ACT. I. SCENE I.

A PLAGUE on it!— I've turn'd out my Game, — Is Forty-ſeven good?—

Equal.—

A Plague go with it— Tearſe to a Queen! —

Equal.—

I've ruin'd my Game, and be hang'd to me. —I don't believe there's a Footman in England plays with worſe Luck than my⯑ſelf.—Four Aces is Fourteen!

That's hard; —Cruel, by Jupiter!

Four Aces is Fourteen — Fifteen

There's your Equality.—

Very well—Sixteen

—Se⯑venteen

There's a couple of you, indeed!—You're ſo fond of the Vices of your Bet⯑ters, that you're ſcarce out of your Beds, when you muſt pretend to imitate them and their Ways, forſooth.—

Prithee, be quiet, Woman, do.—Eighteen

—

Set you up indeed, Mr. Coxcomb.—

Nineteen! Clubs

Have done with your Foolery, will ye?—And ſend my Miſtreſs word—

Hold your Tongue, Mrs. Muſlin, you'll put us out.—What ſhall I play?—I'll tell you, Woman, my Maſter and I de⯑ſire to have nothing to ſay to you or your Miſtreſs.—Twenty; Diamonds!

But I tell you, Mr, Sauce-box, that my Lady deſires to know when your Maſter came home laſt Night, and how he is this Morning?

Prithee, be quiet.—I and my Maſ⯑ter, are reſolved to be teiz'd no more by you.—And ſo, Mrs. Go-Between, you may re⯑turn as you came.—What the Devil ſhall I play?—We'll have nothing to do with you, I tell you.—

You'll have nothing to do with us!—But you ſhall have to do with us, or I'll know the Reaſon why.—

Death and Fury!—This meddling Woman has deſtroyed my whole Game.—

Now, Sir, will you be ſo obliging as to ſend my Miſtreſs an Anſwer to her Queſtions, how and when your rake-helly Maſter came home laſt Night?—

I'll tell you what, Mrs. Muſlin, —you and my Maſter, will be the Death of me at laſt; that's what you will.—In the Name of Charity, what do you both take me for?—Whatever Appearances may be, I am but of mortal Mould.—Nothing ſuper⯑natural about me.—

Upon my Word, Mr. Powder⯑Puff!—

I have not indeed!—And ſo, do you ſee, Fleſh and Blood can't hold it always.—I can't be for ever a Slave to your Whims, and your ſecond-hand Airs.—

Second-hand Airs!—

Yes, ſecond-hand Airs! You take 'em at your Lady's Toilets with their caſt Gowns, and ſo you deſcend to us with them, —And then, on the other hand, there's my Maſter!—Becauſe he chuſes to live upon the Principal of his Health, and ſo run out his whole Stock as faſt as he can, he muſt have the Pleaſure of my Company with him in his Devil's Dance to the other World.—Never at home, till Three, Four, Five, Six in the Morning!—

Ay, a vile, ungrateful Man, to have ſo little Regard for a Wife that doats upon him.—And your Love for me is all of a Piece.—I've no Patience with you both.—A couple of falſe, perfidious, abandoned, profligate—

Hey, hey, —Where's your Tongue running?—My Maſter is, as the World goes, a good Sort of a civil Kind of a Huſband, and I, —Heav'n help me, —a poor Simple⯑ton of an amorous, conſtant Puppy, that bears with all the Follies of his little Tyrant here.—Come and kiſs me, you Jade, come and kiſs me.—

Paws off, Caeſar.—Don't think to make me your Dupe.— I know, when you go with him to this new Lady, this Bath Acquaintance; and I know you're as falſe as my Maſter, and give all my Dues to your Mrs. Mignionet there.—

Huſh, Not a Word of that.—I'm ruined, preſſed, and ſent on board a Tender directly, if you blab that I truſted you with that Secret.—But to charge me with Falſe⯑hood, —Injuſtice and Ingratitude! My Maſ⯑ter, to be ſure, does drink an agreeable Diſh of Tea with the Widow.—Has been there every Night this Month paſt.—How long it will laſt, Heav'n knows!—But thither he goes, and I attend him.—I aſk my Maſter, Sir, ſays I, what Time would you pleaſe to want me?—He gives me his Anſwer, and [5]then I ſtrut by Mrs. Mignionet, without much as tipping her one Glance; ſhe ſtands watering at the Mouth, and a pretty Fellow that, ſays ſhe.—Ay, ay, gaze on, ſays I, gaze on; — I ſee what you would be at:—You'd be glad to have me, — You'd be glad to have me! — But ſour Grapes, my Dear! I'll go home and cheriſh my own lovely Wanton; — and ſo I do, you know. I do. — Then after Toying with thee, I haſten back to my Maſter; later indeed than he deſires, but always too ſoon for him. — He's loth to part; He lingers and dangles, and I ſtand cooling my Heels.— O! to the De⯑vil I pitch ſuch a Life.—

Why don't you ſtrive to reclaim the vile Man then?

Softly, not ſo faſt;—I have my Talent to be ſure! yes, yes, I have my Ta⯑lent; ſome Influence over my Maſter's Mind: But can you ſuppoſe, that I have Power to turn the Drift of his Inclinations, and lead him as I pleaſe—and to whom?—to his Wife!Pſhaw!—Ridiculous,—fooliſh, and abſurd!

Mighty well, Sir! Can you pro⯑ceed?

I tell you a Wife is out of Date, now a Days; — Time was — but that's all over—a Wife's a Drug now; mere Tar-Water, with every Virtue under Heaven, but nobody takes it.—

Well, I ſwear, I could ſlap your impudent Face.—

Come and kiſs me, I ſay.—

A Fiddleſtick for your Kiſſes,— while you encourage your Maſter to open Rebellion againſt the beſt of Wives.—

I tell you it's her own Fault; why don't ſhe ſtrive to pleaſe him, as you do me? Come, throw your Arms about my Neck.—

Ay, as I uſed to do, Mr. Brazen!

Then muſt I force you to your own Good—

—Pregnant with Delight! Egad if my Maſter was not in the next Room—

Huſh! My Miſtreſs's Bell rings,— how long has he been up?

He has been up—He has been up—'Sdeath you've ſet me all on Fire.—

There, there,—the Bell rings again—Let me be gone—

Well, but what muſt I ſay? When did he come home?

At Five this Morning, rubbed his Forehead, damn'd himſelf for a Blockhead, went to Bed in a peeviſh Humour, and is now in tip-top Spirits with Sir Brilliant Faſhion, in the next Room.

Oh Lud! That Bell rings again— There, there, let me be gone.

There goes high and low Life con⯑traſted in one Perſon;—Tis well I have not told her the whole of my Maſter's Secrets: [7]She'll blab that he viſits this Widow from Bath.—But if they enquire, they'll be told he does not; the Plot lies deeper than they think, and ſo they'll only get into a Puzzle. — So, my Maſter's Bell rings too.—

— This Traſh of Tea!— I don't know why I drink ſo much of it. — Heigh ho! — I wonder what keeps Muſlin— do you ſtep Child, with my Compliments to your Maſter, and let him know, I ſhall be glad of his Company to a Diſh of Tea this Morning.—

Yes, Ma'am.—

Surely, never was any poor Woman treated with ſuch cruel Indifference; nay, with ſuch an open undiſguiſed Inſo⯑lence of Gallantry.

Well, Muſlin, have you ſeen his Prime Miniſter?—

Yes, Ma'am, I have ſeen Mr. William, and he ſays, as how my Maſter came home according to Cuſtom, at Five this Morning, and in a huge Pickle.—He's now at Breakfaſt, and has Sir Brilliant Faſhion with him.

Is he there again?

He is Ma'am; and as I paſſed by Maſter's Study, I overheard them both laughing as loud as any thing, —

About ſome precious Miſ⯑chief; I'll be ſworn; and all at my Coſt too! —Heigh ho!

Dear Ma'am, why will you cha⯑grine yourſelf about a vile Man, that is not worth,—no, as I live and breathe,—not worth a ſingle Sigh?—

What can I do, Muſlin?

Do, Ma'am! Lard!—If I was as you, I'd do for him;—As I'm a living Chriſ⯑tian, I would.—If I could not cure my Grief, I'd find ſome Comforts, that's what I would.

Heigh ho! — I have no Comfort. —

No Comfort, Ma'am? — Whoſe Fault then?— Would any Body but you, Ma'am?— It provokes me to think of it, — Would any body, Ma'am; young and hand⯑ſome as you are, with ſo many Accompliſh⯑ments, Ma'am, ſit at home here, as melan⯑choly as a poor Servant out of Place?—And all this for what?— Why for a Huſband, and ſuch a Huſband!— What do you think the World will ſay of you, Ma'am, if you go on this way?

I care not what they ſay, — I am tired of the World, and the World may be tired of me, if it will: — My Troubles are my own only, and I muſt endeavour to [9]bear them. — Who knows what Patience may do?—If Mr. Lovemore has any Feel⯑ing left, my Reſignation may ſome Day or other have its Effect, and incline him to do me Juſtice.

But, dear Ma'am, that's waiting for dead Men's Shoes, — Incline him to do you Juſtice! —What ſignifies expecting and expecting.—Give me a Bird in the Hand.— Lard, Ma'am, to be for ever pining and grieving!—Dear Heart!—If all the Women in London, in your Caſe, were to ſit down and die of the Spleen, what would become of all the public Places?—They might turn Vaux-Hall to a Hop-Garden, make a Brew-houſe of Ranelagh, and let both the Play⯑houſes to a Methodiſt Preacher. We ſhould not have the Racketting with 'em we have now.—‘John, let the Horſes be put to. — John, go to my Lady Trumpabout's, and invite her to a ſmall Party of twenty or thirty Card-Tables. — John, run to my Lady Cat-Gut, and let her Ladyſhip know I'll wait on her to the new Opera.— John, run as faſt as ever you can, with my Compliments to Mr. Varney, and tell him I ſhall take it as the greateſt Favour on Earth, if he will let me have a Side-Box for the new Play.—No Excuſe tell him.’ —They whiſk about the Town, and ranti⯑pole it with as unconcerned Looks, and as florid Outſides, as if they were treated at [10]home like ſo many Goddeſſes, tho' every Body knows Poſſeſſion has ungoddeſſed them all long ago, and their Huſbands care no more for them,—no by Jingo, no more than they do for their Huſbands.—

You run on at a ſtrange Rate.—

Dear Ma'am, tis enough to make a Body run on.—If every Body thought like you.—

If every Body loved like me.—

A Braſs Thimble for Love, if it is not anſwer'd by Love.—What the Deuce is here to do?—Shall I go and fix my Heart upon a Man, that ſhall deſpiſe me for that very Reaſon, and, "Ay," ſays he, ‘poor Fool, I ſee ſhe loves me, — The Woman's well enough, only ſhe has one inconve⯑nient Circumſtance about her: I'm mar⯑ried to her, and Marriage is the Devil.’— And then, when he's going a roguing, ſmiles impudently in your Face, and, ‘My Dear, divert yourſelf, I'm juſt going to kill half an Hour at the Chocolate-Houſe, or to peep in at the Play; your Servant, my Dear, your Servant.’ — Fye upon 'em!—I know 'em all.—Give me a Huſband that will enlarge the Circle of my innocent Pleaſures:—But a Huſband now a days, Ma'am, is no ſuch a thing.—A Huſband now,—as I hope for Mercy, is nothing at all but a Scare-Crow, to ſhew you the Fruit, but touch it if you dare.—A Huſband — the Devil take 'em all [11]all —Lord forgive one for ſwearing—is no⯑thing at all but a Bug-Bear, a Snap-Dragon; a Huſband, Ma'am, is —

Prithee, Peace with your Tongue, and ſee what keeps that Girl.—

Yes, Ma'am, —Why, Jenny, — why don't you come up to my Miſtreſs?— What do you ſtand a goſſiping there for?— A Huſband, Ma'am, is a mere Monſter;— that is to ſay, if one makes him ſo; then, for certain, he is a Monſter indeed;—and if one does not make him ſo, then he behaves like a Monſter; and of the two Evils, by my Troth —Ma'am, was you ever at the Play of Catharine and Mercutio?—The vile Man calls his Wife his Goods, and his Cat⯑tles, and his Houſhold Stuff. — There you may ſee, Ma'am, what a Huſband is, —a Huſband is —But here comes one will tell you — Here comes Sir Brilliant Faſhion. — Aſk his Advice, Ma'am.

