ACT I.

SO, Sedley, you really have been three weeks without ſeeing Miſs Bloomer?

True, I aſſure you, Woodford, and intend, if my reſolution holds, never to ſee her again.

But I underſtood every thing was ſettled between you both, and that nothing remain'd but to name the happy day.

Prithee, Woodford, no more.—It adds to my uneaſineſs to hear her mention'd.

Why ſo?

Becauſe I find, this too ſuſceptible heart of mine cannot ſo readily eraſe the impreſſions her youth, beauty, and innocence have made upon it.

Indeed! But what reaſon can you have for wiſhing it?

The greateſt in the world, Woodford.

I cannot think ſo,—explain, or I ſhall certainly imagine you whimſical and capricious.

When I firſt paid my addreſſes to Miſs Bloomer, ſuch were the beauties of her mind as well [2]as perſon, that I fancied I had found one, all per⯑fect as the firſt, before ſhe fell.

Then were you in an Adamitical paradiſe.

A fool's one, rather,—ſhe received me with ſuch a flattering diſtinction that I thought myſelf the happieſt of mortals, when unluckily, her guar⯑dian's dying put her into the immediate poſſeſſion of a large fortune.

Now I ſhould have thought that the luc⯑kieſt circumſtance that cou'd have happen'd.

Quite the contrary,—thus freed from re⯑ſtraint, at the age of eighteen, ſhe emerged into all the faſhionable follies of the great world, without a real friend to adviſe, or direct her.

Why did not you undertake that office?

I did, but ſoon found it was an ungrateful one—ſo fine a girl, independent of intereſted mo⯑tives, cou'd not fail of attracting a crowd of ad⯑mirers; and—

You, naturally grew jealous.

Jealous! My heart was torn in pieces.—'Twas then I diſcover'd a levity of temper, a thought⯑leſſneſs, a love of pleaſure, that deſtroy'd my hopes.

Pſha! trifles.—Foibles like theſe are as ſpecks upon the ſun.

Ay, but in time they threaten a total eclipſe.—No character, however contemptible, but was en⯑couraged as a lover.—No ſcene of gaiety, however cenſurable, but was purſued with avidity.—A thou⯑ſand inſtances did I patiently bear with, in hopes of amendment.—Oft in the gentleſt terms, did I con⯑vey advice, and repreſent the hazards ſhe ran; as oft was I forbad her preſence.

Ha! ha! ha! upon my word, you took an excellent method of rendering yourſelf agreeable to a girl of her age and ſpirit.

But when I intended that girl as a partner for life, cou'd you blame my cautious conduct? No, [3]Woodford; though never man was more ſenſible of beauty's charms than I, yet unleſs thoſe charms are adorned with virtue, they make not half the impreſ⯑ſion.

That's a little romantic; but pray go on.

Many times did I reſcue her from the moſt imminent dangers which her indiſcretions plunged her into, yet ſtill ſhe perſevered.—At length,—

Hold, who comes here?

Oh, 'tis Monſieur Fineſſe,—one of my ri⯑vals,—a fellow, whoſe impudence can only be equall'd by his ignorance.

Ah, gentlement!—Votre tres humble ſervi⯑teur!—I be moſt glad to ſee you both,—Monſieur Sedley, I beg a to ſpeak von word or two wid you.

Any thing particular, Fineſſe?

Oh, oui, ver particular—for your own ear.

You may ſpeak out before Woodford, I have juſt been acquainting him with the whole affair.

Qu' avez vous fair?—Ma foy, dat be wrong done.—You ſhou'd ſay noting to hurt de fine Lady's reputation.

He is my particular friend, and I can an⯑ſwer for his diſcretion.

Parbleu! particular friend ſometime do de moſht miſchief.

That will not be the caſe with me, I pro⯑miſe you.

Come, what news of Miſs Bloomer?

Ah, pauvre Lady! ſhe had de grand eſcape yeſterday.

Eſcape? how?

Why, ſhe be taking de innocent diverſion at Vauxhall, wid de bon companie, as ſhe ſuppoſe, and engage in de partie wid tree gentlemen, and deux ladie, to be entertain in a boat on de Thames.

In a boat on the Thames?—Well!—Go on.

Dey be all ſtranger to her, but vat of dat? She not tink any harm.—So dey row, row along, have de muſique, ſing de petite chanſon, and be all ſo merry and gay, till dey land at de Couſin, as dey call her, but begar ſhe be—Vat you call Fille de joie?

Woman of the town.

Oui,—ſhe be woman of de town,—den Miſs Bloomer find her miſtake, and vant to return home again.—Dey ſay, no, no, and grow hardis,—at laſt, when ſhe be almoſt excedée, etrois gentlemen by accident hear her cries, and tout à fait, reſcue her.

Wou'd I had been there!—Villains!

Oh, oui!—Villains indeed.

You ſee, Woodford, there's another inſtance of her conduct.—Do you think it poſſible for me to be happy with ſuch a woman?

I tell you, man, you are too delicate.—Tho' appearances are againſt her, yet, I dare affirm, that theſe are all miſtakes of the heart, which in time her better judgment will rectify.

True, dey be all in de heart,—all vivacité, noting elſe.—I muſt find ſome oder opportunity, when I ſhall have him to himſelf.

Well, Monſieur Sedley, I vill bid you de good morn,—I am going to viſit de Lady, I ſhall hear ſometing more dere, and den I vill call on you at home, in private.—Gentlemen, ſans compliment, I have de honneur to be your very humble ſervant.

Hearky', Sedley, do you build anything upon this fellow's intelligence?—A wretch! that's an outcaſt, and diſgrace to his nation.

Yet this very outcaſt, as he really is, does ſhe treat in the moſt encouraging manner; and, without the leaſt enquiry into his fortune or charac⯑ter, admit amongſt the number of her admirers.—But let us change the ſubject.—So then it ſeems your Uncle has civilly diſmiſs'd you his houſe?

Not ſo civilly, I aſſure you.

Don't you think you deſerved it? Captain Helm, you know, has ſpent the greater part of his life in ploughing the tempeſtuous ocean, and tho' poſſeſt of an excellent heart, has not the leaſt idea of the refined ſentiments inſpired by a liberal education.—You were certain that your whole dependance was upon him, yet refus'd flattering the harmleſs foibles which peculiarly mark his character.

You miſtake me, Sedley, I often did, till this laſt affair.—But, when he commenc'd my rival, my happineſs was too much concern'd to trifle any longer.

Well, and has he declar'd his paſſion?

No, but as a preparatory ſtep, he has given Lady Younglove (who is juſt return'd to town with her daughter) to underſtand, that for the fu⯑ture, ſhe muſt not encourage my pretenſions, as I have nothing to expect from him.

So! your hopes are all over in that quarter?

Entirely! I called yeſterday, to welcome my dear girl, my beauteous Flora, to London, and was refuſed admittance.

Indeed!

True, and I am now reduced to ſuch diſ⯑treſs, that, unleſs you can aſſiſt me with your ad⯑vice, and—

Here's my hand,—Depend upon my utmoſt, I feel too much myſelf, tho' from a different cauſe, not to compaſſionate you.

I expected no leſs from your generous friendſhip, but how ſhall we act?—What can I do?

Upon my word, I don't know.—I own yours is a critical caſe.—But, we muſt not deſpair,—I be⯑lieve as matters ſtand, we had beſt work by ſtratagem. Luckily, I ſtand high in the eſtimation of your Uncle, as well as Lady Younglove.

You'll find him inexorable, and her—

Not proof againſt flattery,—all mankind have their weak ſide, Woodford, and much may be done by taking a proper advantage of their follies.

I wiſh you may not be miſtaken in the pre⯑ſent caſe.

Never fear.—Let me ſee,

No, that won't do.—Stay, I believe I have it.—Suppoſe, I attack Lady Younglove myſelf, and perſuade her, that I am dying for love of her.

No, no, that's impoſſible,—'twould be too ridiculous.

Ha! ha! ha! I'll lay my life there's nothing eaſier.—Attack Widows by ſtorm, and they can't reſiſt you.—Beſides, her time grows ſhort, and as ſhe was in ſuch a violent hurry to get a ſecond huſ⯑band, there's all the reaſon in the world to imagine her ſtill more impatient for a third.

But what end do you propoſe by this ſcheme?

To ſerve you, but in what manner I have not yet determined.—Come, let's home to my houſe and conſider farther.—Nay, nay, no excuſes.—I ſee you are unfit to be left to yourſelf.—And the heart which does not feel the diſtreſs of a friend, is not worthy of exiſtence.

Ha! ha!—And ſo, Monſieur Sedley be⯑lieve all de Menſonge, all de ſtory you tell him of my Lady.

Oui, he tink it all verité.

Bon!—And I ſo ſpeak in your praiſe, dat ſhe love you more dan all her oder admirers.

Brave, ma petite mignonne!—And, ſhe be aſſurée, dat I be von man of grand qualite?

Sans doubt!—ſhe no ſuſpect any ting—But, you remember—If I help you to marry de Lady, I am to have de five hundred pound.

Oh!—Faites fond ſur moi—Depend upon me.

Vera well—Je ſuis content!—I am ſatisfied,—She be now alone, ſtay you dere, and I vil ſay you are waiting for her.

Allons, Mademoiſelle.—Begar! I vil put de von little ſheat upon you too, for all dat.—Love own country vera well, but love own ſelf muſh bet⯑ter.

Ha! my dear Monſieur Fineſſe—I am ex⯑travagantly glad to ſee you.—I wiſh he was at the Devil with all my heart.

You make me quite happy.—If your neck was broke.

What, I find you ſtill dance attendance at Miſs Bloomer's levee.

Il eſt vrai, Monſieur Ogle—It is true,—When a young Lady like Miſs Bloomer diſtinguiſh de gentilhomme, de gentilhomme do all in his power to return de compliment.

You are right, Monſieur,—Juſt my caſe to a hair.—If a fooliſh girl takes it into her head, to fall deſperately in love with me,—tho' upon my ſoul, I can't ſee for what—Can I be ſo barbarous as to ſlight her?—Oh, no, 'tis not in my nature to be ſo inhuman.

Hark!—Here ſhe comes, and as lively as ever.

Gentlemen, your moſt obedient,—Hey day! Only you two!—Why I am quite deſerted this morning.—Oh, Mr. Spangle! what not drowned yet?—Pſha! you are not half the deſpairing lover you ought to be.

Oh, fie for ſhame, Monſieur Spangle, not drown yourſelf to pleaſe de Lady.

Ha! ha! ha!—I dare ſay, Monſieur Fineſſe, you'd readily oblige me with ſuch a proof of your gallantry, and reſpect.

Oh, madam, I beg to be excuſe—De hang, and de drown'd be ſo barbare, ſo truly Englis, dat it ſhock a me quite—No, rader let me live to adore you, ma belle ange.

Then is there no poſſibility of inſpiring that obdurate boſom of yours?

Oh! I am in love!

Indeed!

Yes, violently, to diſtraction.

And may I aſk, who is the happy object of your paſſion?

The monkey you gave me—He is ſo much the image of yourſelf, that I have doted on him this week paſt.

Ha! ha! ha! De monkey—Ha! ha! ha! le drole, ſerviteur, Monſieur Monkey.

I aſſure you I intend to dreſs the dear creature up in a faſhionable ſuit, have him frizz'd, powder'd, and painted alamode, and have not the leaſt doubt but he'll acquit himſelf as well as moſt of the fine gentlemen about town.

You know the power you have over me, and love to tyrannize.

Poor gentleman!—how pathetically that was ſpoken! Pray go on.

I aſſure you, madam, little as you may think of—

That pretty, delicate, enamell'd face of yours; yet, it has made many a Lady's heart go pit-a-pat.

Admirable!—Ha! ha! ha!—Ah! pauvre diable, ha! ha!

As for Monſieur Fineſſe here, there is not the leaſt fear of the weather's injuring his complexion.

No, madam, mine be de true bronze.

Well, gentlemen, I ſuppoſe you are both come upon the old ſubject—To ſhew how im⯑partial [9]partial I am, both ſhall have fair play, and each declare his paſſion in turn. You, Mr. Spangle, be⯑ing my humble ſervant the longeſt, ſhall begin firſt.—Come, make haſte, you have no time to loſe—I expect twenty more, every moment, on the ſame er⯑rand.

