all your boaſted love no more than this?

Ah, poor thing! ſhe loves me, that's poz; my dear little Emily, don't cry, you know I love you.

Very well, madam, very well; I ſee I'm duped by my good nature, but, by the la, I'll—

Oh, heaven! he'll beat us,—you'll ſtay till my father comes, ſir Geofry.

Madam, you'll excuſe me; I hear your new gardener is come to town; I've a cu⯑rioſity to ſee his taſte in laying out the tulip parterre, by the laurel walk.

Sir Geofry—a word; beware of going nigh the pond; oh, theſe ponds have been often fatal to deſpairing lovers—

I wiſh to the lord, you were heels over head, to the apron ſtring, in it. I'll marry Emily for mere ſpight, that I will—

Sir Geofry—I've ſomething elſe to ſay to you—

Ay,—I muſt decamp.

I believe, really, Florimel, you envy my happineſs, in having ſuch an accompliſh'd ſwain [13] to ſigh at my feet; for whenever you come, you chaſe him away; but ſeriouſly, how to avert the danger that threatens me, I know not—I wiſh, with all my ſoul, your brother were in London—

I muſt not let her know he's come home, 'twou'd hinder her ever conſenting to my ſcheme.

Emily, don't make yourſelf uneaſy for that, accept my ſervice by way of proxy for him; but Emily, I'll give up my com⯑miſſion, when I've gone as far as a woman can go; the remainder I'll leave to himſelf—

Oh, my dear, mad girl, let me hear what project has enter'd into that fertile brain of thine, to ſerve me—

Project! I have, indeed, a project; but before you know it, I muſt have your promiſe of compliance to my directions—

Oh, with pleaſure, for I'm ſure, it muſt be for my good; let me hear, my dear Sibyl—

Not ſo faſt; act as I inſtruct you, and I'll lay my life ſir Geofry ſhall be as eager for breaking off the match, as ever he was to for⯑ward it—

Well, well, I'm all attention—

Well, then, how wou'd you like a gal⯑lant? Wou'd you take that gallant to your arms, to your bed—

Fye, fye, Florimel, inſult not the af⯑flictions of your friend?—

Remember your promiſe; a gallant [14] you muſt have; but I'll turn traitor to you, and bring your father and ſir Geofry; to a thorough conviction of the freedoms between this ſpark and you.

Sure, my dear Florimel's not in earneſt—

Oh, I ſee, madam, you've no occaſion for my advice, or aſſiſtance; I wiſh your lady⯑ſhip a good morning—

Oh! I'll ſubmit to whatever you pro⯑poſe for my freedom.

Ha, ha, ha! I ſee, Emily, you have not ſuch an averſion to a youthful ſprightly gallant; but faith you'll be deceiv'd, for, behold that gay young fellow before you; what, my dear, wou'd you be afraid to venture between a pair of ſheets with me; you'll find me as harmleſs a bedfellow as Sir Geofry himſelf—

Dear romantic girl, but what can all this tend to?—

Can you truſt your maid Betty? if ſo, ſhe'll be neceſſary—

With my life—

Well, then, you had better call her, to receive her inſtructions—

Who's there?

Send Betty here.

Now, pray don't interrupt me. Sir. Geofry, notwithſtanding his devoirs to you, has an averſion to the ſex, which, by the flattering hopes of an ample revenge upon his nephew, [15] and your beauty,

has been greatly abated: Now, I think our only way is, to re⯑vive that averſion, by ſome very flagrant proofs of your levity.

How d'ye do, Mrs. Betty?—

At your ladyſhip's ſervice, me'm—

Now, if our petticoat triumvirate does not counterplot, and defeat, the prudent ſchemes of our brace of wiſe grey beards, may my doom be to die an old maid; but to buſineſs.—I'll immediately write an anonymous letter to Sir Geofry, as it were from an unknown friend—I'll let him know, that the perſon he deſigns for his wife, is unworthy of that honor, by having, criminal connection with a certain gentleman;—To corroborate this, I'll appoint a time, when he may have ocular demonſtration of her diſ⯑honour; he'll immediately fall into his old opi⯑nions, and, receiving this as orthodox, fly to the place of appointment. Now I've two or three ſuits of Delamour's cloaths—one ſuit remarkably rich—theſe will I put on, and at the time ap⯑pointed, which may be ſome very unſeaſonable hour, will come, and be let in by Betty—Then you ſhall ſee me, en cavalier; and you muſt own a figure leſs agreeable wou'd create a jealouſy, in one more proof againſt deception, than your old lover.