His Advice!—Aſk Advice of the Man who has eſtranged Mr. Lovemore's Affections from me!

Well, I protect and vow, Ma'am, I think Sir Brilliant a very pretty Gentleman. —He's the very Pink of the Faſhion;—He dreſſes faſhionably, lives faſhionably, wins your Money faſhionably, loſes his own faſhion⯑ably, and does every thing faſhionably; and then, he is ſo lively, and talks ſo lively, and ſo much to ſay, and ſo never at a Loſs. — But here he comes.

Mrs. Lovemore, your moſt obe⯑dient very humble Servant. — But, my dear Madam, what always in a vis-a-vis Party with your Suivante!—You will afford me your Pardon, my dear Ma'am, if I avow that this does a little wear the Appearance of Miſan⯑thropy.

Far from it, Sir Brilliant — We were engaged in your Panegyric. —

My Panegyric! — Then am I come moſt apropos to give a helping Hand towards making it complete.—Mr. Lovemore will kiſs your Hand preſently, Ma'am; — He has not as yet entirely adjuſted his Dreſs. —In the mean Time, I can, if you pleaſe, help you to ſome Anecdotes, which will perhaps enable you to colour your Canvaſs a little higher.

I hope you will be ſure, among thoſe Anecdotes, not to omit the egregious Exploit of ſeducing Mr. Lovemore entirely from his Wife.

I, Ma'am! — Let me periſh, Madam—

Oh! Sir, I am no Stranger to—

May Fortune eternally forſake me, and Beauty frown on me, if ever—

Don't proteſt too ſtrongly, Sir Brilliant—

May I never hold four by Ho⯑nours—

Nay, but Sir.—

Ma'am, I am altogether ſtruck with Amazement. — May I never taſte the dear Delight of breaking a Pharoah Bank, or bullying the whole Room at a Brag-Par⯑ty, if ever I was, in Thought, Word, or Deed, acceſſary to his Infidelity.—I deny all unlawful Confederacy.—

Oh! Sir, it is in vain to deny.

Nay, but my dear Mrs. Love⯑more, give me leave.—I alienate the Affec⯑tions of Mr. Lovemore!—Conſider, Madam, how would this tell in Weſtminſter-Hall. — Sir Brilliant Faſhion, How ſay you, guilty of this Indictment or not guilty?—Not guilty, poſs.—Thus iſſue is joined;—you enter the Court, and in ſober Sadneſs charge the whole plump upon me, without a Word as to the how, when, and where;—No Proof poſitive, —there ends the Proſecution.

But, Sir, your ſtating of the Caſe—

Dear Ma'am, don't interrupt.—

Let me explain this Matter.—

Nay, Mrs. Lovemore, allow me fair Play.—I am now upon my Defence.— You will pleaſe to conſider, Gentlemen of the Jury, that Mr. Lovemore is not a Ward, [14]nor I a Guardian; that he is his own Maſter to do as he pleaſes; that Mr. Lovemore is fond of Gaiety, Pleaſure, and Enjoyment; that he knows how to live, and if he does not like the Bill of Fare that is catered for him at home, he very naturally goes abroad to ſeek for ſomething more palatable.

How ſay ye?—Gentlemen of the Jury?— Not guilty.— There, Ma'am, you ſee, Not guilty.

You run on finely, Sir Bril⯑liant; —but don't imagine that this bantering Way —

Acquitted by my Country, Ma'am, you ſee, — fairly acquitted! —

Be it ſo then.—But you hinted ſomething about Mr. Lovemore's not liking his Bill of Fare at home, — I ſhould be glad you would explain that Matter, Sir—

Right, Madam, very right: — I did touch upon that Head. — It was but ſlightly— I did not care, in an open Court, to enlarge further upon that Mattter.— But to be plain, upon my Word, Mrs. Lovemore, for a fine Woman like you to be the Dupe of your own falſe Delicacy, an old faſhioned Kind of Sentiment, a vulgar Prejudice, pro⯑ſcribed by Cuſtom long ago; an antiquated Principle of I know not what:— Renounce it altogether—vivez Ma'am,— do like other People of Condition; mix with other amia⯑ble Ladies, who know how to uſe the Senſes [15]Nature has given them; pluck the Fruit that grows around ye, and bid adieu to the Reign of the melancholy Pleaſures for ever.

After the very edifying Counſel you give Mr. Lovemore, this looſe Strain of yours, Sir Brilliant, is not at all ſurprizing;— and, Sir, your late Project:—

My late Project! —

Yes, Sir: Not content with leading Mr. Lovemore into a thouſand Diſſi⯑pations from all conjugal Affection and do⯑meſtic Happineſs, you have lately introduced him to your Mrs. Bellmour.—

Ma'am, he does not ſo much as know Mrs. Bellmour.

Fye upon it, Sir Brilliant! — Falſehood is but a poor—

Falſehood I diſdain, Ma'am,— and I Sir Brilliant Faſhion declare, that Mr. Lovemore, your Huſband, is not acquainted with the Widow Bellmour;— and if he was acquainted? —What then? — No ill Conſe⯑quence could from thence redound to you.— You don't know that Lady, Ma'am. — But I'll let you into her whole Hiſtory, — her whole Hiſtory, Ma'am:— Pray be ſeated. The Widow Bellmour's Hiſtory, is this;— She is one of thoſe Ladies—

—William! Is the Chariot at the Door?

We are interrupted.—

Very well,—let the Chariot be brought round directly.—How do you do this Morning, my Dear? Sir Brilliant, I beg your Pardon.—How do you do my Dear?—

Only a little indiſpoſed in Mind, and Indiſpoſition of the Mind is of no ſort of Conſequence; not worth a Cure.—

I beg your Pardon, Mrs. Lovemore; Indiſpoſition of the Mind. — Sir Brilliant, that is really a mighty pretty Ring you have on your Finger.—

A Bauble: Will you look at it?

Though I have but few Ob⯑ligations to Sir Brilliant, yet I fancy I may aſcribe to him the Favour of this Viſit, Mr. Lovemore.

— Nay, now poſitively you wrong me;—I was obliged to you for your civil Enquiries concerning me this Morning, and ſo on my Part, I came to return the Compliment before I go abroad.— Upon my Word 'tis very prettily ſet.—

Are you going abroad, Sir?—

A Matter of Buſineſs;—I hate Bu⯑ſineſs—but Buſineſs muſt be done.—

—Pray is there any News? —any News, my Dear?—

It would be News to me, Sir, if you would be kind enough to let me know whether I may expect the Favour of your Company to Dinner.

It would be impertinent in me to anſwer ſuch a Queſtion, becauſe I can give no direct poſitive Anſwer to it; — as Things happen, — perhaps I may, — perhaps may not. — But don't let me be of any Inconve⯑nience to you; — it is not material where a body eats. — Can I ſet you down any where, Sir Brilliant?

I thank you, no— my Chariot's in waiting.— I have ſome Viſits to make, and ſhall rattle half the Town over pre⯑ſently.

As you will—à ça, your Servant,— Mrs. Lovemore. — My Dear,

—I kiſs your Hand.—Who waits there?—

Apropos, you have heard what happened,

When, and where?

A Word in your Ear, —Ma'am with your Permiſſion.—

That cold, contemptuous Ci⯑vility, Mr. Lovemore —

Pſhaw!— Prithee now,—How can you, my Dear? — That's very peeviſh now, and ill-natured.—It is but about a mere Trifle.— Hark ye,

I loſt every Thing I play'd for after you went, — the Fo⯑reigner, and he, underſtand one another. — [18]I beg Pardon, Ma'am, it was only about an Affair at the Opera.

The Opera, Mr. Lovemore, or any thing, is more agreeable than my Company.

You wrong me now, I declare you wrong me; — and if it will give you any Pleaſure, I'll ſup at home. — Can't we meet at the St. Alban's to Night? —

I believe I need not tell you what Pleaſure that would give me: But un⯑leſs the Pleaſure is mutual, Mr. Lovemore —

Ma'am I — I — I perceive all the Delicacy of that Sentiment; — But — a — a I ſhall incommode you, — you poſſibly may have ſome private Party — and it would be very impolite in me, to obſtruct your Sehemes of Pleaſure. — Would it not, Sir Brilliant?

It would be gothic to the laſt Degree.— Ha! ha!

Ha! ha! — To be ſure, for me to be of the Party, would look as if we lived together like our Friend Sir Jealous Hotbrain and his ſcolding Wife, who are for ever like two Game-Cocks, ready armed to goad and wound one another moſt heartily.—Ha! ha!

The very Thing.—Ha! ha!

So it is, — ſo it is.

Very well, Gentlemen; you have it all to yourſelves.

Odſo!

I ſhall be beyond my Time. — Any Commands in⯑to the City, Madam? —

Commands! — I have no Commands, Sir.

I have an Appointment there at my Banker's; — Sir Brilliant, you know old Diſcount? —

What, he that was in Parlia⯑ment? —

The ſame; —

I think, was the Name of the Borough. — Ha! ha! ha! — Ma'am, your moſt obedient; —Sir Brilliant, yours. — Who waits there; — no Ceremony. — Your Servant.

Bon Voyage! —

Did you call, Ma'am?

Come hither, Muſlin; —

mind what I ſay.—

I'll do it, Madam; I'll do it.

He's gone to viſit this Mrs. Bellmour, I ſuppoſe. —

Dear Ma'am, how can you take ſuch a Notion in your Head? — But apro⯑pos — that brings us back to the little Hi⯑ſtory I was juſt going to give you of the Wi⯑dow Bellmour.—

Proceed, Sir.