Hearky', you ſoft bewitching little gypſy.

Bravo! go on.

Do you think I am always to be treated in this unmerciful manner?

Curſe catch me! if I am not reveng'd on you for this cruelty.

What, you'll break my chain?—Do, if you can—If my glaſs is to be believ'd, that's out of your power.—Well, ſince I find you have nothing more to ſay, now, to you—"Tho' laſt not leaſt in my eſteem."

Den, madam, ſans compliment, ou flatterie, you be de ſweeteſt and moſt lovely creature I ever ſaw—And if I be ſo happy as to—

Have it in your power to make me unhappy—

O, permettez moi, madam, you not hear me out.

Mrs. Faſhion, your Ladyſhip's milliner, to wait on you.

Shew her up.—I am very ſorry, gen⯑tlemen, to be deprived of the pleaſure of your com⯑pany, but buſineſs you know—

O, dear ma'am, no excuſe—

I ſhall be glad to ſee you again, this afternoon.

Je m'en vais, madam, I ſhall be here when you no tink.

Hold, come back—I've a thought which may be of infinite ſervice to you and me.

Pray, madam,—Que dites vous? Vat you ſay?

Why, as you are both rivals, and men of ſuch undoubted courage, what think you of a rencontre to-morrow morning?

O, dear ma'am, we are infinitely oblig'd to you.

Oui, too much oblige, indeed, madam.

I wou'd not propoſe this to every hot⯑headed ſpark, but I have ſuch a reliance upon your prudence and diſcretion, that I am not the leaſt ap⯑prehenſive of ill conſequences.

You pay us a great compliment, really, madam.

No more than you deſerve,—By this, you'll acquire a reputation in the world, and add to my fame.—Go, go, and let me hear that you have done ſomething to be talk'd of before I ſee you again.

Madam, I ſhall have de glory of obeying your commands.—Monſieur Spangle, ſince noting elſe will ſatisfy de lady, I beg you to witdraw, and let me have de honneur to cut your troat a la Fran⯑çoiſe.

O, I'll withdraw with all my heart.—But, the Devil fetch me, if I have my throat cut, a la Françoiſe, or a la Anglois.

Ha! ha! ha! thus do I ſport with fools.

Well, Mrs. Faſhion, ſure ſomething very particular brings you here.

Very particular indeed, your Lady⯑ſhip,—And yet, it is not particular to you neither, for, heaven bleſs you! it happens every day.

Well, what is it?

Ah, that ſweet ſace!—No wonder it turns every body's brain.

What is all this about?

I aſſure you, I have ſo much work in hand, that I could hardly ſpare the time to—

I wiſh you would waſte a little leſs of it now.

Some of my beſt cuſtomers too.—I ſhall be oblig'd to ſit up all night.—But poor gen⯑tleman, he is in ſuch a bitter taking—

What gentleman?

Ah! that ſweet ſhape and air.—Well, if it be your lot to come together, you'll make a lovely couple.

Was ever any thing ſo provoking!—I proteſt, I ſhall be quite angry, if you keep me any longer in ſuſpence.

Angry! no, no, that face of yours was never made for frowning.—What ſay you to a new admirer, now?

Pſha! was this the mighty matter,—I don't want admirers, I promiſe you.

No, by my faith, don't you, but this is one out of the common road.

Then, he had better turn into the common road again, or he may chance to go aſtray.

Ah! you are always witty.—Oh, he is one of the clevereſt, propereſt, beſt-bred gentle⯑men,—I'm ſure he brings tears into my eyes, to hear all the fine things he ſays of you.

You are very tender, indeed, Mrs. Faſhion.

As a chicken.—And then for quality, he tops them all.

Does he?

Oh, yes, Miſs—You muſt know that his father's a Lord, he is the eldeſt ſon, but upon ſome little diſagreement—A love affair—A Lady of [12]vaſt fortune his father wanted him to marry.—He took lodgings in my houſe, in order to be private, till matters are made up.

Then he is your lodger at preſent?

And the beſt lodger I ever had—Mo⯑ney is no more to him than pins are to me.—Then for company, my houſe is hardly ever empty of Lords, Dukes, and Baronets.

Oh! he lives quite private, I find.—But, pray, what may be the name of this extraordi⯑nary perſon?

Why that's a ſecret—But between our⯑ſelves, I have found out from his ſervants, that he is the young Lord Flamwell.

Flamwell!—I never heard of the name before—But that's no wonder, for of late, no⯑bility ſpring up like muſhrooms.—

He has ſeen you at ſome of the pub⯑lic places, and has been dying for you ever ſince.

So, you are come Embaſſadreſs from him?

Me, Miſs!—Lord, what could put ſuch a thing into your head?—He does not even know that I ever ſaw you—And yet, he is in ſuch diſtreſs, that if you would condeſcend to come to my houſe this afternoon—

To your houſe?—Surely, Mrs. Fa⯑ſhion, you don't imagine, that—

Nay, only for a quarter of an hour, or ſo, by way of amuſement.

I thank you, but I don't want amuſe⯑ment.

But, I have ſome of neweſt faſhions come over from Paris—Not a creature in London has ſeen them, but myſelf—O, they'd become your Ladyſhip admirably—So elegant, ſo pretty—If you chuſe, you may have the honour of leading the taſte for the next three months.

My dear Mrs. Faſhion, you are very good.

Ay, I thought I ſhou'd pleaſe you.

Then, I'll order my chair, and give you a call before dinner.

I never ſaw any thing in my life ſo be⯑coming.

Be ſure, you don't let them be ſeen by any body before I come.

Seen! no, not if a Dutcheſs was to bribe me.—Then, I'll expect your Ladyſhip.—Lord, what time I have ſpent, prattle, prattle, never think, and yet, ſo much work!—Hurry, hurry, not a minute to loſe—Your Ladyſhip's moſt obedient, humble ſervant.

This intelligence has given me new ſpirits—I proteſt, I began to be apprehenſive that my charms were on the fade—A whole week paſſed, and not one new admirer.

My dear Belgrove, you are come moſt opportunely—Do you know, that ſince I ſaw you laſt, I have made a freſh conqueſt?

I don't find any thing ſo ſurprizing in that.

Why no, that's true, but I have now roſe a ſtep higher, and captivated a Lord.

Lord, or commoner, I ſuppoſe he'll ſhare the ſame fate with the reſt.

Certainly, my dear, you would not have me be unjuſt.

No, really, I would not, therefore en⯑tirely diſapprove of your making ſuch fools of them.

You miſtake, child, the generality of them were fools ready made to my hand.

Some of them might be ſo, but I don't find you are in the leaſt more favourable to men of ſenſe.

Oh! I hate your ſenſible men, and take a particular pleaſure in tormenting them.

That's very extraordinary.—But why ſo?

Becauſe it adds more to my reputation, to lead in chains one of thoſe wiſe Lords of the crea⯑tion, who has ſenſe enough to know I uſe him ill, yet not power ſufficient to break his fetters, than a thouſand of thoſe mincing, whiffling, trifling, good-for-no⯑thing, pretty, Maſter Jeſſamys.

Well! tho' I ſhall never approve of your ſcheme, I almoſt wiſh for your ſpirits.

Spirits, my dear!—Lord, what ſhould put me out of ſpirits?—Time enough for me to pine and languiſh, when the Hey-day of my charms are over—Mine, I'm afraid, will be but a ſhort reign, ſo am determin'd to make the moſt of it.

Then I find you do intend to marry.

Yes, yes, ſome time or other.—. It wou'd mortify me prodigiouſly, to die an old maid.—No, no, I aſſure you, I have not the leaſt ambi⯑tion to lead apes, no more than I have at preſent to be led by one myſelf.—I wou'd only play with the male creatures, as a ſkilful angler does with his fiſh.—Amuſe myſelf the ſportive ſummer's day, bait my hook well for gudgeons, ſee the pretty innocents, nibble, nibble, nibble, as faſt as I could caſt in—Draw them out when I pleaſed—Stroke the delicate things, and then throw them in again—till evening ſun having diſagreeably lengthen'd my ſhadow, pick out the hero of the ſtream, and retire to my ruſtic cottage, content with the pleaſures of the day.

But, pray, in the midſt of this round of amuſements, do you never feel a pang for the loſs of Sedley?

If I really thought I had loſt him for ever, I ſhould be heartily mortified.

Don't you think it begins to look like it?

Why, I am a little alarmed,—for to confeſs the truth ſincerely, which in thoſe caſes I very ſeldom do—Of all the men that ever addreſs'd me, he is the only one who has made an impreſtion on my heart.

Why did not you uſe him better?

'Tis not in my nature to be ſerious long together, therefore why ſhould he expect it?

Conſider the many obligations you are under to him.—The many dangers he reſcued you from, which your innocent levity expoſed you to.

That's true; but then he ſhould not have taken ſo ungenerous an advantage of them, as to tell me, that I did wrong, and preſcribe rules for my future conduct.

Were not thoſe rules for your good?

Yes, but we are not always diſpos'd to reliſh advice.

I really think, if you loſe him, you'll never meet with ſuch another.

If I am diſappointed of him, I ſhall never have any other, that's paſt a doubt—And as a proof, were he now to return, I would frankly own, that, though I am innocent, even in intention of acting wrong, yet, my thoughtleſſneſs, many times, leads me into great errors, which nothing but the ſincerity of my heart can excuſe.

'Tis great pity you did not make this declaration before.

Pſha! he muſt take me, as he finds me.—Can he be ſo unconſcionable as to expect, that I ſhould draw up my head, hold down my eyes, put my hands together, drop him a low curteſy, and ſay,—I have been a naughty girl to be ſure, but, pray forgive me this time, and indeed, and double deed, I'll do ſo no more?

No, but he might reaſonably expect, that you'd diſmiſs your numerous train of followers; [16]—and, as you have often ſacrificed men of worth at the ſhrine of folly, ſo in return, to make a gene⯑ral oblation—Offer up a hecatomb of fools, at the altar of diſcretion.

Do I bid the creatures follow me?

Nor don't you encourage them, when they do?

Ay, that is, becauſe I hate ill-nature.

But are not you afraid your reputation ſhould ſuffer?

Oh, my dear, not in the leaſt—Every thing we do becomes us,—Our very frailties are pleaſing.

Conſider, the—

Poſitively, I won't conſider about the matter—So, come along, and always remember theſe never-failing lines—

ACT II.

SWAB!

Here, your Honour.

What ſort of weather abroad?

A little hazey, your Honour; the wind S. S-E.

D'ye think you cou'd take me under convoy as far as Lady Younglove's?

I warrant I'll tow you along, if ſo be as how you'll keep above water.

Say you ſo?—Then on with your beſt jacket and trowſers, and help me to rig myſelf out.

Ha! Sedley!—What chear, boy?—How goes it?

Very well, I thank you, Captain.

Give me your hand—here, Swab, help to heave me up—ſo, ſo—now, turn out, and keep a ſtrict watch.

If Bet Mainſail, my meſs-mate's widow, hails me again, what anſwer ſhall I give her?

Stow her hold well with right Nantz—Give her five guineas to buy new rigging, and tell her, if ſhe'll hoiſt the ſign of Admiral Boſeawen on Portſ⯑mouth Common, I'll take care to keep her off a lee ſhore.

Bleſs your Honour's glory!—She ſhall have as much of the good creature as ſhe can carry;—and, ſnatch my bowlings, if I don't tip her half a piece myſelf, for old acquaintance ſake.

You ſee I am laid upon the ſtocks a little, but no matter for that—Tho' my out-works are ſomething damaged, yet my inſide is heart of oak.

I am glad to hear it—Preſuming, Captain, on the regard you always profeſt for me, I am now come to intercede in behalf of your nephew.

Avaſt, avaſt, tack about, and pay away no more of that cable—My nephew, d'ye ſee, is a lazy land-lubber—If he had taken my advice, I would have made a man of him, and taught him to hand, reef, and ſteer, with e'er a ſeaman in the navy.

Theſe are accompliſhments, Captain, not ſuitable to every man's taſte and genius.