Oh, my dear Florimel, the firſt thing he'll do, is certainly to tell my father, and I [16] dread the effects of his rage.—In his firſt tranſ⯑ports of fury, he'll turn me out of doors, then my imaginary ſhame will be publick. No, I could not bear to be eſteemed what I moſt abhor.—Ah, Florimel, you have my ſincere thanks, but I muſt not, cannot think of putting your ſcheme into execution.

Come, come, I muſt uſe you as a kind nurſe would a froward child, force you to what's for your good.—You muſt, can, and ſhall carry this inimitable ſcheme into execution.—Faith, like a poor poet, I muſt praiſe the productions of my own brain, ſince I can get no other to do it.—Eh, Mrs. Betty what do you think?

Indeed, ma'am, I think your ſcheme is unlimitable, as your ladyſhip ſays; and I thinks as how, if my lady knows what's what, ſhe'd ſtop at nothing to give ſir Geofry a guſt to her—

A diſguſt, you mean.

Yes, ma'am; and when the truth is afterwards known, it will reſound to your lady⯑ſihp's credit, and won't hurt your character; no, not in the leaſt.

Oh! Emily, 'twould be a precious huſ⯑band,

with his flannel night cap and drawers—"Oh, this damn'd gout—I'm almoſt tipſy with all the Port I've drank—yet no eaſe.—Mily, come to bed, dear;" then, ſays you, "You know, ſir, I'm en⯑gag'd to my lady Cheatwell's rout."

[17]"Pſhaw, pox on her rout; come, come; you'll find the good effects in the morning. Lay my ptiſan by the bedſide—Oh, lord! oh, lord! I was forgetting my ſwanſkin wrapper.—Hand it to me, lovey.—Help it on—there—there—Zounds, my dear, take care of my toes.—Oh! this confounded rheumatiſm."—

Well done, Florimel; you've frightened me ſo much, by your picture of the connubial ſtate with Sir Geofry, that I'll ſubmit to what⯑ever you'll have me.

That's a good child. Now to my charms, and to my wily trains, of power to cheat the eye, with blear illuſion, and offer falſe preſentments.

Well ſaid, my dear enchantreſs.

I'll go ſtrait about my letter. Fare⯑wel, Emily, and pray for my ſucceſs.

With all my heart. Come, Betty.

SCENE, a Street.

A mad wench, that Florimel! ſhe never fails to make me look ridiculous before my wife, that is to be; which, when ſhe is, I'll take care ſhe ſhall have little of her converſation.—How the young fellows will ſteer at my marriage; but my ungracious nephew—how he'll take it. Zounds! I wiſh ſhe was pregnant this moment [18] —I'll ſoon do it; aye, aye, I don't fear—yes, 'twill be a boy,

What does that fellow look at me ſo earneſtly for—Now, if I was married, I ſhould think he ſmoak'd my horns. Well, ſir raſcal, how do you like me?—eh—

Aye, aye, 'tis he—this letter for your honour.