The Widow Bellmour, Ma'am, is a Lady, who to all the Charms of external Beauty, has added ſuch an Elegance of Un⯑derſtanding, and ſuch a Vivacity of Wit, that it is no Wonder all the pretty Fellows are on their Knees to her. — Her Perſon youthful, blooming, and graceful; — and then her Manner! — And ſo entertaining! — Such Quickneſs in her Tranſition from one thing to another; and every thing ſhe does, does ſo become her! — Does ſhe ſit ſtill? 'tis an indolent Venus before ye, — Does ſhe move? 'tis Beauty walking in conſcious Triumph! To ſee her ſmile, and hear her talk,—I ſhall glow up into Rapture, and fall a raving if I talk a Moment longer about her.—

Pray, finiſh your Picture, Sir.—

'Tis from the real Life, I aſſure ye.—In ſhort, Ma'am, ſhe is a Lady that has been abroad, has ever kept the beſt Compa⯑ny, and has ſuch a Variety of Talents, that Upon my Soul, ſhe knows the whole Theory of agreeable Senſations better than all the Phi⯑loſophers in Europe.—

And to this Theory, ſhe has joined the Practice, I preſume.—

She has. —

I imagined as much.—

Ma'am!—

You need not affect to be ſur⯑prized, Sir, — there is no mighty Secret in the Affair. — My Accounts of the Lady in⯑form [21]me, that ſhe is as you ſay, young and handſome; has lived a great deal Abroad, buried her Huſband there, is lately come to Town, has taken a Houſe, — lives at great Expence, receives all the Men of Rank and Fortune. — We all know what the World is apt to infer from theſe Appearances.—

I am no Stranger to the Way of the World. — Every Object has its different Aſpects, its Side-lights; and the World is generally good-natured enough to fix upon the moſt unfavourable Points of View.

So then, this is another anti⯑quated Prejudice of mine.

Nothing more certain.—

Oh! mighty well, Sir! —She is a very Veſtal; — come, exhibit your Por⯑trait. —A Veſtal from your School of Paint⯑ing will, no doubt, be very curious.—

My dear Madam, conſider what you are ſaying! — What is your Charge againſt this Lady? That ſhe is amiable! — Surely Mrs. Lovemore ſhould be the laſt Per⯑ſon in the World, to reproach her with a Qua⯑lity, which ſo eminently poſſeſſes herſelf.

The Gallantry of that Com⯑pliment, Sir Brilliant, added to your other Favours —

What next? — That ſhe has agreeable Talents! — What then? As Na⯑ture is liberal of Talents to but very few, ſhe makes a kind of Recompence to thoſe [22]who have none, by conducing to their En⯑tertainment.—But ſhe is young and hand⯑ſome!—So periſhable a Quality might, me⯑thinks, be ſuffered to bloom without Re⯑proach.—Ay, but ſhe has taken a Houſe, and ſees Company.—It is what ſhe is intitled to, and a fine Picture ſhould be ſeen by Peo⯑ple of Rank and Taſte;— and ſurely, Ma⯑dam, your Sex entrenches upon your own Happineſs, by not allowing that a Woman may partake of the innocent Pleaſures of Life, unleſs ſhe has reſigned her Perſon to a Man, and parted with her Liberty!—

And ſo you would perſuade me that Mr. Lovemore is not acquainted with her?—

Abſolutely ignorant of him!— and I'll tell you further, ſhe has ſuch a Ge⯑neroſity of Temper, and ſuch a feeling Heart, that were ſhe to know him, and to know that his Viſits gave you Pain, ſhe would ne⯑ver be at home for him again.—

Then give me leave, Sir — If you have ſo exalted an Opinion of the Lady, how comes it that you deſiſt from paying your Addreſſes in that Quarter?—

Compulſion, Ma'am,—it is not voluntary. — The Garriſon, I thought, was upon the Point of ſurrendering, but up came my Lord Etheridge with his honourable Forces to relieve the Town.—I thought he was out of the Kingdom, but it ſeems he [23]is returned. — I bribed the Chambermaid yeſterday, and I find he has ſupplanted me; and ſo all that remains for me, is to do juſtice to the Lady, and conſole myſelf in the beſt way I can for my Demerits; and the Inſufficiency of my Pretenſions.—

And am I really to believe all this?—

May the firſt Woman I put the Queſtion to, ſtrike me to the Center with a ſupercilious Eyebrow, if every Syllable is not minutely true,—ſo that you ſee, Ma'am, I am not the Cauſe of your Inquietude. — There is not on Earth a Man that could be more averſe from ſuch a thing,—nor a Per⯑ſon in the World, who more earneſtly aſ⯑pires to prove the tender Eſteem he bears ye,—and, Ma'am,—I have long panted for an Opportunity.—By all that's ſoft ſhe hears me.

— I have long panted, Ma'am, for a tender Moment like this,—with all the Ardor of Love, which Charms like yours alone could kindle.—

Were it even at the Expence of my Life—

—You ſee, my dear Ma'am, we both have Cauſe of Diſcontent; we are both diſappointed,—both croſſed in Love,—and ſo, Ma'am, the leaſt we can do is, both heartily to join to ſweeten each other's Cares.

Sir Brilliant, I don't under⯑ſtand

If you will pour the Balm of Love on this poor wounded Heart, you may have the moſt delicious Revenge againſt a Huſband,—who,—from his own perverſe Inclination, his own Inhumanity of Tem⯑per,—has for a long time,—I have ſeen it, Madam,—with Vexation ſeen it, —Yes,—he has long been falſe to Honour, Love, and you.—

This Uſage, Sir, — you take my Wrongs too much to Heart, Sir, —

—I myſelf, Sir, can remedy my own Afflictions.—But this Preſumption of yours,—upon my word! —This is the moſt unparallelled.—

Pray, Ma'am, don't break your Fan,—don't break it, Ma'am,—I beg you won't.—

This is the moſt affronting,— Come to a fine Paſs, indeed!—

— Intolerable Aſſur⯑ance!—

Now am I in a ſweet Condition. —The Poet has touched it moſt exqui⯑ſitely.—

Sir, I muſt deſire you will quit my Houſe immediately.—

Don't overheat yourſelf, —con⯑ſider, my dear Madam.—

Sir, I deſire —was ever ſuch Rudeneſs!—

Ma'am, I deſiſt,—I have done, —but when you're in a better Humour, pray recollect.—

Will no body anſwer there?

I retire.—

Ma'am, your moſt obedient.—

Did you call, Ma'am?

To ſhew the Gentleman out.—

The Servants are all in the Hall.

To be inſulted thus by his looſe confident Carriage!—

As I live and breathe, Ma'am, if I was as you, I would not flutter myſelf about it.—

About what?

La!—what ſignifies mincing Mat⯑ters?—I overheard it all.

You did;—did you?

Ma'am!—

It does not ſignify at preſent.—

No, Ma'am, it does not ſignify, and Revenge is ſweet, I think; and by my Troth, I don't ſee why you ſhould ſtand on Ceremony [26]with a Huſband that ſtands upon none with you.

Again—prithee, Mrs. Malapert, none of your Advice.—How dare yon talk in this manner to me?—Let me hear no more of this impertinent Freedom.—

No, Ma'am. — Its very well, Ma'am.—I have done, Ma'am. —

—What the Devil is here to do?—An unmannerly thing to go for to huſſ me in this manner!—

To make his Character public, and render him the Subject of every Tea-Table throughout this Town, would only ſerve to widen the Breach, and inſtead of his Neglect, might call forth his Anger, and ſettle at laſt into a fixed Averſion.— Lawyers, Parting, and ſeparate Maintenance would enſue. — No, — I muſt avoid that,—if poſſible; I will avoid that.— What muſt be done? —

What can ſhe be thinking of now? —The ſulky thing, not to be communicative with ſuch a Friend as I am!—What can ſhe mean?—Did you ſpeak to me, Ma'am?—

Suppoſe I were to try that!— Muſlin.

Ma'am!—Now for it—

Did John follow your Maſter's Chariot, as I ordered?

He did, Ma'am.

Where is he?

He's below, Ma'am; — he fol⯑lowed it as far as the Chocolate Houſe in St. James's-Street.

Are you ſure of that?

You may rely upon it.

You heard Sir Brilliant deny that Mr. Lovemore viſits at this Widow Bell⯑mours.

Lard, Ma'am, he's as full of Fibs as a French Milliner,—he does viſit there,— I know it all from William, — I'll be hanged in my own Garters if he does not.

I know not what to do! — Heigho! — I think I'll venture. — Let my Chair be got ready inſtantly.

Your Chair, Ma'am! —Are you going out, Ma'am?

Don't teaze me with your talk, but do as I bid you,—and bring my Capuchin down to the Parlour immediately.

What is in the Wind now?—An ill-natured Puſs, not to tell me what ſhe is about!—It's no matter,—ſhe does not know what ſhe is about. — Before I'd lead ſuch a Life, I'd take a Lover's Leap into Roſamond's Pond.—I love to ſee Company for my Part. —But, Lord bleſs me! I had like to have forgot,—Mrs. Sugar-Key comes to my Rout [28]to-Night.—I had as live ſhe had ſtaid away, —She's nothing but mere Lumber!—ſo for⯑mal, that ſhe won't play above a Shilling-Whiſt.—How the Devil does ſhe think I'm to make a Shilling Party for her?—There's no ſuch a thing to be done now-a-days,—No Body plays Shilling-Whiſt now.

ACT II.

Senſible, elegant Pope!

Lord love my Miſtreſs! — She's al⯑ways ſo happy, and ſo gay. —

Theſe charming Characters of Women! — 'Tis like a Painter's Gallery, where one ſees the Portraits of all one's Acquaintance!—Here, Mignionet, put this Book in its Place.

Yes, Ma'am. — There Ma'am, you ſee your Toilette looks moſt charmingly.

Does it? — I think it does. — Apropos, where's my new Song? — Here it lies, — I muſt make myſelf Miſtreſs of it.—

— I believe I ſhall conquer it preſently,

— This Hair of mine is always tormenting me; — always in Diſorder, and ſtraggling out of its Place: — I muſt abſo⯑lutely ſubdue this Lock. — Mignionet, do you know that this is a very pretty Song? — 'tis written by my Lord Etheridge; — I poſitively muſt learn it before he comes. —

—Do you know, Mignionet, that I think my Lord not wholly intolerable?

Yes, Ma'am, I know that.

Do you?

And if I have any Skill, Ma'am, I fancy you think him more than tolerable.

Really! then you think I like him, I ſuppoſe.—Do ye think I like him?— I don't well know how that is, — and yet I don't know but I do like him;—no,—no,— I don't like him neither, — not abſolutely like; — but I could like, if I had a mind to humour myſeif.—The Man has a Softneſs [31]of Manner, an elegant Turn of Thinking, and has a Heart — has he a Heart? — yes, I think he has; — and then he is ſuch an Obſerver of the Manners,—and ſhews the ridiculous of them with ſo much Humour —

I'll be whipt, if you don't get into the Nooſe before the long Nights are over.— Without doubt, Ma'am, my Lord is a pretty Man enough;—but lack-a-day, what o'that?— You know but very little of him, — your Acquaintance is but very ſhort;—

Do, pray my dear Ma⯑dam, mind what I ſay, — for I am at times I aſſure you, very ſpeculative, — very ſpecula⯑tive indeed;—and I ſee very plainly.—Lord, Ma'am, what am I doing! — I'm talking to you for your own good, and you're all in the Air, and no more mind one, no, no more, than if I was nothing at all.