Then their taſte is not worth a rope's end—I myſelf, tho' a younger brother, made my own for⯑tune while his father was ſquandering away his—I was twice round the globe, before I was forty—In every birth, from cabbin-boy, up to Captain of the Terrible—And now, having ſufficient to lie by, I am reſolved to enjoy it, and ride in a ſmooth har⯑bour all the reſt of my days.

But, Captain, tho' you was ſo fond of the ocean, and had ſuch ſucceſs, your nephew may not have the ſame inclinations, and you ſhould make ſome allowance.

No, that's not my way—So, if he has a mind to gain the wind of my affection, he muſt ſheer off from the little frigate he has ſo long kept in chace, and let me fit him out for a vovage in the Tempeſt, which ſails in a few weeks for the Eaſt-Indies.

Then your reſolution is fixed—

As the Poles.

And in his abſence, I ſuppoſe, you intend attacking Miſs Flora yourſelf.

Right, I have ſome thoughts of bearing down that way.

But, Captain, don't the great diſparity of years between you and her, deter you?

No, the more danger, the more honour—Mayhap, you may think it ſtrange, that after ſteer⯑ing ſo long clear of a wife, I ſhould, all of a ſudden, veer about, and clap the matrimonial tack aboard.

He that's long at ſea, will find the wind blow from every point of the compaſs—I have ſel⯑dom been ſix months a-ſhore at one time, ſince I was a boy, ſo never had opportunity of coming a-long-ſide any but ſuch as your Portſmouth or Plymouth fire⯑ſhips, who damage every veſſel they grapple with.

And them, I ſuppoſe, you avoided.

Why, ay—So, d'ye ſee, being lately wea⯑ther-bound in a trip I made to take obſervation of ſome land that lay a-head of Lady Younglove's, I was forced to put into port at her houſe.

Where you ſaw her beautiful daughter.

I did, and in the three glaſſes we ſtaid there, ſhe drew my heart with as ſtrong an attraction, as ever the loadſtone did the needle.

Have you communicated your ſentiments to the mother?

No, not yet, but I intend ſhaping my courſe that way directly.

I believe, Captain, I can be of ſervice to you in this affair.

As how, pray?

I am this moment going to pay my ad⯑dreſſes to the mother.

What, the old hulk?—Ah, my boy, I'm afraid you are out of your reckoning there—You don't know the trim of her—She'll not be brought to obey either the helm, or the ſheet, and if you'll take my advice, you'll e'en let her drop to pieces where ſhe lies at anchor.

I'll venture, however—The more danger, the more honour, as you ſay; and if you'll aſſiſt me, I don't doubt of ſucceeding.

Well, well, ſince the current of your incli⯑nation ſets that way, I ſhan't attempt to ſtem it—thof, let me tell you, ſhe ſaw her two former con⯑ſorts go to the bottom, and if you don't take care, you'll ſhare the ſame fate.

I confeſs, I have a terrible proſpect, but nothing ſhall deter me—If you'll ſuſpend your viſit, I'll return as ſoon as our interview is over, and in form you of my ſucceſs.

Ay, ay, I ſhall lie by 'till then—But, hark⯑ye, Sedley! may I never ſtrike an enemy's flag a⯑gain, if I would not rather be rak'd fore and aft by a whole French ſquadron, than ſtand one broad⯑ſide from ſuch a Turkiſh pirate.

So, den, de milliner introduce your Lady to de Lord Flamwell?

Oui, I overhear all, and my Lady be juſt gone to her houſe.

Diable! I am almoſt diſtract!—I no ſooner get rid of von rival den anoder ſtart up.

Patience, Monſieur, we go on ver well—So long as we keep Sedley away, we no fear de reſt, but I expect Sir Whifling Trifle, Lady Younglove's broder, tout á l'heure, preſently.

O dat is true, let him come ſo ſoon as he will; I am prepare for him.

Huſh! here he be.

Now, my pretty Mademoiſelle, have I the happineſs of finding your Lady at home?

No, Monſieur, my Lady be juſt gone out, but here be a Gentleman who has been waiting for you wid de greateſt impatience.

For me! who is he, pray?

Monſieur le Marquis de Fineſſe, un grand voyageur, who be juſt arrive in England—He hear, par accident, of your viſiting my Lady, ſo—

Sir, you do me honour.

So, now I have introduce him; I'll leave you togeder, and go wait for my Lady.

Pray, Sir, may I without offence know the motive of this Interview?

Curioſity, Monſieur, to ſee ſo great a man, whoſe actions Fame's brazen trompete has blazon'd to every diſtant part of de world.

Oh, dear Sir! this is too much—To be ſure, for theſe thirty years paſt, I've ſpent my whole time in the purſuit of objects diſregarded by the generality of the world; and, I think, I may without vanity ſay, that my labours have been ſuc⯑ceſsful.

Je le ſais bien, Monſieur, I know it, and from a ſimilarity of diſpoſition beg leave to court your ac⯑quaintance.

I ſhall be proud of the favour, Sir.

I have myſelf, Monſieur, for deſe many years paſt, been a traveller, and collector of de raritie.

Sir, you pleaſe me very much—may I take the liberty to aſk, where you have been, and what curioſities you have collected?

De tout mon coeur, Monſieur, wid all my heart—I have travelle over moſht parts of de globe, ſometime I ride, ſometime I valk, ſometime dey carry me againſt my will—Sometime at my own ſharge, and ſometime at de publique expence.

The public expence?

Oh, Oui, for de good of de nation—Dat is when I be tranſporte.

Ah, that's an honour I am afraid I ſhall never arrive at—But pray let's hear.

In Italy, Prince Palivicini preſente me wid a piece of de Veſuvian eruption dat choaka Pliny vid its ſmoke.

Wonderful!—But how are you certain of that?

Oh, from a worm-eaten manuſcript preſerve wid it, whereon a P for Pliny, and V for Veſuvio, ſtill viſible.

Proof, proof enough.

Oh, certainement—proof enough.

Had the whole manuſcript been pre⯑ſerved it would not have been worth ſix-pence, but the obſcurity always enhances the value.

I ſee you be de true Antiquarian, Monſieur.

Yes, yes, nobody underſtands theſe things better than I do—I have been in Italy my⯑ſelf, and viſited the ruins of Herculaneum.

Well! dere you had ample ſtore.

Ample indeed—They were guarded with the utmoſt ſtrictneſs; nevertheleſs, by liberally bribing the ſeveral perſons appointed to watch them, I found means, at different times, to bring away al⯑moſt a cart-load of legs, arms, and noſes belonging to the mutilated ſtatues.

Eft il bien poſſible?—What a treaſure!

Yes, and I intend ſhortly publiſhing a dozen volumes folio, proving to demonſtration, the figures they belonged to.

Oh, it will be of vaſt import to de pub⯑lique.

Very great, I ſhall immortalize my name by it—Travels are ſo much the ton at preſent, that many go abroad on purpoſe to oblige the pub⯑lic at their return, with a relation of their wonder⯑ful adventures.

And you be as well qualified as de beſt of dem.

I afterwards made ſome important diſ⯑coveries in the North Sea.

You did!

Yes, and actually brought away a large piece of ice from thence.

Et bien! Monſieur—Well, and have you it now?

No, the heat of the ſun diſſolved it in our voyage home.

Unfortunate!

Very unfortunate, but travellers are ſubject to diſappointments.

A la verite, 'tis true, indeed, Monſieur—I have often myſelf experience de ſame—Une autre fois, an oder time I vil give you de whole account of all my voyage, but now let a me beg leave to make you de von little preſent.

Preſent!

Oui, Monſieur, and ſuch a von as I do flat⯑ter myſelf you will not deſpiſe—In my laſt voyage wid Monſ. Bourgainville, touching on de coaſt of Patagonia, I purchaſe from von of deir ſages an in⯑es;timable jewel.

A jewel!

Not one of doſe ſo called by de Canaille, but an invaluable antique.

Is it poſſible!—I am all impatience—What can it be!

Le Voici, ſee here!—

—Behold, an Antide⯑luvian cockle ſhell!

I am ſtruck dumb with admiration!

And well you may—You ſee, Monſieur, by de ſize of it, an undoubted proof of de giantiſm of old.

Bleſs me!—'Tis as large as a modern oyſter, and I proteſt, ſeems very like one too.

Right, Monſicur, ſo it do—You have de great diſcernment—who knows, indeed noting ſo probable, dan dat de very cockle ſhut up in dis, was Manger, eaten by our grand'mere Eve.

A happy thought, my friend—Eve's cockle-ſhell! I am raviſh'd at the idea!—But, what return, what recompenſe can I make for a gem of ſuch—

O, noting at all, but de pleaſure of your ac⯑quaintance—I ſhall beg leave to ſee you again, in de evening, at Lady Younglove's.

Dear Sir! you do me too much honour.

C'eſt Aſſez, Monſieur, enough—But as it is of ſuch conſequence, Sir Whifling, I muſt requeſt you'll immediately go and depoſit it in your cabinet wid your oder curioſities, for fear of accidents.

That I will, I aſſure you, Sir—I came purpoſely to pay my devoirs to the Goddeſs of this Manſion, but now beg you'll make my excuſes to her—I have now ſomething of more importance to attend to—Yes, yes, I think no one can blame my taſte, in preferring an Antideluvian cockle-ſhell to the fineſt woman in the creation.

Ha! ha! ha! well ſaid, Old Antiquity—Begar, I believe I ſhall put de little ſheat upon him too—Now, to find Sedley again—I have buſineſs enough upon my hand—So much de better——Frenchmen have no occaſion to be idle, when En⯑gliſhmen have ſo many follies and vices to work upon.

Where can this creature be!—Let me ſee—

—I think this com⯑plexion is the moſt agreeable to black—One can't be too nice in ſuiting the complexion to the dreſs.

[25] Where have you been, Frippery?

Ordering a freſh quantity of your Lady⯑ſhip's cordial, as you complained that the laſt was not ſtrong enough.

You are a good girl—Has that im⯑pudent fellow, Woodford, been here to-day?

No, Madam; the anſwer your Ladyſhip gave him yeſterday, will refer him from coming any more.

I am very glad of it—An unman⯑nerly rake-hell, not worth a ſhilling, to have the aſ⯑furance to make love to a child before my face.

'Twas monſtraceous rude, indeed, Madam—Had he the ſenſe to have paid his congratulations to your Ladyſhip, he might have been forgiven.

True, Frippery; I cou'd much ſooner paſs over an affront of that ſort offered to myſelf, than her.

That I am ſure of—

—Really, Madam, the exquiſitive charms of your Ladyſhip would be a ſufficient excuſe for ſuch an act of inſenſibility.

O, fie, girl! how can you talk in ſuch a manner?—What charms can a woman of forty be ſuppoſed to have?

Fifty, would be nearer the mark.

—Your Ladyſhip certainly miſtakes your age.

How! miſtake my age—Surely, huſ⯑ſey, you don't mean—

Yes, Madam; for by your looks, I ſhould take my book oath, that you were not above five⯑and-twenty.

Oh!—Why, I believe I do look very well for my years.

Years!—Lud, Ma'am, how can you talk ſo abruptly?—As I am a woman of veracity, your Ladyſhip only looks like Miſs Flora's eldeſt ſiſter, [26]and are young enough to have half a dozen huſ⯑bands yet.

You are a merry girl, and always ſtriving to divert your poor diſconſolate miſtreſs—Alas! my ſweet, dear man has been dead above three months, and no one has ſaid a civil thing to me yet.

Mr. Sedley, to wait upon your Ladyſhip.

Shew him up—Bleſs me! what can he want with me?

Your Ladyſhip's moſt obedient—How ſhall I apologize for this rudeneſs, Madam?

O, dear Sir! there is not the leaſt occaſion—I think you are very kind thus to viſit a poor, diſtreſſed, afflicted widow.

You are goodneſs itſelf, Madam—I have waited on you now, my Lady, upon a very particu⯑lar affair, which demands a few moments privacy.

Frippery, you may retire.

Yes, my Lady—Hem!—but by virtue of my office, I'll make bold to liſten; ſo, wiſe Sir, you might as well have let me ſtaid.