Let's ſee—thirty years ago I ſhould think this came from ſome lady that eyed me from a window—Where's my ſpectacles;—hem—'tis meet I put them on. Now, ſir, for our letter. (Reeds; while he's reading, the Por⯑ter track off.) 'Sir,' (very well,) ‘Though by the manner you raceive this, you might doubt the truths which it contains, yet, let your care to prove them convince you, 'twas dictated by a diſ⯑intereſted friendſhip.—’ (I'm very much obliged to my friend—Here, you ſir—who ſent you with this letter?—He—ſpeak boldly, man—(Takes off his ſpectacles, and looks about.) The raſcal's run away—Well, to proceed—

‘Know, ſir, the lady you intend to take as a partner to your bed and fortune, has laviſhly beſtowed her honour on a certain young gentleman; who he is, you may probably find out.—Start not, ſir, at this information, as I'll put you in a way, with, your eyes to be a witneſs of her ſame.’ (The devil you will) ‘At the hour of two exactly, [19] this night, wait diſguiſed at her father's door, and you'll ſee this gentleman let in by Betty the maid.’ (Ah! the devil take Betty the maid, the bawd, you mean, my good friend.) ‘He, on theſe occaſions, is let out in the ſame manner at ſix in the morning; that by proving this, you may avoid a match ſo much to your diſhonour, is the ſincere wiſh, of, ſir, Your unknown friend, ANONYMOUS.’

I'm your moſt obedient humble ſervant, my good friend, ANONYMOUS—Very fine, this—What a nooſe have I eſcap'd? Oh, lord!—No, it's all a damn'd lie, and I don't believe a word of it—But zounds, am I not told the time, the place, each circumſtance!—An't it at my own election to prove it—ha! ha! I believe I'll catch 'em; they thought I would not get out of my warm bed at midnight—There they reckoned without their hoſt—Zounds! I wiſh the hour was come—Well, till then, I'll ſuſ⯑pend my judgment—But, hold—for a diſguiſe—let me ſee—a livery; no—that would be too remarkable—A great coat like a watchman, and a pale in my hand—ay, that's good—my real perſon would ſpoil ſport.

SCENE, the Street before Sir Anthony's Houſe.

'TIS pretty dark. Stay, which is the houſe? Aye, this is it; now for our amorous ſpark—I believe 'tis nigh the hour—I'll draw as cloſe to the door as poſſible; if I could get a ſight of his face—It's well I've this diſguiſe; if ſome of the collectors ſhould find me in propria perſona, they'd have a booty—Huſh! who's that? eh, a man! no, its only a poſt; pox on it—I think I hear a door open; no, its the creaking of that damn'd ſign.

Zounds! the window opens—at the nick.

Sir, ſir, are you there? No; it's a dark night.

Not ſo dark, but I can ſee your ini⯑quity.

I wiſh he were come—I hope my miſ⯑treſs will have ſuch good opportunities when ſhe's married to Sir Geofry.

The devil doubt you.

Oh, yes, I'll warrant the old ſtupid cuckold will be ſnoring faſt at theſe hours. [21] Certainly, Sir Geofry's an ugly old devil; faugh! I loath the thoughts of him.

Zounds! the jade has ſpit upon my noſe; I wiſh I had a charg'd piſtol, I'd: blow her off her perch.

I wiſh with all my heart he were come.

Ay, ay, he's come ſo often, he's cloy'd.

'Tis a fine ſtill night—I'll divert myſelf with a ſong.

Damn your ſong—There's a jade! there's a Syren.

Zounds! he's here—Oh, my truſty friend, ANONYMOUS—Stay, I've a good mind to give him a knock on the powder'd pate with my pole.

Ha! a letter; this may inform me ſomething. No, there's no name. Shall I alarm the family? No; I'll go after this coach⯑man, and enquire the name of his fare.

Well, upon my ſoul, this is comical enough—I cou'd take my oath upon the Bible Evangeliſt, that it was my maſter I ſeen going to the hackney—coach. I cou'd ſwear to the cloaths; the very grand ſuit he brought from Venice—Well, the directions he gave the coach⯑man, was to drive like, a devil to Sir Anthony Woodville's, in Bruton Street—Arrah, what can [22] he be about. Well, well, leave me alone for a good gueſs—Upon my word, I think if he di⯑verts himſelf an hour or ſo with madam Emilia, I've a good right to do the ſame with Betty the maid—Stay, I believe this is the houſe; ay, ay, I'm right enough. He's got in, I ſee the coach drive at a devil of a rate. I wiſh I'd got up behind it—Upon my ſoul, he'd be a little ſurprized to ſee Thady—By this time they've taken their firſt ſleep. If I could ſee Betty.