Why in⯑deed you talk wonderfully well upon the Subject; but as I know how the Cards lie, and can play the Game myſelf, and as I don't know my Song, — why a-body is inclined to give that the Preference.

Ma'am I aſſure you, I am none of thoſe Servants that bargain for their Mi⯑ſtreſs's Inclinations;—but I ſee you are going to take a Leap in the Dark. — I don't know what to make of his manner of coming here, with his Chair always brought into the Hall, and the Curtains drawn cloſe about his Ears, [32]as if — May I never be married, if I don't believe there is ſomething amiſs in the Affair. — Dear Heart, Ma'am, if you won't liſten to me, what ſignifies my living with you? — I am of no Service to you. —

I believe I have conquered the Song;—

How do I look To-day?— Well enough, I think,—Do you think I ſhall play the Fool, Mignionet, and marry my Lord?

You have it, Ma'am, thro' the very Heart of you,—I ſee that.

Do you think ſo? — May be I may marry, and may be not. — Poor Sir Bril⯑liant Faſhion, —what will become of him? But I won't think about it.

What's the Matter, Pompey?

There's a Lady below in a Chair, that deſires to know if you are at home, Madam.

Has the Lady no Name?

She did not tell her Name.

How aukward you are!—Well ſhew her up.

Had not you better receive the La⯑dy in the Dining-Room, Ma'am? — Things here are in ſuch Confuſion.—

No, 'twill do very well here. [33]I dare ſay it is ſome body I am intimate with, tho' the Boy does not recollect her Name.—Here ſhe comes.

Ma'am your moſt obedient,—

Ma'am I beg your Pardon for this Intruſion.—

Pray Ma'am walk in, —won't you pleaſe to be ſeated? — Mignionet reach a Chair.

This Chair will do mighty well.

I beg you'll ſit from the Door,— I beg you'll ſit here, Ma'am.—

I'm afraid this Viſit from one unknown to you, will be inconvenient and troubleſome.

Not at all, I dare ſay; — you need not be at the Trouble of an Apology:— Would you chuſe a Diſh of Chocolate?

Much oblig'd to you, Not any.

Mignionet, you may withdraw.

Tho' I have not the Pleaſure of your Acquaintance, Ma'am, there is a par⯑ticular Circumſtance which has determin'd me to take this Liberty with you; for which I intreat your Pardon beforehand.

The Requeſt is wholly unne-ceſſary;—but a particular Circumſtance, you ſay.—Pray Ma'am, to what Circumſtance am I indebted for this Honour?

I ſhall appear perhaps very ri⯑diculous, and indeed I am afraid I have done the moſt abſurd Thing.—But Ma'am, from the Character you bear for Tenderneſs of Diſpoſition, and Generoſity of Sentiment, I eaſily incline to flatter myſelf, that you will not take Offence at any thing; and that if it is in your Power, you will afford me your Aſſiſtance.

You may depend upon me.

I will be very ingenuous; — Pray Ma'am, an't you acquainted with a Gen⯑tleman whoſe Name is Lovemore?

Lovemore! — No, — no ſuch Perſon in my Liſt. — Lovemore! — I don't know him, Ma'am.

Ma'am I beg your Pardon, — I am but where I was.—I won't trouble you any further,

'Tis mighty odd, this.

Madam I muſt own my Curioſity is a good deal excited; —

— Pray Ma'am, give me leave — I beg you will [35]ſit down,—pray don't think me impertinent—may I beg to know who the Gentleman is?

You have ſuch an Air of Frankneſs and Generoſity, that I will open myſelf to you: I have been married to him theſe two Years; I admired him for his Un⯑derſtanding, his Sentiment, and Spirit; I thought myſelf as ſincerely loved by him, as my fond Heart could wiſh, but there is of late, ſuch a ſtrange Revolution in his Tem⯑per, I know not what to make of it: — In⯑ſtead of the Looks of Affection, and Expreſ⯑ſions of Tenderneſs with which he uſed to meet me, 'tis nothing now but cold, averted, ſuperficial Civility. — While abroad, he runs on in a wild Career of Pleaſure; and to my deep Affliction, has fix'd his Affections upon another Object.

If you mean to conſult with me in regard to this Caſe, I am afraid you have made a wrong Choice; there is ſomething in her Appearance that affects me,

—Pray excuſe me, Ma'am, you conſider this Matter too deeply. — Men will prove falſe, and if there is nothing in your Complaint but mere Gallantry on his ſide, — upon my word, I can't think your Caſe the worſe for that.

Not the worſe!

On the contrary, much better. If his Affections, inſtead of being alienated, had been extinguiſh'd, he would have ſunk into a downright ſtupid, habitual Inſenſibi⯑lity; [36]from which it might prove impoſſible to recall him.—In all Love's Bill of Morta⯑lity there is not a more fatal Diſorder,—but your Huſband is not fallen into that Way.—By your Account, he ſtill has Sentiment, and where there is Sentiment, there is ſtill Room to hope for an Alteration. — But in the other Caſe, you have the Pain of ſeeing yourſelf neglected, and for what? — for nothing at all; — the Man has loſt all Senſe of Feeling, and is become to the warm Beams of Wit and Beauty, as impenetrable as an Ice-houſe.

I am afraid, Ma'am, he is too much the Reverſe of this, too ſuſceptible of Impreſſions from every beautiful Object.

Why, ſo much the better, as I told you already;—ſome new Idea has ſtruck his Fancy, and he will be for a while, under the Influence of that.

How light ſhe makes of it!

But it is the Wife's Buſineſs to bait the Hook for her Huſband with Vari⯑ety; and to draw him daily to herſelf:—That is the whole Affair, I would not make myſelf uneaſy, Ma'am.

Not uneaſy! when his Indif⯑ference does not diminiſh my Regard for him! Not uneaſy, when the Man I doat on, no Longer fixes his Happineſs at home!

Ma'am, you'll give me leave to ſpeak my Mind freely.—I have often: ob⯑ſerv'd, when the Fiend Jealouſy is rous'd, that Women lay out a wonderful deal of Anxiety and Vexation to no Account, when perhaps, if the Truth were known, they, ſhou'd be angry with themſelves inſtead of their Huſbands.

Angry with myſelf, Madam! —Calumny can lay nothing to my Charge, —the Virtue of my Conduct, Madam—

Look ye there now,—I wou'd have laid my Life, you wou'd be at that,— that's the Folly of us all. — But Virtue is out of the Queſtion at preſent.—I mean the want of Addreſs, and proper Management! It is there that moſt Women fail,—Virtue alone cannot pleaſe the Taſte of this Age.— It is La Belle Nature,—Nature embelliſh'd by the Advantages of Art, that the Men expect now-a-days.

But after being married s;o long, and behaving all that time with ſuch an Equality —

Ay, that Equality is the Rock ſo many ſplit upon.—The Men are now ſo immers'd in Luxury, that they muſt have eternal Variety in their Happineſs.

She juſtifies him.

I'll tell you what; I wou'd venture to lay a Pot of Coffee, that the Per⯑ſon who now rivals you in your Huſband's [38]Affection, does it without your good Quali⯑ties, and even without your Beauty, by the mere Force of agreeable Talents, and Aſſi⯑duity to pleaſe.

I am afraid that Compli⯑ment —

Let me aſk you, Ma'am, have you ever ſeen this formidable Perſon?

I think I have.

What fort of a Woman, Pray?

Formidable indeed!—She was deſcrib'd to me as one of charming, and rare Accompliſhments: And that is fatally too true!—I can ſee in her the ſenſible, the ſpirited, the — in ſhort, in her I ſee my Ruin.

Never throw up the Cards for all that. — Really, Ma'am, without Compli⯑ment, you ſeem to have all the Qualities that can diſpute your Huſband's Heart with any Body; but the Exertion of thoſe Qualities, I am afraid, is ſuppreſs'd.—You'll excuſe my Freedom.—You ſhou'd counterwork your Rival, by the very ſame Arts ſhe employs.— I know a Lady now in your very Situation, — And what does ſhe do? She conſumes herſelf with eternal Jealouſy; whereas, if ſhe wou'd but employ half the Pains ſhe uſes in teazing herſelf, to vie vith the Creature that has won her Huſband from her, —to vie with her, I ſay, in the Arts of pleaſing, — for it is there a Woman's Pride ſhou'd be piqued, [39]— wou'd ſhe do that, take my word for it, Victory wou'd declare in her Favour.

Do you think ſo, Ma'am?

Think ſo!—I am ſure of it,— for there is this Advantage on her Side, that Virtue is an Auxiliary in her Cauſe,—and Virtue is the beſt beautifying Fluid for the Complexion; it gives a Luſtre to the Fea⯑tures, that cannot be equall'd by any Arti⯑fice whatever.

What can this mean? I begin to doubt.

But even Virtue herſelf muſt condeſcend to call in external Aid.—Her own native Charms wou'd do, if Men were perfect, but that is not the Caſe and ſince Vice can aſſume Allurements, why ſhould not Truth and Innocence have additional Ornaments alſo?

I begin to think Sir Brilliant has told me truth.

I have been married, Ma'am, and am a little in the Secret.—It is much more difficult to keep a Heart than win one—After the fatal Words for better for worſe, the general way with Wives is to relax into Indo⯑lence, and while they are guilty of no Infide⯑lity, they think that is enough:—But they are miſtaken, there is a great deal wanting— an Addreſs, a Manner, a Deſire of pleaſing — an agreeable Contraſt in their Conduct, of grave, [40]and gay;—a favourite Poet of mine,—Prior, has expreſſed this very delicately.

But when the natural Tem⯑per —

The natural Temper muſt be forc'd, Home muſt be made a Place of Plea⯑ſure to the Huſband, and the Wife muſt throw infinite Variety into her Manner;— in ſhort, ſhe muſt, as it were, multiply herſelf, and appear to him fundry different Women on different Occaſions.—And this, I take to be the whole Myſtery; the Way to keep a Man.—But I run on at a ſtrange Rate.— Well, to be ſure, I'm the giddieſt Creature. — Ma'am, will you now give me leave to enquire, how I came to have this Favour? Who recommended me to your Notice?— And pray who was ſo kind as to intimate that I was acquainted with Mr. Lovemore?

I beg your Pardon for all the Trouble I have given you, and I aſſure you, 'tis entirely owing to my being told that his Viſits were requent here.

His Viſits frequent here!—They have impoſed upon you, I aſſure you,—and they have told you, perhaps, that I have robbed you of Mr. Lovemore's Heart!—Scandal is always buzzing about,—but, I aſſure you, [41]I have not meddled with his Heart,—Oh! Lud, I hear a Rap at the Door, I poſitively won't be at home.

Did you call, Madam?

I am not at home.

'Tis Lord Etheridge, Ma'am,—he's coming up Stairs, the Servants told him you were within.