Now, Madam, that we are alone, can you forgive the folly, the preſumption, the—call it what you pleaſe—which urged me on to this raſh attempt?

Upon my word, Sir, I can't com⯑prehend you.

And yet, when you ſhall know how long I have ſighed in ſecret, how long been tortured with deſpair, before I dare pronounce the ſacred name of love—

Love, Sir!

Yes, Madam; who could behold ſuch beauty, and not adore?

So! Miſs has got another lover, I find, but I'll ſoon ſilence him.

Really, Sir, this is a language I muſt not ſuffer—'Tis highly im⯑proper for a child like mine to hear, theſe many years to come.

Child, Madam!—Is it poſſible you can miſtake my meaning?

Why, Sir, was not all this deſigned for my daughter?

For Miſs Flora, Madam!—No, as your Ladyſhip's daughter, ſhe could not but have ſome charms; but I muſt be blind indeed, to offer up my vows to ſuch a baby—You'll excuſe my free⯑dom, Madam.

Oh, readily, Sir.

'Tis you, my Lady, who are the blooming Goddeſs of my adoration—Oh, how can I expreſs the inconceivable torments of my breaſt, for thoſe many years paſt!—During Sir Solomon's life, fear of of⯑fending tied up my tongue to a painful ſilence, and I was obliged to—

I aſſure you, Sir, I pity you, and had I known your ſufferings, wou'd have contrived ſome method of ſoftening them.

I am tranſported to hear it—After his death, reſpect ſtill ſealed up my lips, 'till I found—for love, Madam, is Argus-eyed—that Mr. Wood⯑ford frequented this houſe, and was, without doubt, a favour'd lover—This made me reſolve to diſcover my hopeleſs paſſion, wait his arrival here, and thro' a happy rival's boſom, force my way to that heart which kings might be proud to call their own!

Hold, Sir, you are in an error—'Twas not to me, but my daughter, his devoirs were paid.

Pardon me, Madam, I cannot ſuppoſe Mr. Woodford ſo inſenſible, as to think of any other ob⯑ject, when you are preſent.

O, dear Sir, he has not half the com⯑plaiſance you have!—What a charming man he is!

My character, and family, Madam, you are no ſtranger to—My eſtate is conſiderable, and, if it is not too great a preſumption, give me leave to caſt both it, and a heart unalterably devoted to you, at your feet.

O, riſe, dear Sir—You overwhelm me with confuſion!—Sure, you cannot poſſibly find any thing ſo attracting in a face, which conſtant grief has made ſuch an impreſſion on.

Hem! Now for a little more nonſenſe.

Come, my beauteous widow, caſt aſide theſe weeds of ſorrow, and be arrayed in robes more ſplendid, and more becoming ſuch a divinity.

Impoſſible—I fear, Sir!

Impoſſble!

Almoſt, Sir—What will the world ſay of ſo haſty, ſo precipitate an act?

Umph! I find her coming.

Love, Madam, will plead for all—'Tis a crime againſt his power to reſiſt—Beſides, enough you have ſacrificed to ſorrow—Three months at leaſt.

Oh, Sir, more—Sixteen weeks to⯑morrow—But, what are ſixteen weeks, ſixteen months, or ſixteen years, to mourn the loſs of ſo good a man.

Come, Madam, no more of theſe melan⯑choly reflections—The only remedy in the world for a lady's immoderate grief on the loſs of a favourite, be it monkey, lap-dog, or huſband, is to get another.

Indeed, Sir, I believe you are per⯑fectly right—I remember, ſome years ago, I was ut⯑terly inconſolable on the death of a beautiful parrot, 'till the loſs was ſupplied by an enchanting owl, which was preſented me.

Then let me, Madam, by the warmth of my paſſion, dry up your tears for Sir Solomon Young⯑love.

Surely, Sir, you are uncommonly per⯑ſuading—Well! to try your conſtancy, if you per⯑ſevere in your intention, till my year of widowhood be expired, I don't know but I may be tempted to reward it.

A year, Madam!—An age!—For hea⯑ven's ſake, my dear Lady, have ſome compaſſion.

Believe me, Sir, I am very compaſ⯑ſionate.

Wou'd you have me die at your feet?

No, not for the world—Rather than you ſhould do that, I will ſhorten it—to—to half the time.

She ſoon drops.

Still, madam, I find you are cruelly reſolved not to make me happy, therefore hopeleſs, and deſpairing, let me bid you eternally, eternally, adieu!

Stay, ſir, ſtay—Muſt not I pay my laſt huſband the ſame compliment I did my firſt?

What was that madam?

Wait five ſhort, ſhort months.

Look you, my Lady, I would do as I would be done by—If you ſurvive me, you have my conſent to marry again the next day.

I confeſs, ſir, you are the moſt rea⯑ſonable man I ever met with.

But, I ſee, madam, you are inexorable, ſo muſt retire, and in ſecret, lament my adverſe for⯑tune.

Dear ſir, ſtay—What can I ſay? I vow you are quite irreſiſtible—Well, then,—though overwhelm'd with bluſhes—To-morrow, I conſent to be yours.

Retard not my joy ſo long, but let this night crown my happineſs—I ſee a kind conſenting ſmile ſparkle in your eye, and thus, I thank you

Oh, zounds! that was too much!

Who can withſtand ſuch rhetoric!—You have conquered, ſir, and I ſurrender at diſcre⯑tion.

And now, my dear Lady, as our intereſts are to be one—If you give me leave, I can aſſiſt you in diſpoſing of Miſs Flora.

You cou'd not oblige me more, ſir, for, poor child! ſhe ſeems in great haſte to be mar⯑ried.

Not ſo much as her mother, I'll be ſworn.

I think, my Lady, I could recommend one you can have no objection to—Captain Helm, your neighbour.

Captain Helm—Do you think that poſſible?

Nothing eaſier, if your Ladyſhip does not chuſe to prevent it.

I prevent it; heavens forbid!—Poor dear child, it wou'd be a happy day for her.

Happy, indeed, madam.—He has been raving about Miſs, ever ſince his accidentally ſeeing her in the country, and longing for an opportunity of declaring himſelf—Nay, more—he knows of my viſit to you, and hopes this evening will unite both parties.

I'm ſure I would do any thing in rea⯑ſon to ſecure her felicity.

Captain Helm, madam, is prodigiouſly in love, vet has many odd whims, and like the ele⯑ment he belongs to, is very ſubject to change.

Oh, if he was once bound, we'd give him leave to change.

True, madam, therefore we had better make ſhort work of it, and take him while he is in the humour.

Well! do juſt as you pleaſe, dear [31]Mr. Seley—I am now your property, ſo diſpoſe of me and mine, as you like.

I'll ſtep directly to my lawyer's to prepare the deeds, then return with Captain Helm—Mean⯑time, my lovely charmer! diveſt yourſelf of thoſe beauty-veiling weeds, relumine the circle you were wont to ſhine in, and prepare to bleſs the happieſt mortal in the world!

What a bewitching man!—But, there is not a moment to loſe, I muſt ſet about making the neceſſary preparations immediately—Well, who could have thought when I got up this morning, that I ſhould be a bride before night.—O, lud! a third huſband is a happineſs I never expected.

So! Upon my word, a tender ſcene, and quite curry-curriſtical—When Miſs and her old ſea⯑monſter join them, they'll make a nice trio—But, it is unpoſſible all this can be real on his ſide; and if my old Lady was not ſo toſticated with her good for⯑tune, ſhe might eaſily find it out—Oh, here comes Miſs, now we ſhall hear her ſentances of the matter.

Frippery, what's the matter with my mama? I met her this moment in unuſual ſpirits, and ſhe ordered me to follow her into her dreſſing-room.

Spirits!—A third huſband is enough to put any woman turned of ſifty into ſpirits—Heaven help me! though I am half that age, I have not got one yet.

What do you mean, Frippery?

I mean, that your mama's going to be mar⯑ried, to-night.

To-night!

Yes, to-night.

More ſhame for her.

Ay, ſo ſay I.

I'm ſure it wou'd be fitter for her to get me a huſband firſt.

Oh! you are to be married at the ſame time.

Am I?—I'm afraid that's too good news to be true.—But tell me ſincerely, are not you joking now?

Not I, upon my word.

Well, that is charming!—Only feel what a palpitation it has cauſed here,—for all the world like the fluttering of my little Robin Red-breaſt.

Ay, my dear, I have often had ſuch fluſtra⯑tions.

And does Mr. Woodford know it?

Mr. Woodford, Lord, Miſs, he is not to be the man.

No!—Who then?

Why, his uncle, Captain Helm, who you remember viſited us ſome time ago in the country.

What, that ugly old fright, who I compar'd to King Priam in the puppet-ſhew?

The very idential man, Miſs.

Was there ever anything ſo ridiculous!—A huſband, Ha! ha! ha!—O yes, to be ſure he's a very proper huſband for a girl of my age and ſpi⯑rit.—It is a wonder, Frippery, ſhe did not think of a dancing bear for me—I'm ſure, he's much the more agreeable and poliſh'd animal of the two.

Indeed, Miſs, I muſt ſay, that he's the moſt oddeſt, damphibious looking creature I ever ſaw—But your mama intends to make you have him, or not a penny of fortune.

A fig for fortune, ſay I.—Before ſhe ſhould ſacrafice me to ſuch a compound of age and in⯑firmity, I'd bid adieu to all ideas of future gran⯑deur, [33]and boldly fly, with the man of my heart, to thoſe regions of love and happineſs, where true con⯑tent is only to be found.

My Lady deſires you, Mrs. Frippery, to go directly for her diamond ear-rings, that are mending at the jeweller's, and not to ſtay a moment, for ſhe wants you in all haſte to help her to dreſs.

So! ſhe's in a hurry, I find.

Hurry! ecod, I believe ſhe's poſſeſt—ſhe has order'd us all to get on our ſtate liveries, that were made in her firſt huſband's time, and the houſe⯑keeper is to provide ſuch a ſupper, that, lud have mercy upon me!—Hark! her bell rings.—

Oh, I had forgot—Miſs Flora, you are to go to your mama directly.

Tell her, I won't, John.

No, John, tell her ſhe's coming.

Well, do juſt as you pleaſe for that.—Coming, my Lady, coming—Zounds! I wiſh the bell was tied about your neck.

My dear, you muſt go—endeavour to hu⯑mour your mama now.—Only ſeem to be agreeable to her marriage, and perhaps ſhe may not inſiſt on yours.

Nay, I did not care if ſhe married a new huſband every month, ſo ſhe'd only let me have Mr. Woodford; and I'm ſure that's not unreaſon⯑able.—But will you, my dear Frippery, in the mean time, endeavour to find him out, and let him know my diſtreſs?

That I will, I'll enſure you.—Do you think I cou'd refuſe any thing in my power, to help ſuch a couple of true lovyers?—No, no, Frippery always does as ſhe'd be done by—and, I'm ſure all I wait for myſelf is,—the man to aſk me the queſtion.

Well!—Some girls now, in my ſituation, wou'd, in deſpair of relief, hang or drown them⯑ſelves, and ſo put an end to their adventures at once. To be ſure, my ſituation is very critical—Solely de⯑pendant on a mother—Denied the man I love, and obliged to receive the odious addreſſes of one I hate, are difficulties not eaſily ſurmounted—Yet, a good heart, and a fertile head, may do much—And if I do ſurmount them, I think I ſhall deſerve a ſtatue raiſing to my conſtancy and fidelity.

ACT III.

Well, my good mother, what ſuc⯑ceſs?—I have been upon the rack ever ſince you went—Come, tell me—Any hopes?

Hopes!—When did you know me under⯑take any thing that fail'd?

But, have you mention'd me?

Yes, yes, I have done more for you than ever your own mother did—Look you, I expect no leſs than a thouſand pounds for my ſhare—Ay, all ſigned and ſealed before conſummation.

You ſhall have it without the leaſt ſcruple.

Scruple, indeed!—A hundred a year for life.

Certainly.

An elegant houſe, ready furniſhed.

All very reaſonable.

Ay, I was always remarked for my reaſon and moderation.—Well! after this affair is over, I ſhall have nothing to do, but to live with credit and character, the reſt of my days.

Then you think we ſhall ſucceed?