Betty! Betty!—Stay, I believe ſhe remembers my voice—I'll ſing a bit of a ſong—troth, and Betty herſelf ſings a good ſong.

What—what a confounded fall I've got; that raſcally coachman drove like Jehu.—I wiſh I had overtaken him; then I'd find out who this youth is.

Betty—Betty—aye, Betty's gone to bed; upon my ſoul I wiſh I was with her; ſhe's a boogoorah little creature.

Eh! who the devil's that? Another, going to take his turn.

Arrah, who's that? Oh—ay, it's a watchman—Your ſervant, Mr. Watchman—Arrah, did you ſee my maſter going into Sir Anthony's here?

Zounds! this is that bogtrotting Iriſh ſon of a whore, Delamour's man—Oh, ho, ſo then he's come to London—Oh, then the rid⯑dle's expounded.—Why, friend, who are you? or who is your maſter?

Who am I? and who is my maſter? How inquiſitive theſe old people are always—Why, friend, my maſter is Mr. Delamour, who is juſt after coming from Paris, and thought to be married to Madam Emilia, Sir Anthony Woodville's daughter, only for an old ſon of a whore, one Sir Geofry Gingle—Monumſhandoul, but the firſt place I catch him, I'll clapper-claw him; but my maſter's doing his buſineſs for him; you know my maſter's leavings is good enough for ſuch an old rotten bell-weather—Now you know about my maſter, you muſt know I'm his ſervant, and my name is Thady Macbrogue.

If my pole holds out, I'll break ſome of this fellow's bones—that will be ſome ſatisfaction—Hearkee, I believe you're a rogue.

How! I'll tell you what, I believe you're an old fool, if you don't go and cry your hour, Mr. Watchman.

So, friend, you're pimping for your maſter; well, I'll reward you a little for your trouble; when you go to Dublin, remember that, and that.

Ha, I ſee you want a thraſhing, and, upon my ſoul, you ſhall have it.

There, you old wrangling ſon of a whore; are you eaſy?—No—I'd ſcorn to ſtrike you, and you down—Get up, you raſcal you—

Help—Murder—Murder—Thieves!

Oh, ho!

Peace, in the King's name; what's the matter?—Hold the lanthorn; what have we here?—Eh, a watchman—No, I don't know his face; ſome rogue in diſguiſe—

You lie, you raſcal, I'm a knight.

Ay, ay, I believe you are, a knight of the pad.

Take care of me, you rogues.

Ay, we'll take care of you, I'll war⯑rant it.

What, no dreſs would ſerve the rogue, but a watchman's—All the robberies this fellow has done to-night would be left on one of us—I'm glad we've caught him.

Such a ſcandal to the honourable profeſſion of watchman!—I muſt give him a bang for that.

Come, bring him away to the Round⯑houſe; there we'll ſearch him—Take care of his hands; to be ſure he has piſtols—If he comes down handſomely, I'll let him go—Bring him away.

SCENE, A Chamber.

Is Florimel gone?

Yes, Me'em; ſhe look'd amazingly handſome—Oh, Madam, does ſhe not make a very pretty man? The very model of her bro⯑ther, Mr. Delamour.

Oh, Betty, don't trouble me with idle diſcourſe—what to do I know not—How ſhall I abide my father's anger!

Why, to be ſure, me'm, Sir Geofry will make a dreadful ſtory to my maſter; I ſhall come in for my ſhare.

I am afraid that's Sir Geofry; Betty, run and ſee.

Oh, Florimel! I fear no good will come of this plot of thine.

Well, Betty.

Set your heart at reſt, madam, for 'tis Sir Geofry all in a fume; I heard him deſiring James to tell his maſter he is here.

Betty, do you go, and find ſome mean to liſten to them, and bring me word how my father takes it; I'll be in my own room. What ſhall I do?

Sir, my maſter will wait on you im⯑mediately.