Was ever any thing ſo croſs? Tell him there is Company with me, and he won't come in. Mignionet, run to him.

Ma'am, I beg I mayn't hin⯑der you.

Our Converſation begins to grow intereſtig, and I wou'd not have you go for the World. I won't ſee my Lord.

I beg you will, don't let me prevent, I'll ſtep into another Room.

Will you be ſo kind?—There is a Study of Books in that Room, if you will be ſo obliging as to amuſe yourſelf there, I ſhall be glad to reſume this Converſation again.—He ſha'n't ſtay long.

I beg you will be in no hurry, I can wait with Pleaſure.

This is a Lover of mine; and a Huſband, and a Lover ſhou'd be treated in the ſame manner; perhaps it will divert you to hear how I manage him. I hear him [42]on the Stairs, for Heaven's ſake, make haſte. Mignionet, ſhew the Way.

This way, Madam, this way.

Let me ſee how I look to re⯑ceive him

Lord Etheridge! Walk in, my Lord.

Repairs her Smiles, my Lord! I don't like your Application of that Phraſe. —Pray, my Lord, are my Smiles out of re⯑pair, like an old Houſe in the Country, that wants a Tenant?

Nay now, that's wreſting the Words from their viſible Intention.—You can't ſup⯑poſe I thought you want Repair, whatever may be the Caſe, Ma'am, with regard to the want of a Tenant.

And ſo you think I really want a Tenant! And perhaps you imagine too, that I am going to put up a Bill,

to ſignify to all Paſſers-by, that here is a Manſion to be let,—Well, I ſwear, I don't think it wou'd be a bad Scheme. —I have a great mind to do ſo.

And he who has the Preference—

Will be very happy, I know you mean ſo. But I'll let it to none but a ſingle Gentleman, that you may depend upon.

What the Devil does ſhe mean by that? She has not got an Inkling of the Affair, I hope.

None elſe could preſume, Madam, to —

And then it muſt be a Leaſe for Life,—but no Body will be troubled with it —I ſhall never get it off my Hands.—Do you think I ſhall, my Lord?

Why that Queſtion, Madam? You know I am devoted to you, even if it were to be bought with Life.

Heav'ns! what a dying Swain you are! And does your Lordſhip really in⯑tend to be guilty of Matrimony? — Lord, what a Queſtion have I aſked?—Well, to be ſure, I am a very Mad-cap!—My Lord, don't you think me a ſtrange Mad-cap?

A Wildneſs like yours, that ariſes from Vivacity and Sentiment together, ſerves only to exalt your Beauty, and give new Poignancy to every Charm.

Well, upon my word you have ſaid it finely!—But you are in the right, my Lord. — I hate your penſive, melancholy Beauty, that ſits like a well-grown Vegetable in a Room for an Hour together, 'till at laſt ſhe is animated to the violent Exertion of [44]ſaying yes or no, and then enters into a Mat⯑ter-of-Fact Converſion, "Have you heard the News? Miſs Beverly is going to be mar⯑ried to Captain Shoulderknot.—My Lord Mort⯑gage has had another Tumble at Arthur's, Sir William Squanderſtock has loſt his Election. They ſay, ſhort Aprons are coming into Faſhion again."

Oh, Lord! a Matter-of-Fact Con⯑verſation is inſupportable.

Pray, my Lord, have you ever obſerved the manner of one Lady's accoſting another at Ranelagh?—She comes up to you with a demure Look of inſipid Serenity, — makes you a ſolemn Salute — "Ma'am, I am overjoyed to meet you, — you look charmingly. — But, dear Madam, did you hear what happened to us all the other Night? —We were going home from the Opera, Ma'am;—you know my Aunt Roly-Poly,— It was her Coach,— there was ſhe, — and Lady Betty Fidget,—Your moſt obedient Ser⯑vant, Ma'am,

Lady Betty, you know, is re⯑covered — every Body thought it over with her,—but Doctor Snakeroot was called in, no not Doctor Snakeroot, Doctor Bolus it was, and ſo he altered the Courſe of the Medi⯑cines,—and ſo my Lady Betty recovered;— well, there was ſhe and Sir George Bragwell, —a pretty Man Sir George,—fineſt Teeth in the World, —Your Ladyſhip's moſt obedi⯑ent [45]—We expected you laſt Night,—but you did not come,—he! he!—And ſo there was he and the reſt of us,—and ſo turning the Corner of Bond-Street, the Villain of a Coach⯑man —How do you do, Madam?—The Vil⯑lain of a Coachman overturned us all;—my Aunt Roly-Poly, was frightened out of her Wits, and Lady Betty has been nerviſh ever ſince:—Only think of that,—ſuch Accidents in Life,—Ma'am, your moſt obedient,—I am proud to ſee you look ſo well."

An exact Deſcription, — the very thing—ha! ha!

And then from this Converſa⯑tion they all run to Cards,—"Quadrille has murdered Wit."

Ay, and Beauty too; for upon theſe Occaſions, "the Paſſions in the Features are—" I have ſeen many a beautiful Countenance change in a Moment, into abſolute Defor⯑mity; the little Loves and Graces that before ſparkled in the Eye, bloom'd in the Cheek, and ſmil'd about the Mouth, all fly off in an Inſtant, and reſign the Features which they before adorn'd, to Fear, to Anger, to Grief; and the whole Train of fretful Paſſions.

Ay, and the Rage we poor Wo⯑men are often betrayed into on theſe Occa⯑ſions—

Very true, Ma'am; and if by chance, they do bridle and hold in a little, the Struggle they undergo is the moſt ridiculous Sight [46]imaginable. —I have ſeen an Oath quivering upon the pale Lip of a reigning Toaſt, for Half an Hour together; yes, and I have ſeen an uplifted Eye blaſpheming Providence for the Loſs of an odd Trick;—and then at laſt, when the whole Room burſt out into one loud univerſal Uproar,—"My Lord, you flung away the Game.—No, Ma'am, it was you.—Sir George, why did not you rough the Diamond? Capt. Hazard, why did not you lead through the Honour? Ma'am, it was not the Play.— Pardon me, Sir, —But Ma'am,—But Sir,— I would not play with you for Straws.—Don't you know what Hoyle ſays? If A and B are Partners againſt C and D, and the Game Nine-all, A and B have won three Tricks, and C and D four Tricks; C leads his Suit, D puts up the King then returns the Suit, A paſſes, C puts up the Queen, B roughs the next:" and ſo A and B, and C and D are bang'd about; and all is Jargon, Confuſion, Uproar, and Wrangling, and Nonſenſe, and Noiſe. —Ha! ha!

Ha! ha! A fine Picture of a Rout; but one muſt play fometimes —we muſt let our Friends pick our Pockets ſome⯑times, or they'll drop our Acquaintance.— Pray my Lord, do you never play?

Play, Ma'am!— I muſt lie to the End of the Chapter,

play! — now and then out of Neceſſity; — otherwiſe, — I never touch a Card.

Oh! very true, you dedicate your Time to the Muſes; a downright rhym⯑ing Peer. — Do you know, my Lord, that I am charm'd with your Song?

Are you?

I am indeed;—I think you'd make a very tolerable Vauxball Poet.

You flatter me, Ma'am.

No, as I live and breathe, I don't; — and do you know that I can ſing it already? — Come, you ſhall hear me, — you ſhall hear it.

My Poetry is infinitely oblig'd to you, for the Embelliſhments your Voice and Manner confer upon it.

Oh fulſome!—I ſing horridly, and I look horridly;

—How do I look, my Lord? — but don't tell me, — I won't be told. — I ſee you are ſtudying a Compliment, and I hate Compliments; — well, what is it? let's hear your Compliment, why don't you compliment me? — I won't hear it now. — But pray now how came you to chooſe ſo grave a Subject as connubial Happineſs?—Do you think there is any ſuch Thing on Earth as connubial Happineſs?

Cloſe and particular that Queſtion;

Why Ma'am, in general, one does not ſee the Talents of a Wife, dedicated to the Happineſs of the Huſband.—I have known Ladies, who on the Eve of their Wedding appear'd like the very Graces, in a few Weeks after the Ceremony become very Slatterns, both in their Perſons and Under⯑ſtandings: no Solicitude on their ſide to appear amiable. — Diſtaſte inſinuates itſelf by de⯑grees into the Huſband's Mind, the Bands of Hymen grow looſe; and thus with perhaps the beſt Diſpoſition in the World, he is oblig'd to ſtart wild, and away he urges where Youth and a Career of Spirits hurry him; and ſo good-night to all real and ſolid Happineſs. — But with one accompliſh'd as you are, Ma'am —

To be ſure, with me no-body cou'd be otherwiſe than happy; — was not that what you was going to ſay? — I know it was.— Well upon my word you have drawn your Picture ſo well, that one would imagine you had a Wife at home to ſit for it.

Ma'am,

the Compli⯑ment, —a— you are but laughing at me;—I I — I, — Zouns, I am afraid ſhe begins to ſmoke me,

— A very ſcanty Know⯑ledge of the World will ſerve: and — and there is no need of one's own Experience in theſe Caſes:—nor had I talk'd ſo, were I not [50]perſuaded you will make an Exception to the general Rule.

O lard, you are going to plague me again with your odious Solicitations, but I won't hear 'em;— you muſt be gone. — If I ſhould be weak enough to liſten to you, what would become of Sir Brilliant Fa⯑shion?

Sir Brilliant Faſhion!

Yes, don't you know Sir Bril⯑liant Faſhion?

No, Ma'am, I don't know the Gen⯑tleman: — I beg Pardon if he is your Ac⯑quaintance, but from what I have heard of him, I ſhou'd not chooſe him to be among my Intimates.

O Lud! I am frighted out of my Senſes, — The poor Lady—Where's the Hartſhorn-drops?

The Lady! What Lady?

Never ſtand aſking what Lady, — ſhe has fainted away, Ma'am, all of a ſudden. Give me the Drops.—

Let me run to her Aſſiſtance.— Adieu, my Lord,—I ſhall be at home in the Evening;—Mignionet ſtep this Way.—My Lord, you'll excuſe me; I expect you in the Evening.

I ſhall wait on you, Ma'am. What Villain am I to carry on this Scheme, [51]againſt ſo much Beauty, Innocence, and Me⯑rit?—Ay, and to have the Impudence to aſ⯑ſume this Badge of Honour, to cover the moſt unwarrantable Purpoſes!—But no Re⯑flection, have her I muſt; and that quickly too.—If I don't prevail ſoon, I'm undone— ſhe'll find me out:—Egad, I'll be with her betimes this Evening, and preſs her with all the Vehemence of Love. — Women have their ſoft, unguarded Moments, and who knows? — But to take the Advantage of the Openneſs and Gaiety of her Heart! and then my Friend Sir Brilliant, will it be fair to ſup⯑plant him?—Prithee be quiet, my dear Con-ſcience; don't you be meddling; don't inter⯑rupt a Gentleman in his Amuſements.— Don't you know, my good Friend, that Love has no Reſpect of Perſons, knows no Laws of Frienſhip;—beſides 'tis all my Wife's Fault— why don't ſhe ſtrive to make home agreeable?