Quite certain of it.

You tranſport me!

Such a lovely, tender, ſweet chicken!—Ah, rogue, if you ſhould not behave well to her, you'll break my heart.

Oh, never fear that—You know I am a man of the ſtricteſt honour.

Yes, I have had many proofs of your ho⯑nour.

Ay, 'tis that conſideration alone which urges me on—I would not have helped her to every body, for heaven knows, it is not the little traſh I am to get by it, that—

No, to be ſure.

I ſay, 'tis not the trifle I am to get by it, but the ſurety of providing her with a good huſ⯑band.

But all this while you keep me in ſuſpence—What ſaid ſhe?—When may I hope to ſee her?

Said! no bird ever fell into a fowler's ſnare ſo readily—She believes every ſyllable about your title and fortune, is as impatient as you are for an interview, and promis'd to be here directly.

Egad, you have made quick work of it—Be here directly—Zounds! I am afraid I ſhall want aſſurance to go through with it.

After what you have gone through already, I think there can be no great danger now.

You muſt introduce me properly, elſe, as I have never ſeen her, I may make ſome miſtake.

I muſt own your head is not the beſt in the world, but here you can't readily go wrong—Be fure you keep up to your part—Talk of the years you have been dying for her in ſecret—Flatter her charms to the utmoſt—Speak highly of your family and connections—If you ſhould make ſome trifling blunders, I'll place them to the exceſs of your paſ⯑ſion—The moſt pleaſing excuſe which can be given to a woman fond of adoration.

As for that matter, you know I am ſeldom at a loſs for words.

Yes, I know the height of your oratory, but let me tell you, ſhe muſt be attack'd in a very different manner from the nymphs you have been uſed to.

Well, well, I'll take care now to be on the other ſide, and be as high-flown as poſſible—I have been ſtudying hard words for that purpoſe.

As I live, that's her rap—She's impatient indeed!

Zounds! I am quite unprepared—What ſhall I do?

Receive her as if by accident—She'll pre⯑tend ſhe's come to me, but I'll not appear till the firſt ceremonies are over.

Hold—Don't leave us together.

Not another word, but make good uſe of your time.

I wiſh with all my ſoul, it was over—Hem! hem!

Ma'am—your—your—moſt unlimitedly—obedient—I, I am—that is to ſay—extravagantly happy—in—in—in—

I was told, ſir, that Mrs. Faſhion was here.

Ay, that's right.

Hem! hem!—She only gave place, illuſtrious Lady, to let the re⯑ſplendency of your charms ſhine in their meridian luſtre!—Hem! hem!

Sir!—Is it to me you addreſs this diſ⯑courſe?

Who elſe, thou ſovereign object of my wiſhes!—I have languiſh'd whole years for the hap⯑pineſs of this interview, and now, I—

Hold, ſir,—I am not to be treated in this ludicrous manner—Do you know who I am?

Do the inhabitants of this nether world know the radiant ſun that daily illumines them?— [38]You, my angelic Miſs Bloomer, are my ſun, my moon, my ſtars, my whole planetary ſyſtem!—Pretty well that, I think.

Miſs Bloomer!—Ha! there muſt be ſome trick in this—Some deſign on my fair friend—I'll fathom it.

She heſitates—I believe I have done it—Bravo, my boy, I never knew your eloquence fail.

Pray, ſir, who are you?

Ah, madam! I am the unhappy Lord Flamwell, heir to one of the moſt noble families in England, with an independant fortune in my own poſſeſſion, which, with the moſt glowing heart that ever was offered up to Cytherea's goddeſs, I now preſent to you, my Cyprian Venus.

And all this is deſigned for me?

Alas! where's the merit in paying worſhip to the queen of beauty?—No, my adorable Miſs Bloomer, I long have loved, but till this happy moment, never had courage to tell you ſo.

And I am to believe all this real?

Every ſyllable of it true, by thoſe bright eyes!

My dear Miſs Bloomer! this is ſo kind of you to call on—Ah! what do I ſee!—Miſs Belgrove!—My Lord, what are you about?

Curſe me if I know!—

—Oh, my evil ſtars! what have I done now?

Upon my word, Mrs. Faſhion, I am very glad you are come—You, perhaps, can explain this gentleman's meaning, which, I confeſs, is above my comprehenſion.

My dear, ſweet Miſs Belgrove—This [39]gentleman—is a—a Lord—that—that—a—his friends have confined in my houſe for lunacy.

I beg your pardon, Mrs. Faſhion, I did not know till now, that you kept a private mad⯑houſe.

Ah, poor nobleman! he's greatly to be pitied—All this is a love affair, Miſs—Gone quite diſtracted for love.

For love!—And are you ſo famous for curing mad people?—Now, I think I could recom⯑mend a magiſtrate for his doctor, who could much ſooner reſtore him to his ſenſes.

Oh, your Ladyſhip miſtakes him quite—As innocent as a new-born babe—But, pray let me at⯑tend you into another room.

I ſhan't ſtop—I only wanted to conſult you about the choice of ſome Bruſſells lace.

I'll wait on your Ladyſhip, at your own houſe directly.

Whenever you are at leiſure.—Mean time, let me adviſe that gentleman, not to be ſo vio⯑lent in his raptures, before he is certain of the per⯑ſon he addreſſes them to.

Ah, you are a witty Lady—Nay, by my ſaith, I'll wait on you to the door—This is ſo great an honour to call

Ah! conjuror.

Tol, lol, lol.

I believe it is all over—Ay, ay, my old luck purſues me ſtill, and if ever I do cut a diſtinguiſning figure in the world, I'm afraid it will be when I make my exit.

Your humble ſervant, good Mr. Blun⯑der—You have made a notable piece of work here.

What ſhall I do?

Hang, or drown yourſelf—'tis all over now.

Was there ever ſo unlucky a dog!

Never—that I'll anſwer for—Nothing proſ⯑pers you undertake—What the deuce could poſſeſs you to make ſo egregious a miſtake?

Zounds! you—You knew I had never ſeen Miſs Bloomer, and your declaring it was her, left me not the leaſt room to doubt.

Nothing could be more unfortunate!—The two ladies are intimate, and if a diſcovery ſhould enſue, I am entirely ruined.

Can you think of nothing to prevent it?

I expect the real Miſs Bloomer every minute—When ſhe's gone, I'll wait upon Miſs Belgrove, and endeavour to perſuade her, that you really are a lunatic—And faith, if this affair fails, I ſhall be little better myſelf.

Hark! I believe this is ſhe, in reality—Away, and be in readineſs, if I ſhould want you.

Hearky'!—Take care how you introduce me to the next Miſs Bloomer.

Now, Faſhion, I am as good as my word, you ſee.

Heaven bleſs you! that you always are.

But come, I have not a moment to loſe.

Ah, that ſweet countenance!—I don't won⯑der ſo many gentlemen deſpair of obtaining ſo great a prize.

What do you mean?

I am ſure I can't blame the extravagance of Lord Flamwell's paſſion—And, by my faith, he ſwears he can't live without you.

Lord Flamwell!—Who is he, pray?

The young nobleman, I told your Ladyſhip about this morning—Well, a ſweeter, better hu⯑mour'd, or more generous man, was never ſeen—Had you beheld with what tranſports he received the news of your coming hither.

Why, ſurely, you did not tell him any ſuch thing?

Really, Miſs, he look'd ſo piteouſly, I cou'd not help it—Oh, Mrs. Faſhion, ſays he, if my beau⯑teous angel will but conſent to be mine, how happy ſhall I be!—My whole fortune ſhall be at her com⯑mand—What pleaſure ſhall I take in introducing her to my Siſters, Lady Lucy, Lady Sophia, and Lady Harriet.

Bleſs me! the Gentleman ſeems to have a number of relations—But I have not time to loſe about ſuch trifles.

Do you call breaking a nobleman's heart, a trifle?

Yes—to me the greateſt trifle in the world.

Ah, you'll pay for all, one day or other—But, do now, give me leave to introduce him to you.

Who, me?—Not I, I poſitively aſſure you—'Tis your own houſe, you know, and if you chuſe to do it—I can't help you.

Well, I'll venture your diſpleaſure—I'm ſure you would not be the death of any perſon, nor diſcompoſe that ſweet face of yours with a frown, for the world.

What a fool am I, to be flatter'd by ſuch a fulſome old woman—I am certainly an odd compoſition—to be pleaſed with what at the ſame time I ſo much deſpiſe—Now, for my Lord—If his heart does not ſpeedily go pit-a-pit, and I don't make him as great a rool as I have dome the reſt of my ad⯑mirers, why I'll conteſs, I've loſt the art of torment⯑ing.

Miſs Bloomer, Lord Flamwell, who has long wiſh'd to pay his reſpects to you.

Hold, my Lord, we muſt be upon a more intimate footing, before I allow liberties of that ſort.

I ſtand juſtly reproved, Madam, for my pre⯑ſumption, and own I merit the fate of—of—Icarus, who drove the Chariot of Apollo—Yet, if you'll but—

Ha! ha! ha!—Your Lordſhip muſt pardon this emotion, which the profundity of your learning has involuntarily extorted from me—Ha! ha! ha! If I don't miſtake, Icarus was a near rela⯑tion of yours.

Of mine, Madam,—Yes—No, no, he has been dead, for ought I can tell, theſe—theſe hundred years paſt.

Ha! ha! ha! I know it, my Lord, but you certainly are of the ſame family, and endea⯑vour to imitate him, in ſoaring ſo high.

If I have committed any error, your charms, Madam, are a ſufficient excuſe.

True, my Lord, my charms have led many people into very great errors, and if you don't take care, you'll ſtand in the ſame predicament.

I wiſh it, Madam.—If I am ſo conſpicuouſly happy, as to poſſeſs you, I ſhall be the envy of the gaping world—Adorable creature! behold, thus proſtrate at your feet, the unhappy Lord Flamwell, who vows never more to riſe, till you have put a pe⯑riod to his ſufferings.

And that, I vow, my Lord, will never be.

Ah, the ſweet youth! it brings tears into my eyes, to ſee what a condition love has reduced him to.

Pray, my Lord, let's have that ſpeech [43]over again—Stay, you ſhall ſee how gracefully it comes from me in heroics.

I find ſhe's an overmatch for me, every way.

Come, Miſs Bloomer, let me put in a word for his Lordſhip—As I can anſwer for the ſincerity and honourableneſs of his intentions, I hope you'll not ſtand on unneceſſary punctilio—You ſee he can⯑not live without you—Reward his paſſion with your hand, and let me this evening, ſalute you Lady Flamwell.

Thou, more than Goddeſs! if you judge my fortune, title, or family, not beneath your accept⯑ance, bleſs me with your love, and crown my wiſhes.

Ay, I ſee a kind conſenting look in theſe pretty tell-tale ſparklers—Juſt ſo, I look'd myſelf, on ſuch an occaſion—By my faith, we'll have a wedding directly—Let your Lordſhip's Chaplain be call'd in, and the ceremony immediately performed.

Hold, hold, pray let me get in a word with you—Look you, my Lord, I have not been uſed to ſuch treatment, nor do I underſtand your meaning—As to you, Mrs. Faſhion, I am ſurprized you don't know me better—But, be aſſur'd, as this is the firſt time I've been in your houſe, ſo it ſhall be the laſt.

Stay, charming, cruel tyrant, and take my life before you go.

What uſe ſhall I make of it, my Lord?—You had better make a preſent of it to ſome other perſon, who prefers a title before underſtanding, and wealth beyond happineſs.

My dear Miſs Bloomer, how can you be angry with me?—If my Lord loves you to diſtraction, am I to blame, in endeavouring to pro⯑mote your future felicity?

Then will you not give me leave to hope?—And muſt thoſe charms, which like the ſun diſpenſe their refreſhing beams around the celeſtial hemi⯑ſphere, be only withheld from me?

My Lord, tho' I believe nobility and common ſenſe very compatible, yet, as you are not happily poſſeſſed of both, forgive me if I decline your very generous offer—And, be certain, if ever I do reſign my freedom, it ſhall be to a man who knows how to ſet a proper value on it.

And, curſe catch me! if ever I am maſter of [...], if I don't make you heartily repent this treat⯑ment.