Very well.—

Let me think now of all the different diſaſters which I ſuffered laſt night; firſt, after putting myſelf in a good ſweat, by limping after an hackney coach, and to no effect, I muſt cool myſelf, by tumbling over head and heels, in a filthy ken⯑nel, by way of a Somerſet; then I was in danger of ſuffocating, and the breaking of my neck; next, I that was never over valiant, muſt make a trial of my proweſs, on Iriſhman, a fellow [...], firm as his country oak; but, [...] muſt do him the juſtice to own, that [...] ſome of the generoſity of an Iriſh⯑ [...] [...] pounding me to mummy, when he [...] down, which I can't deny but I deſerv'd; then to be lugg'd to the Round-houſe, like a thief, where I was almoſt ſtifled with tobacco—Well, that expell'd vlier ſcents, with which, I ſuppoſe, the plce abounded, among cut-throats, pick-pockets—Oh, hers comes Sir Anthony.

Ha! Sir Geofry, a good morning; you're a briſk lover; a-dod, you're reſolv'd your miſtreſs ſhan't forget you—

I don't know how to open the matter him—

Sir Anthony, I thank you, but [27] it gives me infinite concern, as I ſhou'd be proud of our alliance, that I muſt be oblig'd to forget her—But—

But what? what?

Tho' for reaſons which, perhaps, you may find out hereafter, I muſt ſtop all further proceedings, with regard to my marriage with your daughter—

How!

Yes, ſir, with your daughter; yet, I hope it won't break the friendſhip ſo long ſub⯑ſiſting between you and I—

How! ſtop the proceedings of the marriage! What's the meaning of all this? Stop the proceedings of the marriage!

Yes, ſir, upon cool and proper re⯑flection, I've conſider'd 'twould be a very im⯑prudent thing for a perſon of my age, in the wane of life, to eſpouſe a lady ſo young, and poſ⯑ſeſſed of ſo much beauty, as Miſs Emily.

Sir Geofry, Sir Geofry, is this a time for your cool, and your proper reflections?—Very well, ſir, very well.—Sir, ſir, let me tell you, you've uſed me ill, in the tendereſt point, ſir, and don't think it ſhall paſs with impunity—But, ſir, I ſee, I ſee thro' the ſhallow gloſs you've given it; I ſee your mean, fordid reaſon for re⯑canting, your repentance of the offer you made me of taking my child without a portion; there, ſir, is your reaſon. Fye! fye! fye!

Ungenetous man! to put ſuch an evil conſtruction upon and concealing that, which you ſhall know to your confuſion; ſince I've no other means of juſtification, know, ſir, your daughter's a proſtitute; now, ſir; you know my reaſon, Delamour's the man who has diſhonoured her; I ſaw him let into this houſe at two o'clock this morning; there's the mandate he obey'd; there, ſir, read that, perhaps you know your daughter's hand; Delamour accidentally dropt it out of his pocket, and I pick'd it up; beſides, I heard it all from his ſervant.

‘Come this night, exactly at two o'clock, and Betty will conduct you to the longing arms of Emily.’—Oh, unhappy girl! wretched, wretched father!—My friend, forgive me—

From my ſoul.—I knew the effect the knowledge of this unfortunate affair would have on you, therefore I intended you ſhould never know a ſyllable of it from me.

Here,

here, who's there? I'll turn the ungracious wretch out of my doors this inſtant, to meet the infamy ſhe deſerves—what, to make my houſe a bro⯑thel—As for her ſeducer, I'll—

No, no, hear reaſon, get the better of your choler; your expoſing her in that man⯑ner would be wrong, quite wrong. Give me leave to adviſe you—Keep the whole a ſecret, [29] even from your ſervants; as for Betty, ſhe has been her confidant; ſend immediately to Dela⯑mour, found him about a marriage with Emily—I know his circumſtances perfectly, as ſome of his land borders upon mine. He has a very pretty eſtate, but a little encumbered, owing to ſome extravagancies incident to young men of his volatile diſpoſition. The fortune which I refuſed with Emily, will help to clear his eſtate, and pay off his ſiſter Florimel's fortune; theſe conſiderations, joined to an innate principle of honour, which I never knew him deviate from till now, perhaps may influence him to accept of your offer; but don't you mention the leaſt knowledge of their intercourſe—What think ye?