What the Devil is Madam Fortune at now?—Sir Brilliant, by all that's odious!— No Place to conceal in!—No Eſcape!—The Door is locked! — Mignionet, Mignionet, open the Door.—

You can't come in here, Sir.

This curſed Star, and this Ribband, will ruin me.—Let me get off this confoun⯑ded [52]Tell-tale Evidence. —

My dear Madam, I moſt hear⯑tily rejoice—Ha!—Lovemere!

Your Slave, Sir Brilliant, your Slave,

How is this? I did not think you had been acquainted here!

I came to look for you, —I thought to have found you here; — and ſo I have ſcrap'd an Acquaintance with the Lady, and made it ſubſervient to your Purpoſes.—I have been giving a great Character of you.

Well, but what's the matter?— What are you fumbling about? —

'Sdeath have a care!—for Heaven's ſake—

What the Devil ails you?

Taken ſo unaccountably,—my old Complaint.—Sir Brilliant, yours.

Zouns Man, you had beſt ſit down.

Here's a Buſineſs,—

—pray let me paſs;—my old Complaint.—

What Complaint?

I muſt have a Surgeon,—occaſioned by the Stroke of a Tennis-Ball;—my Lord Rackett's unlucky Left-hand:—Let me paſs, there is certainly ſomething forming there,— [53]let me paſs. — To be caught is the Devil,

don't name my Name, you'll ruin all that I ſaid for you, if you do—Sir Brilli⯑ant, your Servant.—There is certainly ſome⯑thing forming.

What can this mean? I muſt have this explain'd.—Then Mrs. Lovemore's Suſpicions are right; I muſt come at the Bottom of it.—Ay, ay;—there is ſomething forming here!—

My dear Mrs. Bellmour.

Heaven's! What brings you here?

I congratulate with myſelf upon the Felicity of meeting you thus at home.

Your Viſit is unſeaſonable, you muſt be gone.

Madam, I have a Thouſand Things—

Well, well, another time.

Of the tendereſt Import.

I can't hear you now;—fly this Moment: — I have a Lady taken ill in the next Room.

Ay, and you have had a Gen⯑tleman taken ill here too.

Do you diſpute my Will and Pleaſure;—fly this Inſtant,

So I'll make ſure of the Door.

This way, Madam, here's more Air in this Room.

How do you find yourſelf, Ma'am? Pray ſit down.

My Spirits were too weak to bear up any longer, againſt ſuch a Scene of Villainy.

Villainy!—What Villainy!

Of the blackeſt Dye! — I ſee, Madam, you are acquainted with my Huſband.

Acquainted with your Huſband!

A Moment's Patience, Ma⯑dam.—That Gentleman that was here with you is my Huſband.

Lord Etheridge your Huſband!

Lord Etheridge, as he calls himſelf, and as you have been made to call him alſo, is no other than Mr. Lovemore.

And has he then been baſe enough to aſſume that Title, to enſnare me to my undoing?

Well, for certain, I believe the De⯑vil's in me, I am certainly a Witch, for I always thought him a ſly one.

To ſee my Huſband carrying on this dark Buſineſs,—to ſee the Man I have loved, — the Man I have eſteem'd, — the Man, I am afraid, I muſt ſtill love, tho' [55]eſteem him again I cannot, — to be a Wit⯑neſs to his complicated Wickedneſs,—it was too much for Senſibility like mine,—I felt the Shock too ſeverely,—and ſunk under it.

I am ready to do the ſame my⯑ſelf now. I ſink into the very Ground with Amazement. The firſt time I ever ſaw him was at old Mrs. Loveit's, — ſhe introduc'd him to me;—the Appointment was of her own making.

You know her Character, I ſuppoſe, Madam.

She's a Woman of Faſhion, and ſees a great deal of good Company.

Very capable of ſuch an Ac⯑tion for all that.

Well, I cou'd never have ima⯑gin'd that any Woman wou'd be ſo baſe as to paſs ſuch a Cheat upon me. Step this Moment, and give Orders never to let him within my Doors again.

I am much oblig'd to you, Ma'am, for this Viſit. To me it is highly fortunate, but I am ſorry for your Share in't, as the Diſcovery brings you nothing but a Convic⯑tion of your Huſband's Baſeneſs.

I'm determin'd to be no fur⯑ther uneaſy about him, nor will I live a Day longer under his Roof.

Hold, hold, make no violent Reſolutions.—You'll excuſe me, I can't help [56]feeling for you, and I think this Incident may be ſtill converted to your Advantage.

That can never be,—I am loſt beyond Redemption.

Don't decide that too raſhly.—Come, come, a Man is worth thinking a little about, before one throws the hideous thing away for ever. Beſides, you have heard his Sentiments. Perhaps you are a little to blame yourſelf.—We will talk this very coolly. Ma'am, you have ſav'd me,— and I muſt now diſcharge the Obligation.— You ſhall ſtay and dine with me.

I can't poſſibly do that, — I won't give you ſo much Trouble.

It will be a Pleaſure, Ma'am, —you ſhall ſtay with me, I will not part with you, and I will lay ſuch a Plan, as may enſure him yours for ever.—Come, come, my dear Madam, don't you ſtill think he has ſome good Qualities to apologize for his Vices?

I muſt own, I ſtill hope he has.

Very well then, and he may ſtill make Atonement for all; and let me tell you, that a Man who can make proper Atonement for his Faults ſould not be en⯑tirely deſpis'd.—Allons!

ACT III.

Why, to be ſure, Ma'am, it is ſo for certain, and your are very much in the right of it.

I fancy I am:—I ſee the Folly of my former Conduct, and I am determin'd never to let my Spirits ſink into a melancholy State again.

Why, that's the very thing, Ma'am, the very thing I have been always preaching up to you.—Did not I always ſay, ſee Company, Ma'am, take your ſhare of Pleaſure, and never break your Heart for any Man. This is what I always ſaid.

It's very well, you need not ſay any more now.

I always ſaid ſo!—And what did the World ſay? Heavens bleſs her for a ſweet Woman! And a Plague go with him for an inhuman, barbarous, bloody, murder⯑ing Brute.

No more of theſe Liberties, I deſire.

Nay, don't be angry,—they did ſay ſo indeed.—But dear Heart, how every Body will be overjoy'd, when they find you have pluck'd up a little,—as for me, it gives me new Life, to have ſo much Company in the Houſe, and ſuch a Racketing at the Door with Coaches and Chairs, enough to hurry a Body out of one's Wits.—Lard, this is an⯑other thing, and you look quite like another thing, Ma'am, and that Dreſs ſo becomes you, — I ſuppoſe, Ma'am, you'll never wear your Negligee again. It is not fit for you in⯑deed, Ma'am.—It might paſs very well with ſome Folks, Ma'am, but the like of you —

Prithee truce with your Tongue, and ſee who is coming up Stairs.

Mrs. Bellmour, I revive at the Sight of you. Muſlin, do you ſtep down Stairs, and do as I have ordered you.

What the Duce can ſhe be at now? (

.

You ſee I am punctual to my time. — Well, I admire your Dreſs of all things.—Did you buy this Silk on Ludgate-Hill?—It's mighty pretty.

I am glad you like it, — But under all this Appearance of Gaiety, I have at the Bottom but an aching Heart.

Be rul'd by me, and I'll anſwer for the Event. —Why really, now you look juſt as you ſhou'd do. —Why ſhou'd you neglect ſo fine a Figure?

You are ſo civil, Mrs. Bell⯑mour—

And ſo true too!— what was beautiful before, is now heightened by the additional Ornaments of Dreſs; and if you will but animate and inſpire the whole, by thoſe Graces of the Mind, which I am ſure you poſſeſs, the Impreſſion cannot fail of be⯑ing effectual upon all Beholders, and even upon the depraved Mind of Mr.Lovemore.— You have not heard any thing of him ſince, —have you?

No, — no Account at all of him.

I can tell you ſomething. — He has been at my Houſe. You know I had promis'd to be at home for him, — not be⯑ing let in, my Servants tell me, he was ſtrangely diſconcerted, knit his Brow, ſtorm'd, rav'd, wonder'd, and expoſtulated, and then at laſt, went off as ſulky as a Ruſſian Gene⯑ral, when a Garriſon refuſes to capitulate.

If he has no other Haunts, he may perhaps come home.

I wiſh he may. — Well, and have you got together a deal of Company?

Pretty well.

That's right,— ſhew him that you will conſult your own Pleaſure.—Is Sir Brilliant of the Party?

A—propos,—as ſoon as I came home I received a Letter from him; my Maid had taken it in.—He there preſſes his Addreſſes with great Warmth, begs to ſee me again, and has ſomething particular to tell me,—you ſhall ſee it.—Oh! Lud, I have not it about me,—I left it in my dreſſing Room, I believe; you mall ſee it by and by, I took your Advice, and ſent him word he might come;—that Lure brought him hi⯑ther immediately, — he makes no doubt of his Succeſs with me.

Well! two ſuch Friends as Sir Brilliant and Mr. Lovemore, I believe, never exiſted!

Their Falſhood to each other is unparalleled. — I left Sir Brilliant at the Whiſt-Table, as ſoon as the Rubber's out, he'll certainly quit his Company in purſuit of me. — (

.) As I live, I believe this is Mr. Lovemore.

If it is, every thing goes on ſwimmingly.

I hear his Voice, it is he. — How my Heart beats!

Courage, and the Day's our own.—Where muſt I run?

In there, Ma'am.—Make haſte, —I hear his Step on the Stair-head,

Succeſs attend you,—I am gone.

I am frighten'd out of my Senſes,—what the Event may be I fear to think,—but I muſt go thro' with it.

Mr. Lovemore, you're welcome home.

Mrs. Lovemore, your Servant,

It's ſomewhat rare to ſee you at home ſo early.

I ſaid I wou'd come home, did not I?—I always like to be as good as my word. —What cou'd she mean by this Uſage? to make an Appointment, and break it thus abruptly!

He ſeems to muſe upon it.

I can't tell what to make of it,— ſhe does not mean to do ſo infamous a Thing as to jilt me.

Oh, Lord! I am won⯑derfully tir'd.

You an't indiſpos'd, I hope, my Dear.

No, my Dear, — I thank you, — I am very well;—a little fatigu'd only, with jolting over the Stones all the way from the City.—I ſtay'd to dine with the old Banker, —I have been there ever ſince I went out in [62]the Morning.—Confoundedly tir'd.—Where's William?

Did you want any thing?

Only my cap and Slippers.—I am not in Spirits, I think,

You never are in Spirits at home, Mr. Lovemore.

I beg your Pardon,— I never am any where more chearful,

I wiſh I may die, if I an't very happy at home,—very

—very happy!

I can hear otherwiſe.—I'm in⯑form'd that Mr. Lovemore is the Inſpirer of Mirth and good Humour wherever he goes.

Oh! you over-rate me; upon my Soul you do.