Go, you deſerve it all, for being ſo great an ideot.

Zounds! woman, what would you have me do?—I ſpoke better than ever I did in my life be⯑fore, but the Devil is not a match for ſuch a tongue.

No, not ſuch an ignorant Devil as you—But, ſhe ſhan't eſcape ſo—Ill after her, and endeavour to repair your miſtakes, then make my laſt bold effort—So, prepare yourſelf—the concluſion of this buſineſs will certainly be a wife, or—a halter!

A wife, by all means—Of Two Evils, I always chuſe the leaſt.

How can you, Child, make all this noiſe about One Huſband, when you ſee, I have been oblig'd to have Two already, and am now under the cruel neceſſity of preparing for a Third.

Yes, and that ſame cruel neceſſity would oblige you to marry a ſcore, if you could.

Mr. Sedley, and Capt. Helm, to wait upon your Ladyſhip.

Admit them.

Gentlemen, you are very welcome.

So, Widow! I underſtand you are hound for another voyage—Lookee, if the wind ſits fair, belike I ſhall bear you company.

I am much obliged to you, Captain, for your good wiſhes, and hope my daughter may entertain a proper ſenſe of them.

O, yes, he may be aſſur'd, that I entertain a very proper ſenſe of them.

Thank you, thank you, Widow—Suppoſe I haul a chair, and ſound the coaſt, to ſee how the land lies.

Do, Captain—meantime, my fair widow and I have ſome private affairs to ſettle, that will re⯑quire our abſence for a few minutes—Madam, will you indulge me ſo far—

Dear Sir, I can't deny you any thing you aſk—

So, ſo!—they have left me to the mercy of this frightful Man of War—Now, for a love-ſcene of the tendereſt kind.

Swab! go below—And, d'ye ſee, look out for a ſnug birth, call for a can of flip, and keep a tight reckoning, till I pipe you up again.

I will, your honour, and drink ſucceſs to the chace.

Now we are alone, I don't know what to ſay to her—By the meſs, I begin to find I've got out of my element.

Well, I really think he is ten times uglier than when I ſaw him laſt.

Hem?—If I was but once afloat, ſhou'd do well enough.

What a pretty lover he makes—Poor [46]wretch!—I think I muſt plague him a little—Yes, yes, I muſt have ſome ſport with him.

That it ſhou'd ever come to this!—I who have attacked ſo many firſt-rate men of war, now to be afraid of a little cock-boat.

Pray, Captain, what makes you look ſo very grum?—If you are not well. I'll go and fetch ſome of my Mama's ſtomachic cordial for you.

Hold, Miſs, I am pretty well, thank you—Hem!—

Pray, Miſs, were you ever at ſea?

A good beginning—O, yes, Captain, very often—Why, I once went with my mama as far as Greenwich.

Well, Miſs, what think you now, of a voyage to the Land of Matrimony?

Voyage!—Why, I always thought that peo⯑ple went by land to be married—Now, I ſhou'd like to be married very well,—but not to you.

All above board, I find—Mayhap, Miſs, you may think my timbers are not ſound, and that I want to be hove down—But, let me tell you, I am heartier than many, whoſe gingerbread rigging fly full in the wind's eye.

Gingerbread rigging!—I'm ſure, I'd rather have a gingerbread huſband, than you.

Ay, why ſo?

Becauſe, when I was tired of playing with it, I could eat it.

Nay, if you be like the cannibals, Miſs, I had beſt ſheer off—tho', I believe you'd find me very hard of digeſtion.

Very likely, but I ſhan't try.

However, Miſs, all this is little to the pur⯑poſe.

Ay, indeed, and ſo it is ſure enough—So, as you have nothing more to ſay, I think I had beſt leave you to yourſelf.

Avaſt, avaſt!—If you are for running a-head ſo, I muſt bring you to your bearings.

Ah, but you can't tho', for I never will bear you.

Lookee, d'ye ſee, Miſs, I came hither to have ſome ſerious diſcourſe with you, becauſe as how I intended to have meſs'd with you for life, but if ſo be you can't ſteer a ſteady courſe without all this tacking, why, it will be a thing impoſſible to grapple with you for half a glaſs together.

Well, then, I will ſpeak my mind, tho' Mama ſhou'd lock me up for it—I deteſt the ſight of you—if you were as handſome as you are ugly, and as young as you are old, yet ſtill I ſhou'd hate you—My heart is ſet upon Mr. Woodford, and have him I will, tho' I creep through an iron grate, or jump out of a garret window to him.

So! ſhe has ſlipt her anchor, and run out to ſea; while I am all aground here, and muſt wait for a ſpring tide to ſet me afloat again.

Well, Mr. Sedley, your arguments are ſo perſuaſive, there's no reſiſting them—I conſent then, that both marriages be celebrated this evening.

And, to free you from any jealouſy of Miſs Bloomer, I requeſt, Madam, that ſhe may be invited as a witneſs, on this joyful occaſion.

I vow, that's cruel in you, beſides, poor Lady! it will look like inſult in me—But, bleſs me, Captain, where's the child gone to?

Right a head, yonder, ſailing in the wind's eye.

Well, Captain, what ſucceſs?

Succeſs!—Why, d'ye ſee, I believe I have ſteer'd by a wrong chart, and mayhap, if I don't tack about, I may chance to be wreck'd upon the ſhallows.

Oh, dear Captain, von muſt not mind [48]her—She's young and ignorant of her good—I was juſt ſo [...] her age, but ſhe'll know better before long.

Why, to be ſure, Widow, I do think ſhe [...] a little teaching, and will lay a wager, ſhe does not know a cat from a capſtan—But, no matter for that,—all in good time—patience is a good ſtream anchor—If I thought I ſtood fair for the harbour of her good-will, why, 'tis not a little ſqually weather, or variation of the wind, ſhould hinder [...] from ven⯑turing.

I'll enſure your ſuccessing—My Lady and I have entirely ſettled matters—At our return in the evening, every thing is to be finally concluded—You'll have your writings ready.

Ay, ay, I can produce the log-book of my eſtate at a minute's warning.

And, Captain, I think the greateſt puniſh⯑ment you can inflict on your nephew for his diſobe⯑dience, will be to oblige him to be a ſpectator of the ceremony.

Right, my Boy, ſo it will.

A letter for Mr. Sedley.

For me!—With your leave, my Lady.—

Miſs Bloomer!—Her very name has raiſed a tumult in my ſoul!

Dear Mr. Sedley, you ſeem diſcom⯑poſed—

No, Madam, perfectly eaſy.

Sure no unlucky accident has hap⯑pened to diſturb our happineſs?

No, Madam, none.

I'm afraid there has,—You had bet⯑ter ſtay here till every thing is over.

Fulſome old Witch!

Importance, Madam, ſome urgent buſineſs demands me for a lit⯑tle time—I ſhall not ſtav long.

Mr. Sedley—And may I depend up⯑on you?

Undoubtedly, Madam.

Stay, Mr. Sealey—Perhaps, this is ſome affair with a lady, and—

Don't be uneaſy, Madam,—Was there ever an [...] ſo provoking

Captain, you'll ex⯑cuſe me, I'll ſend up your ſervant.

[...] ſtay, another word—Had not I better [...] then—

Pray, Madam, ſtay till I come back, and then—your may go to Jamaica, if you pleaſe.

Oh, the ſweet creature!—I wiſh this affair was over—If I ſhould be diſappointed now—Well, I ſhan't have a moment's comfort, till I have abſolutely ſecured him mine.

And, noint my block, if ever you'll let him have a moment's comfort afterwards.

Steady, boys, ſteady!

Hey!—Avaſt!—What's here?

All's ſafe—all's ſafe, your honour—

ſteady, ſteady's the word—No [...]ear of b [...]ging, [...] Swab keeps a dead reckoning.

You lubberly dog! how came you in this trim?

No matter—All's ſafe—I've been toſſing the Can to Mrs. Erippery's health—And now, if your wor⯑ſhip's gl [...]y vill turn out, we will ſcud homewards with a [...] gale.

You deſerve to be laſh'd to the gangway, you drunken water-ſpout, and if I come along ſide of you, I'll be ſoon foul of your forelights.

Bleſs you precious limbs, no, no, noble Captain, ſafe's the word, ſafe's the word—I'm the man will ſtand by you, while I have a ſtick ſtanding, or can carry a rag of canvaſs—So, follow in my wake, as ſoon as you pleaſe.

Sheer off—do—The dog knows I regard him for old acquantance ſake,—To be ſure, a better ſailor never ſtep'd upon forecaſtle—He has work'd many a hard gale, and never flinched—ah! 'tis ſuch brave fellows as he, that man our fleets, and ſhew our topſails to the enemy—Ay, ay, Old England may well ſay, that a Britiſh ſeaman, is one of the nobieſt characters, the word can boaſt of.

ACT IV.

I Own to you, Miſs Belgrove, that, ſo far from being indifferent about Miſs Bloomer, my heart never was more devoted to her, than at preſent—In vain, my reaſon ſhews the folly of my conduct, love has got poſſeſſion of my ſoul with ſuch abſolute dominion, that every other paſſion bows to its reſiſtleſs ſway.

Certainly, you Lovers, are the moſt in⯑conſiſtent ſet of beings in the world—Abſolute con⯑tradictions—You love and hate, ſwear and forſwear, whine and rage;—Reſolve one moment, and break it the next—Tear the falſe image from your hearts this hour, and worſhip it with the groſſeſt adulation the following one.

I confeſs it, Madam, yet in me you'll not behold ſuch a Proteus—I can love, without being blind.

Impoſſible, for all lovers are blind, at leaſt to the faults of their miſtreſſes—But, no more of this—Take my word for it, Miſs Bloomer is deſer⯑ving of your beſt wiſhes, and, tho' I cannot entirely defend the ſprightly, tho' ſometimes, imprudent ſal⯑lies of my fair friend; yet, I think them ſo venially agreeable, that they almoſt carry their excuſe in the commiſſion.

And, yet, in the preſent caſe, 'tis certain ſhe encourages the addreſſes of ſome deſigning raſcal, who, probably wants to make a prey of her perſon and fortune.

I own it looks like it—When I ſaw her this morning, ſhe hinted a new conqueſt of a Lord, and by the circumſtances, I ſuſpect Mrs. Faſhion of being the contriver of the whole deſign.

Have you ſeen Miſs Bloomer ſince you left Mrs. Faſhion's?

No, I called at her houſe directly after, but ſhe was not at home, upon which, apprehending ſome bad conſequences, I thought the beſt thing I could do, would be to acquaint you, and requeſt your aſſiſtance.

You oblige me infinitely, Madam—I'll un⯑ravel this villainy, or—

Stay, do nothing unadviſedly—Let me go again to Miſs Bloomer's, and endeavour to learn whether ſhe has ſeen this impoſtor.

You are right, Madam—But, pray, don't drop a hint of your ſuſpicions—Conviction will come ſtronger, when attended with danger, and open detec⯑tion—Meanwhile, I'll juſt ſtep home, and be back time enought for your return.

Poor Gentleman!—Oh, Lud! what fools this Love makes of the wiſeſt of us—I ſwear, if the whimſical, inconſiſtent urchin, dare have the aſſurance to attack me, I'd muſter up all my courage, and—and—run away from him, as faſt as I could.

Oh, my dear Lady! what an unfortu⯑nate woman am I?

Bleſs me! what new matter for won⯑der?—Have you made another miſtake?

Surely, I was born to be unhappy!

I can't help ſaying, you deſerve it—The next time I call at your houſe, you ſhall ſuffer me to be affronted in the manner I was laſt.

You have ample revenge, I can aſſure you—Oh, I ſhall never forgive myſelf, no, not if I was to live a thouſand years, for being acceſſary to the death of ſo ſweet, ſo lovely, ſo good-natured a gen⯑tleman.

Death! whoſe death?

And yet, alas! I am innocent—'Tis thoſe bright eyes alone, that have done all this miſchief.

Oh, if that be all, I'll readily under⯑take to cure all the evil done by them.

No, no, he's too far gone to cure—He's a dying man.

Dying!—Who in the name of won⯑der is dying?