Why, I don't know, my dear friend, you're too good, too good, indeed; and ſo ſhould I be to follow your advice—But though ſhe has gone aſtray, yet ſhe is ſtill my child.—Were I ſure he'd cover her ſhame by marriage, with pleaſure I'd double her portion—But 'tis moſt amazing—I did not think Delamour was return'd from France—Oh, ſure, if I knew he was in the ſame kingdom, I ſhould have taken better care of her; but, however, I'll ſend for him immedi⯑ately—But 'tis to no purpoſe—a likely thing, a young fellow, like him, would tye himſelf for life to one he has gained upon ſuch eaſy terms; and as for truſting to his honour, the young [30] fellows of this age uſe the bare word as an in⯑ſtrument of deception on the weaker ſex; the practice to them is a mere jeſt: Indeed her fortune, I don't know what that may do; I won't ſee her till I try my ſucceſs with him, which is ſo much the better for her, for I don't think but I ſhould daſh her brains out, were I to ſee her. I'll inſtantly ſend to him.

Do. Well, my friend Sir Anthony, I can't ſay but you're rightly ſerv'd, for preferring the love of your pelf, to the future peace and happineſs of your child. Zounds! what an old, blind fool I muſt be, to think of marrying a girl of eighteen, as if I did not know the ſex perfectly—I, that am now—let me ſee, how old am I now?—eh—adod, I'm upwards of three⯑ſcore; aye, I ſhall be ſixty-two the eighteenth of next—aye, September—I'm greatly afraid that young dog Delamour will not marry the girl—I wiſh he wou'd—I pity her, from my ſoul—Well, well, I'll ſend to Cornwall for my poor nephew and my pretty niece, and reinſtate him in my favour—Poor Ned was always a good lad, and how can I blame him for doing a thing I was upon the point of doing myſelf; more ex⯑cuſable in him, becauſe of his youth—Farewel matrimony—Well, if ever I marry, may this fooliſh ſconce of mine be adorn'd with a pair of horns, each as long as a barber's pole.

SCENE, Delamour's apartments.

There's a Card, I receiv'd this inſtant from your father.

From my father!

‘Sir Anthony Woodville's compliments, and congra⯑tulations of ſafe arrival, wait on Mr. Delamour. If Mr. Delamour's diſengag'd, Sir Anthony re⯑queſts the honour of ſeeing him immediately.’

What do you think of that?

Upon my ſoul, I don't know what to think; perhaps the wheel has turn'd; like enough; but Sir Geofry and he has had ſome pique; go to him directly—

I will, if 'twas no more than to get a ſight of my Emily. I'll go dreſs myſelf, and be with him immediately.

SCENE, the ſtreet before Sir Anthony's houſe.

So, Thady, you'll perſuade me I came to this houſe this morning at two o'clock, in a hackney-coach.

Muſha, upon my ſoul you did; I ſaw either you, or your fetch, as ſure as you are ſtanding there.

You blundering blockhead, you were drunk, and miſtook ſome other perſon for me—Rap at the door—

Sir!

Rap at the door, what does the oaf ſtare at?

Oh, yes, to be ſure I miſtook you for ſomebody elſe; yes, I, indeed—ah roquer a braquough.

Oh, heavens, Mr. Delamour!

Is Sir Anthony at home?

Oh—now I'll ſee little Betty.

Yes, ſir.

SCENE, a chamber.

Now I ſhall be bleſs'd with the ſight of my lovely Emily.

Mr. Delamour I am glad to ſee you—

I ſhou'd think myſelf extremely happy in the good wiſhes of friendſhip of Sir Anthony Woodville—But as things have happen'd, ſince my leaving England, I proteſt I can't account a reaſon for having the honour of ſeeing him by him own command—

Why, Mr. Delamour, to wave all ſuperfluous ceremony, I've a propoſal to make to you, which, as I'll make it entirely your in⯑tereſt to accept, you won't refuſe.