I can hear, Sir, that no Per⯑ſon's Company is ſo acceptable to the Ladies; that 'tis your Wit that inſpirits every thing, —that you have your Compliment for one, your Smile for another, a Whiſper for a third, and ſo on, Sir, — you divide your Favours, and are every where, but at home, all Whim, Vivacity, and Spirit.

No,—no,—

how can you talk ſo?—I ſwear, I can't help laughing at the Fancy. —I all Whim, Vivacity, and Spirit! I ſhall burſt my Sides. —How can you banter one ſo?— I divide my Favours too! — Oh, Heavens! — I can't ſtand this Raillery,—ſuch a Deſcription of me!—I that am rather ſaturnine, and of a ſerious Caſt, [63]and inclin'd to be penſive! I can't help laughing at the Oddity of the Conceit.—Oh Lord! Oh Lord! (

.)

Juſt as you pleaſe, Sir. —I ſee that I am ever to be treated with Indifference. (

.)

(

.) I can't put this Widow Bellmour out of my Head. (

.)

If I had done any thing to provoke this Uſage, — this cold, inſolent Contempt—

I ſhall never be at reſt 'till I know the Bottom of it. — I wiſh I had done with that Buſineſs intirely; but my Deſires are kindled, and muſt be ſatisfy'd.

What Part of my Conduct gives you Offence, Mr. Lovemore?

Still harping upon that ungrateful String!—but prithee don't ſet me a laughing again. — Offence! — nothing gives me Of⯑fence, Child:—You know I am very fond.—

—I like you of all Things, and think you a moſt admirable Wife;— prudent, managing, — careleſs of your own Perſon, and very attentive to mine;— not much addicted to Pleaſure,—grave,—retir'd,— and domeſtic; — govern your Houſe,— pay the Tradeſmens Bills,

ſcold the Servants, and love your Huſband: — Upon my Soul, a very good Wife!—As good a Sort [64]of a Wife

as a body might wiſh to have.—Where's William?— I muſt go to Bed.—

To Bed ſo early! — Had not you better join the Company?

I ſhan't go out to Night.

But I mean the Company in the Dining-Room.

What Company?

That I invited to a Rout.

A Rout in my Houſe!— and you dreſſed out too!—What is all this?

You have no Objection, I hope—

Objection!—no,—I like Company, you know, of all Things;—I'll go and join them:—Who are they all?

You know 'em all;— and there's your Friend Sir Brilliant there,

Is he there?—I'm glad of it.—But pray now, how comes this about?

I intend to do it often,

Do ye?

Ay, and not look tamely on, while you revel luxuriouſly in a Courſe of Pleaſure; I ſhall purſue my own Plan of Di⯑verſion.

Do ſo, do ſo, Ma'am, the Change in your Temper will be very pleaſing.

I ſhall indeed, Sir, —I'm in earneſt.

By all means follow your own In⯑clinations.

And ſo I ſhall Sir, I aſſure ye

What the Devil is come over her? and what in the Name of Wonder, does all this mean?

Mean Sir! — it means — it means—it means—how can you aſk me what it means?—Well to be ſure, the Sobriety of that Queſtion! — Do you think a Woman of Spirit can have Leiſure to tell her Meaning, when ſhe is all Air, Alertneſs, Plcaſure, and Enjoyment?

She's mad!—Stark mad!

You're miſtaken, Sir,— not mad, but in Spirits, that's all;—no Offence I hope.—Am I too flighty for you?—perhaps I am, — you are of a ſaturnine Diſpoſition, inclin'd to think a little, or ſo.—Well don't let me in⯑terrupt you; don't let me be of any Inconve⯑nience.—that would be the impoliteſt thing— for a married Couple to interfere and en⯑croach on each other's Pleaſures, — Oh hi⯑deous! [66]it would be gothic to the laſt Degree Ha! ha! ha!

Ha! ha! — Ma'am,—you, Ha! ha! you are perfectly right.

Nay but I don't like that Laugh now,—I poſitively don't like it; —can't you laugh out as you were us'd to do? for my part, I'm determined to do nothing elſe all the reſt of my Life.

This is the moſt aſtoniſhing thing! Ma'am, I don't rightly comprehend—

Oh Lud! Oh Lud! — with that important Face.—Well but come now, what don't you comprehend?

There is ſomething in this Treat⯑ment that I don't ſo well —

Oh! are you there. Sir? — How quickly they, who have no Senſibility for the Peace and Happineſs of others, can feel for themſelves Mr. Lovemore! — But that's a grave Reflection, and I hate Re⯑flection.

What has ſhe got into her Head?— This ſudden Change, Mrs. Lovemore, let me tell you, is a little alarming, and —

Nay, don't be frighten'd, — there is no harm in innocent Mirth, I hope; —never look ſo grave upon it. — I aſſure ye, Sir, that tho' on your Part, you ſeem deter⯑mined to offer conſtant Indignities to your Wife, — and tho' the Laws of Retaliation [67]wou'd in ſome ſort exculpate her, if, when provok'd to the utmoſt,—exaſperated beyond all enduring, ſhe ſhould in her Turn, make him know what it is to receive an Injury in the tendereſt Point—

Madam!

Well, well, don't be frighten'd I ſay, I ſhan't retaliate: — my own Honour will ſecure you there; — you may depend upon it.—You won't come and play a Game at Cards?—Well, do as you like;—well,—you won't come? No, no, I ſee you won't.—What ſay you to a Bit of Supper with us? —Nor that neither?—Follow your Inclinations, it is not meterial where a body eats.—The Com⯑pany expects me; your Servant Mr. Lovemore, yours, yours.

This is a Frolic I never ſaw her in before!—Laugh all the reſt of my Life!—Laws of Retaliation! — an Injury in the tendereſt Point! — the Company expects me,—your Servant my Dear, yours, yours!—

What the Devil is all this?— Some of her Female Friends have been tam⯑pering with her. —Zouns! — I muſt begin to look a little ſharp after Madam. — I'll go this Moment into the Card-Room, and watch whom ſhe whiſpers with, whom ſhe ogles with, and every Circumſtance that can lead to—

Madam, Madam, — here's your Letter,—I wou'd not for all the World that my Maſter —

What, is ſhe mad too? What's the matter, Woman?

Nothing, Sir,—nothing,—I wan⯑ted a word with my Lady,—that's all, Sir.

You wou'd not for the World that your Maſter,—What was you going'to ſay? —What Paper's that?

Paper, Sir!

Let me ſee it.

Lard, Sir!—how can you aſk a Body for ſuch a thing. It's a Letter to me, Sir, — a Letter from the Country, — a Let⯑ter from my Siſter, Sir.—ſhe bids me buy her a Shiver de Fize Cap, and a Sixteenth in the Lottery; and tells me of a Number ſhe dreamt of, that's all, Sir,—I'll put it up.

Let me look at it,—give it me this Moment?

To Mrs. Lovemore! — Brilliant Faſhion. This is a Letter from the Country, is it?

That, Sir,—that is—no, Sir,—no, —that's not Siſter's Letter.—If you'll give me that back, Sir, I'll ſhew you the right one.

Where did you get this?

Sir?

Where did you get it? — Tell me Truth.

Dear heart, you fright a Body ſo —in the Parlour, Sir,—I found it there.

Very well!—Leave the Room.

The Devil fetch it, I was never ſo out in my Politicks, in all my Days.

A pretty Epiſtle truly this ſeems to be,—let me read it.

"Permit me, dear Madam, to throw myſelf on my Knees, (for on my Knees I muſt ad⯑dreſs you) and in that humble Poſture, to implore your Compaſſion."—Compaſſion with a Vengeance on him—

"Think you ſee me now with tender, melting, ſup⯑plicating Eyes, languiſhing at your Feet:" — Very well, Sir, —"Can you find it in your Heart to perſiſt in Cruelty?—Grant me but Acceſs to you once more, and in addition to what I already ſaid this Morning, I will urge ſuch Motives"—urge Motives, will ye—"as will ſuggeſt to you, that you ſhou'd no longer heſitate in Gratitude, to reward him, who ſtill on his Knees, here makes a Vow to you of eternal Conſtancy and Love. Brilliant Faſhion."

So; ſo! ſo!—your very humble Servant, Sir Brilliant Faſhion!—This is your Friend⯑ſhip for me, is it?—you're mighty kind in⯑deed, Sir,—but I thank you as much as if you had really done me the favour,— and, Mrs Lovemore, I'm your humble Servant too.— [70]She intends to laugh all the the reſt of her Life! This Letter will change her Note.— Odſo, yonder ſhe comes along the Gallery, and Sir Brilliant in full Chaſe of her.— They come this way, — cou'd I but detect them both now! — I'll ſtep aſide, and who knows but the Devil may tempt 'em to their undoing, — at leaſt I'll try, — a polite Huſband I am—There's the Coaſt clear for you, Madam.

I tell you, Sir Brilliant, your Civility is odious, — your Compliments ful⯑ſome, — and your Solicitations impertinent, Sir.—I muſt make uſe of harſh Language, Sir, — you provoke me to it and I can't re⯑frain.

By all my Hopes we are now con⯑veniently alone,

Not retiring to Soli⯑tude and Diſcontent again, I hope, Madam! —Have a Care, my dear Mrs. Lovemore of a Relapſe.

No Danger of that, Sir, don't be ſolicitous about me. — Why wou'd you leave the Company? let me entreat you to return, Sir.

By Heaven, there is more Rap⯑ture in being one Moment vis-a-vis with you, than in the Company of a whole Drawing-Room of Beauties.—Round you are melting [71]Pleaſures, tender Tranſports, youthful Loves, and blooming Graces, all unfelt, neglected, and deſpis'd, by a taſteleſs, cold, languid, un⯑impaſſion'd Huſband, while they might be all ſo much better employ'd to the Purpoſes of Extacy and Bliſs.

I am amaz'd, Sir, at this Li⯑berty,—what Action of my Life has autho⯑riz'd ſuch barefac'd Aſſurance? — and for what Reaſon do you think ſo meanly of me, as to imagine that I have not a greater Re⯑gard for my Reputation, and for what the World may ſay, Sir?

The World, Ma'am,—the World will juſtify you—ſhe ſerv'd him right —they will all agree in it,—there will be but one Opinion about it, — that is, Ma'am, if the World ſhould know it;—but our Loves may be as concealed, as Secrets undiſcover'd yet by mortal Eye. — By all that's ſoft, it goes down with her like a Diſh of Tea.

And ſo, Madam, ſince I have convinc'd you, —and ſince the Time, the Place, and mutual Ardor all concur —

Sir, I am not to be treated in this Manner,— and, I aſſure you, Sir, that were I not afraid of the evil Conſequences that might follow, I ſhould not heſitate a Moment to acquaint Mr. Lovemore with your whole Behaviour.

She won't tell her Huſband then, —charming Creature, and Bleſſings on her [72]for ſo convenient a Hint,—ſhe yields, by all that's wicked!—What ſhall I ſay to overwhelm her Senſes in a Flood of Nonſenſe?

Zoons, this is too much.

What the Devil's the Matter now?

This con⯑founded Buckle is always plaguing me.—My dear Boy, Lovemore,—I rejoice to ſee thee,

And have you the Confidence to look me in the Face?