Lord Flamwell—No ſooner had you left the houſe, than, ſeiz'd with a fit of deſpair, he ſhut himſelf up in his chamber, and—

Rayed like a madman, then, when he was tired—let himſelf out again.

How can you be ſo barbarous!—But mark the conſequences—He had ſearce been a quarter of an hour there, when we were alarmed with the groans of a dying perſon, and forcing the door open, found him weltring in his blood.

Oh, heavens! is it true?

A ſurgeon was immediately ſent for, but on examination, he declared the wound mortal, and that nothing could ſave his life.

I am petrified with horror!

Oh! oh! oh!

that ever I ſhould live to ſee this day!—The ſweet youth!—I loved him, as if he had been my own ſon!—What will his family ſay to me?—Oh! oh! oh! oh!

But, are there no hopes of his reco⯑very?

No, not the leaſt—He can't live two hours!

Poor gentleman!—I ſincerely pity him.

Ah! what ſignifies pity—If you would make him ſome amends for your cruelty, and condeſcend to viſit him directly—

I viſit him!

Yes—conſider can you be ſo hard-hearted as refuſe him the only conſolation he can receive in his laſt moments?

You do not ſurely adviſe me to it.

From my ſoul I do—Dear Mrs. Faſhion, ſaid he, in faltering accents—Go to the unrelenting fair one, tell her, I die the victim of her obduracy—True, I was not worthy of aſpiring to ſuch excellence—But, if ſhe will deign once more to look upon me, I'll implore her forgiveneſs, and, as a ſmall atonement for my folly and preſumption, requeſt her acceptance of my fortune—That, though ſhe could not love me liv⯑ing, ſhe may compaſſionate my memory.

His generoſity affects me—I heartily with he may recover, but beg leave to decline his offer.

Really, Miſs, I did not think you could have been ſo ungrateſul—What harm can there be in viſiting a dying man?

I am abore ſuſpecting any harm, but ſcorn to take advantage of his weakneſs for me.

'Tis no advantage—What do his friends value the few thouſands he can beſtow?—Come, I muſt perſuade you to accept them.

Indeed, Mrs. Faſhion, though I am far from being void of humanity, yet upon this oc⯑caſion you muſt excuſe me; you may aſſure him, that, if wiſnes—

No, no,—In all probability, he will not be alive in an hour's time—The very ſight of you wou'd ſatisfy him, and then he would die contented.

What ſhall I do?—

Nay, don't heſitate at performing a chari⯑table action.

Well, well—You have perſuaded me.

Ah, you are a ſweet, good Lady, and I hope will be rewarded for your tenderneſs—Then, you promiſe to come immediately?

I do.

Bleſſings on that complying countenance!—Could I but live to ſee you married to my wiſh, I ſhould then be a happy woman!

So! ſo!—Theſe eyes of mine will be brought in guilty of murder!—Well! I am certainly an unaccountable mortal—Though my heart feels the moſt delicate touches of ſenſibility, yet, this love of admiration hurries me, unthinkingly, into a thouſand errors—Poſitively, I will reform—Ay, but how?—Why, marry—Oh, lud, the cure would be worſe than the diſeaſe—And yet, was Sedley my doctor, I think he cou'd qualify the bitter portion—In [...], I'm abſolutely determined—on—what? To be as good as I can.

Talk not of danger, my ſweet girl! who could be ſeparated from you ſo long, and not pur⯑chaſe ſuch precious moments at any riſque?

O dear! what a bounce my heart gave when I ſaw you—I'm frightened out of my wits at your raſhneſs—If my Mamma catches us, we are undone for ever.

You need not fear, Miſs, your Mamma's in too great a concatenation herſelf, tomind you; and ſhe has ſent all the ſervants out, about one fribalous thing, or other—However, to make ſure, I'll ſtand centry myſelf for you, ſo make good uſe of your time, you young rogues.

My impatience would not let me wait the ſucceſs of a ſcheme I had concerted with Sedley, this [56]morning; I was reſolved to ſee you, ſo made uſe of my key of the gate at the end of the lane, to let myſelf into the garden, from whence I ſlipt up the back ſtairs.

You are too ventureſome, yet, I'm glad you are come to my relief—My Mamma inſiſts poſi⯑tively upon my marrying your Uncle to-night.

I know it, my angel, but we will diſap⯑point her, if you'll conſent to let me convey you to a place where we may be united beyond the power of ſeparation.

I would run any hazard to avoid ſo hateful a union—And, yet, Woodford, ſhould you behave unkindly to me, when I'm under your protection, it would break my heart.

He muſt be a villain indeed, who could wrong ſuch innocence—No, rely upon my truth and honour—Let me but lead you from hence, now we have this favourable opportunity, and before we are miſſed, I hope we ſhall be far enough out of the reach of a purſuit.

With all my heart—For, to confeſs the truth, I ſhould like to be run away with into Scot⯑land above all things—O lud! it will be ſo pleaſant, ſo ſpirited, ſo faſhionable, and make ſuch a noiſe in the world!—Why, 'tis the very thing I have been wiſhing for, ever ſince I thought of marriage.

I am happy to find you ſo readily approve of it.

O dear! there is nothing gives a girl the air of conſequence an elopement does—To have one's name bandied about in all the newſpapers in the king⯑dom, with "We hear, that yeſterday morning, the only daughter of Lady Younglove eloped with a young gentleman of family, and great expectations—They were immediately purſued by the young Lady's relations, out in vain—The guardian pow⯑ers of love and beauty had taken them under their [57]protection—Phaeton lent them his chariot, Cupid was the winged Charioteer, and Hymen on the op⯑poſite banks of the Tweed, with open arms, wel⯑comed them into the dominions of joy and happi⯑neſs!"

My charming girl!—How your words animate me—I hope the event will prove equal to our moſt ſanguine expectations—But, let us not waſte the precious moments—Come, and—

Stay, ſtay, not ſo haſty—Let me deſcend a little from my heroics to the level of common ſenſe—Stop here a few moments, while I juſt ſtep up ſtairs for ſome of my beſt cloaths.

No, no, my dear, we ſhall have no occa⯑ſion for them.

Ah, but I'm afraid we ſhall tho'—And if I can ſlip into my mamma's cloſet, I'll ſteal ſome of her jewels out.

Not for the world—You are the only jewel I wiſh to poſſeſs—Let us deal honourably, and truſt to her generoſity for the future.

Then I'm afraid you'll truſt to a broken reed.

No matter, my love, we will put it to the teſt—I am ſenſible of the great hazard we both run by this precipitate ſtep, which nothing, but the fear of loſing you for ever, could urge me to—You, per⯑haps, have not conſidered it ſo ſeriouſly.

Why no, truly, I ſeldom conſider about the matter—Reflection I know, will come time enough afterwards.

Then can you, my roſe-bud, in caſe your mamma is not reconciled to us, relinquiſh all hopes of a coach, with every other attendant on polite life, and be content to live in a cottage with love and me?

I muſt own, that I ſhould like a coach pro⯑digiouſly, but then I like you better—And if gran⯑deur is only to be purchaſed at the expence of hap⯑pineſs, [58]a ſig for it, and every other fine thing—Do you continue but to love me, and I ſhall be as happy as the day is long.

My generous girl! whilſt I have life, it ſhall be my ſtudy ro repay ſuch obligations—Come, let us go down the back ſtairs, and proceed to Sed⯑ley's, where I have a chaiſe waiting for us.

Oh, undone! undone!—Here's your un⯑cle, Sir Whiffling Trifle, and a French gentleman along with him, coming up ſtairs.

Zounds! how unfortunate!

Oh, quite misfortunate indeed!

O, dear! what will become of us?

Is there no place to hide me in?

O none, Sir, except you creep up the chim⯑ney, and ſo on to the top of the next houſe.

Well, I am reſolved—Frippery, leave the room directly.

Yes, Sir, O lud, O lud!

Don't be alarmed, my dear,—follow me, and fear nothing.

So, Monſieur Fineſſe, you really think my Mu⯑ſeum contains more curioſities than—Hey, Mr. Woodford! in the name of all that's wonderful, what brought you here?

A deſign, Sir Whiffling, which your com⯑ing has unluckily interrupted, though not prevented—Let me beg of you therefore, to entertain Mon⯑ſieur Fineſſe with the remainder of your invaluable curioſities, while I attend your niece down ſtairs.

I am aſtoniſhed!—Hold, hold, Sir! you may go when, and where you pleaſe, but my niece ſhall not ſtir.

You ſee, Sir Whif⯑fling, all reſiſtance is in vain.

Help! murder! help!

Not ſo loud, as you value your life.

For pity's ſake, Monſieur, draw and aſ⯑ſiſt me.

Pardonnez moy, Monſieur, I beg to be ex⯑cuſe.

Lookee, Sir Whiffling, if you offer to moleſt me before I'm down ſtairs, and out of doors, the conſe⯑quences may be fatal—Remember that caution as you regard your ſafety.

Do you think they are down ſtairs yet?

No, Monſieur, wait a leatle bit longer.

Draw your ſword, and ſee if they be gone.

To oblige you, I vill draw my ſword, but, je vous demande pardon, I have more politeſſe dan to go before in your own houſe.

Huſh!—I believe we may venture now—Come, follow me then.

Oui, Monſieur, I ſhall take de great care not to go firſt.

My dear Lady, I have impatiently expected you.

How does his Lordſhip?

Juſt alive, that's all.

Then there's no occaſion for my diſ⯑turbing him.

The greateſt in the world—He cannot die in peace till he has ſeen you.

I wiſh our interview was over—You'll be ſure to ſtay all the time in the room with me.

Certainly—Nay, don't heſitate but let me lead you to him.

My Lord!—My Lord!—'Tis all over—My Lord!

Oh!—diſturb me not—let me expire in quiet—'Tis not my charmer's voice.

Still raving on you.—My ſweet Lord, com⯑poſe yourſelf—I have brought Miſs Bloomer to take a laſt farewell.

I am very faint—Ah, Madam, would I had ſtrength to thank you for this favour!

Be compoſed, my Lord—I am hear⯑tily ſorry for your misfortune, and that I was the in⯑nocent occaſion of it.

I bleſs the hour, ſince it has procured me this ſatisfaction—I am weak with the loſs of blood—Might I intreat you to come a little nearer—

Do, my dear Miſs Bloomer, ſit down here—His Lordſhip cannot ſpeak loud.

I have but few moments to ſpare—On that table, Madam, lies my will, properly atteſted—In it you will find the reſpect I have entertained for you.

Pray, my Lord, excuſe me, and give it to thoſe who better deſerve it.

By my faith, he will not, ſo no more words.

I have but one requeſt to make, and then—I die compoſed.

Name it, my Lord,

That you might be legally mine, and—

My lord!

And after my death, without interruption, quietly to enjoy my title as well as fortune.

I am greatly obliged to your Lordſhip, but give me leave poſitively, to decline both.

Nay, now, Miſs Bloomer, I really think you are very wrong—Conſider, what an advantage it will be to you.

I deſpiſe advantages obtained in ſuch a manner.

Indeed, you are too delicate—It will be a public and honourable teſtimony of his love and gratitude.

I deſire no ſuch teſtimonies, and, if that was your deſign, you'll find you've loſt your aim.

Can you refuſe ſuch a trifling, momentary ſatisfaction to a man who is juſt leaving the world?

Can you be ſo inhuman, to load a man juſt leaving the world, with ſuch a weight as matrimony?

Come, all this is feigned—You muſt and ſhall be Lady Flamwell—the Chaplain is waiting without—I'll call him in, and he'll ſoon run over the words—Here, Mr. Ty'em,—walk in, walk in!

Mrs. Faſhion!—Stay!—What do you mean by uſing me thus?—I'll leave your houſe inſtantly.

Are the parties ready?

No, Sir—Have a care what you are about—If you dare proceed a ſtep further in this affair, you ſhall be made a public example of.

My gentle Lady, can you ſuffer me to die in deſpair?

My ungentle Lord! I am not to be trick'd in this manner—Ceaſe your idle ſolicitations.

Not but with my life—Your cruelty has given me new vigor

And thus I ſeize my happineſs.

Hold off!—What! have I been de⯑ceiv'd!—enſnar'd!—'Tis plain—Villain!—who are you?