Sir, I'm attention.

Well, then, Mr. Delamour, if none of the Pariſian girls has your heart in keeping, what wou'd you think of a wife of your own country, a plain Engliſh girl, with a good for⯑tune? I ſay, what think you of my Emily; you were once fond of her?

Oh, heavens, ſir, your Emily!—I have always, and do ſtill think of her, as the ſupreme object at which all my hopes of future felicity are pointed—

Very well, ſir; the fortune I in⯑tended to have given with Emily, if married with my conſent, was ſix thouſand pounds; now, ſir, as I am conſcious of your extraordi⯑nary merit, whereby I think you are not indif⯑ferent to her, if you love her well enough to marry her, I'll double that ſum; what ſay you, ſir?

This happineſs ſo unexpected—

Oh, ſir, then you won't—

With the moſt unfeign'd joy, with rap⯑ture, ſir, I accept your offer, free from a lu⯑crative view; and my future ſtudy ſhall be to convince you your goodneſs was not ill-plac'd—

I take you at your word; and now, Delamour, as I ſee you're a man of honour, I for⯑give you what's paſt. Ah, Delamour! be kind to my poor child, uſe her well—Oh happy change!—Here, Betty, call your miſtreſs—

Forgive me what's paſt! I don't under⯑ſtand him; however, as I know the caprice of his temper, I'll make no enquiries.

Come hither, Emily; there's your huſband.

My life—my deareſt Emily!

Oh, Delamour!

And now, ſir, on my knees, I thank you for this precious gem, which to my heart I'll ever hold moſt dear.

Heaven bleſs my children, and con⯑firm my forgiveneſs.

Come, my friend, with me joy, which I owe to your advice—

Ha, this, indeed, is joyful! Adod, I'm glad of it; 'twas more than I expected.

Deareſt father, extend to us your bleſſing, that we may participate in the general joy—

How! ſince 'tis ſo, if your father's bleſſing makes you happy, my children be ſo.

Rare doings!—

Ohono, ſince you're ſharing the bleſſing, I hope my ſpouſe and I'll come in for ſnacks—

Oh, ho, are you there?

So, Thady, you've got a mate: Well, I'll do ſomething more than wiſh you joy—

I can't comprehend the meaning of all this rightly; aded, I can't fathom it—Ah, there's a great deal of the profound in it.—

Then, ſir, ſince your ſagacity's not of a ſufficient length to reach the bottom, I muſt give you a line to eke it out, and to right my innocent friend, who has ſuffered ſo much in your opinions. Now, Sir Geofry, and you, Sir Anthony, look upon Emily in a different light than what you've lately done—She had a gal⯑lant, 'tis true, and here he ſtands, in the cir⯑cumference of this ſimple petticoat, to hinder a prepoſterous match between Sir Geofry and my dear Emily, which would render her inevitably miſerable. I wrote you, Sir Geofry, that ano⯑nymous letter, to which you gave ſo much credit; and in that ſuit of cloaths, which now my brother wears, I perſonated your imaginary rival, dropt the billet of aſſignation, which you found and ſhew'd Sir Anthony. Theſe ma⯑chinations of mine having had ſuch happy ef⯑fects, and as my real motive for deceiving you both, proceeded from my eagerneſs to ſerve my dear Emily,—I hope you'll both forgive me.

And is this all orthodox?

I don't know what dox it is, but in⯑deed, ſir, 'tis true.

Ay, ay, you were a party concern'd: Well, I forgive you.

So, 'twas a Female Gallant.

Upon my ſoul, and Square-Toes out⯑witted.

I'm as much amaz'd at this, as any one here; for upon my honour, till now, I was en⯑tirely ignorant of every ſingle particular.

And ſo, you mad wench, you were the Cuckold-maker I ſo much dreaded, and you've bilk'd me of my wife.—Delamour, with yonr leave, I'll ſalute your intended—

Ah, you are a happy dog!—Mind your duty; for, by the la, I'll ſettle a thouſand pounds upon the firſt boy.