I was telling your Lady here, of the moſt whimſical Adventure —

Don't add the Meanneſs of Falſhood, to the black Attempt of invading your Friend's Happineſs. — I did imagine, Sir, from the long Intercourſe that has ſubſiſted between us, that you might have had Delicacy enough, Feeling enough, Honour enough, Sir,—not to meditate an Injury like this.

Ay, ay, it's all over, I'm de⯑tected.

Mr. Lovemore, if begging your Pardon for this Raſhneſs will any ways atone—

No, Sir, nothing can atone. The Provocation you have given me, wou'd juſtify my drawing upon you this Inſtant, did not that Lady and this Roof protect you.

But Mr.Lovemore.

But, Sir —

I only beg—

Pray, Sir, — Sir, I inſiſt—I won't hear a word.

I declare, upon my Honour —

Honour! for Shame, Sir Brilliant, don't uſe the Word.

If begging Pardon of that Lady —

That Lady!—I deſire you will ne⯑ver ſpeak to that Lady.

Nay, but prithee, Lovemore.

No, Sir, no,—I have done with you for the preſent.—As for you, Madam, I am ſatisfy'd with your Conduct.—I was indeed, a little alarm'd, but I was a Witneſs of your Behaviour, and I'm above harbouring low Suſpicions.

Allow me but a Word —

No more, Sir, I have done —

Let me but explain—

Zoons!—I'll go into another Room to avoid you.

) Hell and Deſtruction, what Fiend is conjur'd up here?—Zounds, let me make my Eſcape out of the Houſe.

I'll ſecure this Door, — you muſt not go, my Dear.

S'death, Madam, let me paſs.

Nay, you ſhall ſtay, I want to in⯑troduce an Acquaintance of mine to you.

I deſire, Madam —

My Lord, my Lord Etheridge; I am heartily glad to ſee your Lordſhip.

Do my Dear, let me introduce this Lady to you.

Here's the Devil and all to do!

My Lord, this is the moſt for⯑tunate Encounter —

I wiſh I was Fifty Miles off.

Mrs. Bellmour, give me Leave to introduce Mr. Lovemore to you.

No, my dear Ma'am, let me introduce Lord Etheridge to you.

My Lord —

In the Name of Wonder, what is all this?

My dear Ma'am, you're miſ⯑taken; this is my Huſband.

Pardon me, Ma'am, 'tis my Lord Etheridge.

My Dear, how can you be ſo ill-bred in your own Houſe?—Mrs. Bellmour, —this is Mr. Lovemore.

Are you going to toſs me in a Blan⯑ket, Madam?—call up the reſt of your Peo⯑ple, if you are.

Pſhaw!—Prithee now, my Lord, leave off your Humours;—Mrs. Love⯑more, this is my Lord Etheridge, a Lover of mine, who has made Propoſals of Marriage to me,

Confuſion! let me get rid of theſe two Furies.

—My Lord I ſay! my Lord Etheridge! — won't your Lordſhip know me?

This is the moſt damnable Accident!

I hope your Lordſhip has not forgot your Appointment at my Houſe this Evening.

Ay now my Turn is come,

Prithee, my Lord, what have I done, that you treat me with this Coldneſs? Come, come, you ſhall have a Wife, I will take Compaſſion on you.

Damnation! I can't ſtand this,

Come, cheer up, my Lord;— What the duce, your Dreſs is alter'd!—What's become of the Star and the Ribband?—And ſo the gay, the florid, the magniſique Lord Etheridge, dwindles down into plain Mr. Lovemore, the Married Man! Mr. Lovemore, [76]your moſt obedient, very humble Servant, Sir.

I can't bear to feel my myſelf in ſo ridiculous a Circumſtance.

I beg my Compliments to your Friend Mrs. Leveit; and I am much oblig'd to you both for your very honourable De⯑ſigs.—

I never was ſo aſham'd in all my Life! —

So, ſo, ſo, all his Pains were to hide the Star from me.—The Diſcovery is a perfect Cordial to my dejected Spirits.

Mrs. Lovemore, I cannot ſuffi⯑ciently acknowledge the Providence, that di⯑rected you to pay me a Viſit, tho' I was wholly unknown to you; and I ſhall hence⯑forth conſider you as my Deliverer.

Zoons! It was ſhe that fainted away in the Cloſet, and be damn'd to her Jealouſy,

By all that's whimſical, an odd ſort of an Adventure this — my Lord,

My Lord, — my Lord Ethe⯑riage, as the Man ſays in the Play, "Your Lordſhip's right welcome back to Denmark."

Now he comes upon me.—Oh! I'm in a fine Situation,

My Lord, I hope that ugly Pain in your Lordſhip's Side, is abated.

Abſurd, and ridiculous,

There is nothing forming there I hope, my Lord.

I begin now to feel for him, and to pity his Uneaſineſs.

Pray, my Lord, don't you think it a baſe Thing to invade the Happineſs of a Friend? Or to do him a clandeſtine Wrong? or to injure him with the Woman he loves?

To cut the Matter ſhort with you, Sir, we are both Raſcals.

Raſcal!

Ay both! We are two very pretty Fellows indeed!

I am glad to find that you are at length awaken'd into a Senſe of your Error.

I am, Madam, and I am frank enough to own it. — I am above attempting to diſ⯑guiſe my Feelings, when I am conſcious they are on the Side of Truth and Honour;— and Madam, with a true Remorſe, — I aſk your Pardon.

Upon certain Terms, I don't know but I may ſign and ſeal your Pardon.

Terms! What Terms?—

That you make due Expiation of your Guilt to that Lady.

That Lady, Ma'am! — That Lady has no Reaſon to complain.

No Reaſon to complain, Mr. Lovemore!

No Madam, — none! for whatever may have been my Imprudences, they have had their Source in your Conduct.

In my Conduct, Sir!

In your Conduct!—I here declare before this Company, —and I am above pal⯑liating the Matter, I here declare, that no Man in England cou'd be better inclin'd to domeſtic Happineſs, if you, Madam, on your Part, had been willing to make Home agree⯑able.

There I confeſs he touches me.

You cou'd take Pains enough before Marriage, — you would put forth all your Charms,—practice all your Arts,—and make your Features pleaſe by Rule;—for ever changing, — running an eternal Round of Variety: —And all this to win my Affecti⯑ons: — But when you had won them, you did not think them worth your keeping.— Never dreſs'd, — penſive, — ſilent, —melan⯑choly;—and the only Entertainment in my Houſe, was the dear Pleaſure of a dull con⯑jugal Tete-a-Tete; and all this Inſipidity, be⯑cauſe you think the ſole Merit of a Wife con⯑ſiſts in her Virtue:—A fine Way of amuſing a Huſband truly!

Upon my Soul, and ſo it is.—

O Gemini! Gemini! here's ſuch a Piece of work,—what ſhall I do?— my poor dear Lady!

Is the Woman crazy?

Oh! Madam, — forgive me, my dear Madam,—I did not do it on purpoſe,— as I hope for Mercy, I did not.

What did not you do?

I did not intend to give it him, I would have ſeen him gibbetted firſt. — I found the Letter in the Parlour, Madam, —I knew it was the ſame Letter I had de⯑liver'd to you, and my Curioſity did make me peep into it. — Says my Curioſity, — "Now, Muſlin, you may gratify yourſelf by finding out the Contents of that Letter, which you have ſuch a violent Itching for." — My Curioſity ſaid ſo, Ma'am, and then, I own, Ma'am, my Reſpect for you did ſay to me, "Huſſey, how dare you meddle with what does not belong to you?— keep your Diſtance, and let your Miſtreſs's Secrets alone."—But then upon that, in comes my Curioſity again, and ſays my Curioſity, "Read it, I tell you, Muſlin, a Woman of Spirit ſhou'd know every thing."—"Let it alone, you Jade," ſays my Reſpect.—"It's as much as your Place is worth."—"There's more Places than one," ſays my Curioſity, "and ſo read it, I tell you, Muſlin,"—I did read it, [80]— what could I do? Heaven help me, —I did read it,—I don't go to deny it,—I don't, I don't.

Don't keep ſuch an Uproar, Woman.

And then, after I read it, thinks me, I, I'll give this to my Miſtreſs directly, and that perſidious thing her Huſband ſhall not ſee it; — and ſo as my ill Stars would wou'd have it, as I was looking for you, I run my hand full in the Lion's mouth.

What an unlucky Jade it has been!

Well have done, Muſlin; this is too much.

Upon my word but ſhe gives him his own.—I ſuppoſe you own the Truth of what ſhe ſays, Mr. Lovemore.

Pray, Madam, does that Lady own the Truth of what I have ſaid?

Sir, I am ſenſible there is too much Truth in what you ſay; this Lady has open'd my Eyes, and convinc'd me that there was a Miſtake in my former Conduct.

Come, come, you need not ſay any more—I forgive you,—I forgive you.

Forgive me! I like that Air of Confidence, when you know, that on my Side, it is at worſt, an Error in Judgment, whereas on yours —

Come, come, you know each other's Faults and Virtues, and ſo you have nothing to do but to mend the former, and enjoy the latter.—There, — there, kiſs and Friends.—There, Mrs. Lovemore, take your reclaim'd Libertine to your Arms.

It is in your Power, Madam, to make a reclaim'd Libertine of me indeed.

From this Moment it ſhall be our mutual Study to pleaſe each other.

may I preſume to hope for Pardon at that Lady's Hands?

My dear Confederate in Vice, your Pardon is granted.—Two ſad Dogs we have been,—but come, give us your Hand,—we have us'd each other damnably—for the future we will endeavour to make each other amends.

And ſo we will.—Ma'am, ſince my Lord decamps from before the Town, may I preſume to hope—

I poſitively forbid you the leaſt Grain of Hope; whenever I take to myſelf a Huſband, I muſt be convinc'd firſt that he will anſwer the Trouble of keeping him.

My dear Ma'am, by all that's—

No Swearing—I poſitively will have my own way; you ſhall perform Qua⯑rantine before I ſpeak to you again.

She's your's Man, ſhe's your's, — ſhe'll throw herſelf into your Arms in a Day or two.— And now I heartily congra⯑tulate the whole Company, that this Buſi⯑neſs has had ſo happy a Tendency to convince each of us of our Folly.

Pray, Sir, don't draw me into Share of your Folly.

Come, come, my dear Ma'am, you are not without your Share of it. This will teach you for the future, to be content with one Lover at a time, without liſten⯑ing to a Fellow you know nothing of, — becauſe he aſſumes a Title, and reports well of himſelf.

The Reproof is juſt, I grant it.

Come, let us join the Company chearfully, keep our own Secrets, and not make ourſelves a Town-Talk;— though, I don't know but if this Tranſaction were ſent abroad into the World, it might prove a very uſeful Leſſon. The Men wou'd ſee how their Paffions may carry them into the Dan⯑ger of wounding the Boſom of a Friend,— the Ladies wou'd learn, that after the Marri⯑age Rites, they ſhou'd not ſuffer their Powers of pleaſing to languish away, but ſhou'd ſtill remember to ſacrifice to the Graces.