A man, Madam, who is reſolved to make a proper uſe of this advantage—Come, Madam, you have no time for deliberation—Either this moment let me make you honourably mine, or—neceſſity will compel me to make uſe of force to oblige you.

Monſter! I deteſt you, and deſpiſe your threats!—Dare not for your life, Sir, to bar my way.

Verily, you are righteouſly joined together, and I am ready to affirm, that the ceremony is per⯑formed.

How am I beſet!

You muſt comply—There is no poſſibility of eſcaping.

Help! murder! help!

'Tis all in vain.

Help! help! for heaven's ſake!

Hold, miſcreants! or this moment is your laſt.

Look to the Lady, ſhe faints—

Look to the gentleman here, firſt—He ſeems to be in the worſt condition.

What a ſcene of horror!—Dear Woodford, [63]do you ſecure that wicked woman without, while I aſſiſt Miſs Bloomer.

I will, and as I ſhall take your advice in reſtoring Flora to her mother, will leave Mrs. Fa⯑ſhion in the hands of theſe worthy gentlemen, and wait at your houſe for your return.

O, Sedley! is it to you that I am in⯑debted for this providential reſcue?—'Tis doubly, doubly welcome.

I am ſorry, Madam, that I cannot return the compliment—Mr. Conſtable, conduct theſe vil⯑lains to your own houſe, till they are properly ex⯑amined.

Yes, Sir—Come along, my lads, don't be ſo down-hearted—You are not ſo bad now as you will be, that's ſome comfort—The gallows, you know, never can come out of ſeaſon to you, and ſo, better late than never.

O, my curſt fortune!—Yes, now I ſee I ſhall cut a diſtinguiſhing figure in the world!

When we laſt parted, Miſs Bloomer, little did I expect we ſhould have met in ſuch a manner—Give me leave to aſk, what am I to judge from your appearance here?

The truth—that I was innocently decoyed here, by the wicked woman who keeps this houſe.

Fain, fain would I believe ſo, did not other parts of your conduct contradict it.

My conduct, Sir, though faulty in this particular, is in every other reſpect irreproach⯑able.

I ſhould be happy indeed, Madam, if you could prove it.

Surprizing!—What right have you, Sir, to call my actions in queſtion?

None, Madam, none—The buſy world has done it for you.

Know, Sir, I rely on my own inte⯑grity, and deſpiſe what you or the world can ſay of me.

It too plainly appears, Madam, that you have not the leaſt regard for either.

Good heavens! but I will be calm—I ſee your artifice, you poorly ſeek an excuſe for your own inconſtancy—The oaths, the vows, the ſighs you ſo long offered up to me, are now trans⯑ferred to a more amiable, and deſerving object—Lady Younglove, Sir, has ſent me an invitation of the kindeſt nature—

I know it, Madam—Too long have I dan⯑gled in the train of a Coquette, but I am at laſt convinced, that the levity of your conduct, forbids me ever to hope the leaſt happineſs, with a woman of your gaiety.

Burſt, burſt, ſwelling boſom, ere I give you vent.

O, Sir, you are convinced at laſt—'Tis very well, Sir,—I am ſatisfied—perfectly ſatisfied—Then you give me up for ever.

For ever, Madam, by heaven!

Cruel, ungenerous, Sedley!—What have I done to deſerve this inſult?—eſpecially from you, who of all men, I am leaſt able to bear it from.

Tears! my heart can hold no longer—Madam, Miſs Bloomer!—Heaven is my witneſs, I bleed to wound you thus—I love you! I adore you!—Had I millions they ſhould be yours—But, what can I ſay?—Thus circumſtanced, I am compelled, dear as I love, to bid you eternally farewell—Yet, though I am wretched, compleatly wretched, may the guardian powers of love and innocence, wait on your footſteps, ſhadow you with their wings, and conduct you to that happineſs you have deprived me of.

Stay, raſh man, ſtay—My pride for⯑bids [65]me to ſtoop to a vindication—Yet, my weakneſs confeſſes, that had it not been for your preſent be⯑haviour, I ſhould have preferred you before all the men I ever ſaw—'Till this moment I knew not half the power you had over me—Yes, cruel Sedley, en⯑joy that triumph, but at the ſame time know, I will, if poſſible, tear your image from my breaſt, and bury myſelf where I may never hear your name mentioned.

Hold, my charming angel!—By heaven you ſhall not go—Thus on my knees

let me intreat for pardon—Forgive the man, who doats on you to diſtraction, who lives but in your ſmiles—Abhorred be my tongue for thus wantonly wounding your ſenſibility, and uttering what my heart diſ⯑claims.

I am aſtoniſhed!—And, are you really not engaged to Lady Younglove?

By all the powers of love, I am not, nor ever will be—'Twas all an artifice, to ſerve my friend, and try the ſtrength of your affection—If you refuſe my hand, never ſhall it be the lifeleſs property of another.

Generous man! I am not worthy of you!—No, Sedley, virtues like yours deſerve infi⯑nitely more than I am able to beſtow.

Say not ſo, my beauteous girl!—You muſt, you ſhall be mine—My happineſs is centered in you—Bleſt be the fortunate accident that thus luckily revealed I was not indifferent to you.

And doubly bleſt let it be, ſince it has opened my eyes, and ſhewn me the glaring impropriety of my former conduct—What a dread⯑ful precipice have I eſcaped!—How have I—But, my future life beſt ſhall ſpeak my ſenſe of the paſt—Here let me ſeriouſly renounce all former follies—Never from this hour, will I be guilty of them—You have at laſt effectually compleated the arduous [66]taſk you ſo long purſued—REFORMED A COQUETTE—And now, if you dare—take her for your pains.

O tranſport inexprſſible!—Am I at laſt rewarded!

Hey-day! may I believe my eyes!—Here's a change indeed!—Embraching!

O, my dear girl! I am glad you are come.

Really, ſo am I.—Your humble ſer⯑vant, Mr. Proteus, I am pleaſed to find you in ſuch ſpirits—Not an hour ago, you was the reſolute de⯑termined hero—No, no, Madam, I can love with⯑out being blind.

True, Madam, and without being entirely ſo; where could I ſix, but on ſo deſerving an object? You ſeem ſurprized: let us adjourn to Lady Young⯑love's, and in our way thither, I'll let you into my whole deſign.

Here, take my hand—My heart has not been ſo much at eaſe a long time—And, if girls were but wiſe enough to conſult their own happineſs, inſtead of their triſling with fools and coxcombs, they would ſeek for it where it can only be found—In the arms of men of ſenſe, and virtue.

ACT V.

UPON my word, Miſs, this is the moſt oddeſt affair I was ever extricated in during the whole current of my life—After getting ſo artificially off as you did, for Mr. Sedley to diſſuade your lovyer to return you to your mamma again, inſtead of flou⯑riſhing away to Scotland without redemption—Well! I own its above my compacity to find out.

Ay, or mine either—I'm ſure, I never looked ſo fooliſh in all my life, as when I found we were not to be married.

And well you might, Miſs, to have all your ſchemes confiſticated in ſuch a manner.

And then, Frippery, to be diſappointed of ſuch a delightful jaunt, and expoſed to the ridicule of all one's acquaintance—'Tis, enough to make me cry my eyes out.

Ay, my dear, ſo it is—And, pray, what end did he impoſe by this wiſe ſcheme?

Why, as by ſuch a precipitate ſtep we ſhould entirely forfeit the favour of his uncle, and my mamma, without the leaſt chance of recovery, he perſuaded Woodford to wait the iſſue of a ſcheme which he is going to execute immediately—For my part, if it does ſucceed, I ſhall loſe half the plea⯑ſure I expected in being married in Scotland.

You are right, Miſs, and ſpeak the ſenſa⯑tions of moſt of the girls who go there—Why, I might have been married three years ago to Mr. Scraper, Lord Supple's footman, but that we could not raiſe [68]money enough between us to get there, and I was determined never to follow the vulgar faſhion, of be⯑ing aſked in church.

So, my pretty runaway Miſs! I have you ſafe once more, thanks to Mr. Sedley, and ſhall take care to keep you ſo.

Perhaps you may be miſtaken

It is mighty well, mamma, but you would not like to be ſerved ſo yourſelf.

Go, huſſey, you are a pert ſpoiled girl—Now, Frippery, after this laſt generous act of Mr. Sedley's, I think, I can't have the leaſt doubt of his ſincerity, truth, and tenderneſs.

Doubt, Madam! it would be downright fi⯑delity even to inſpect him of ſuch a thing.

How tediouſly the lazy minutes drawl, to a heart impatient of its bliſs like mine!—Frip⯑pery, do you think I am elegantly enough dreſſed for my bridal day?

Elegant, my Lady!—Why, you are the very moral of gentility—Your new cork-rump be⯑comes you mightily—And Mr. Friz, the hair-dreſſer, [...] your head is now at leaſt half a foot higher [...] the handſome Ducheſs's.

I am glad of it—O, the dear, ſweet [...]!—He promiſed to be here about this time—I [...] he was come—My patience is almoſt exhauſted, [...] I tremble left any accident ſhould rob me of my expected happineſs.

If ſhe ſhould be diſappointed now.

I warrant your Ladyſhip need not fear—No, no, Mr. Sedley is too much of a gentleman to refuſe you any thing.

My beauteous widow!

My long expected love!

I wiſh my mamma would not be quite ſo fond before company.

My dear Lady, I have been obliged to treſpaſs on your patience, in order to bring theſe witneſſes of my happineſs.

Ay, ay, widow, we have crowded all the ſail we could to be in at the firſt broadſide, and now, as we all ſeem in the line, ſuppoſe we hoiſt the ſignal for engaging?

With all my heart, Captain, the ſooner, the better.

Bravely ſpoken, and I'll anſwer, that you'll not be the firſt to cry out quarter.

Oh, Miſs Bloomer! I am happy to ſee you—My dear, this is an unexpected favour—Well, now, after your known partiality for Sedley, can you forgive his infidelity to you?—I proteſt it gives me pain to rob you of ſuch a ſweet man.

Your Ladyſhip is too good—I ſhould be vain indeed, were I to pretend to diſpute a heart with one of your Ladyſhip's age and experience.

Ha! ha! ha! very pleaſant—And yet, I really wonder, what the men can ſee in me ſo to follow and admire—Eſpecially, when they ſacrifice ſuch youth and beauty—But, I hope no bad conſequences will follow your diſappointment—No hanging, or drowning—O lud! I poſitively will give up all thoughts of him, ſooner than be the death of any perſon.

What a malicious devil.

I hope, Madam, I have now removed every ſhadow of doubt which your Ladyſhip might have entertained of my ſincerity.

Entirely, Sir, entirely—And, in or⯑der to convince the world of my diſintereſted love for ſo deſerving an object—Previous to the cere⯑mony, which is to make me happy for ever—there [70]is a deed of gift—

—properly atteſted, of half my fortune at preſent, and, the other half at my death.

My dear Lady, what can I ſay to ſuch un⯑bounded, ſuch unmerited proofs of your goodneſs?

Say! zounds, man, ſay nothing—The wi⯑dow had rather be thanked in deed than in word.

I am afraid, Captain, it is not in my power to pleaſe the Lady either way.

O fie, Mr. Sedley, don't think ſo—I aſſure you I am not the unreaſonable woman you take me for.

I am glad of it, Madam, as I muſt ſpeedily put you to the trial.

I think, Sir, I can ſtand any trial you'll pleaſe to make.

I wiſh we may find it ſo, Madam—By your miſplaced, and with juſtice I may ſay, ridiculous in⯑clination, my Lady, for I cannot call it love, you have been ſo far blindly infatuated, as to make me ſole maſter of your fortune without reſerve—

How!—Am I awake?

Faith, I believe not—But, there ſeems a ſtorm riſing that will quickly call all hands to work.

Well! I declare this is charming!

I am above making an improper uſe of ſuch an advantage—I deſigned at firſt, but to ſerve my friend, and now my end is fully anſwered—Give me leave therefore, in the preſence of this good com⯑pany, to reſtore theſe writings to their juſt owner.

Oh, I ſhall faint! this is too much, too much to bear!

Poor mamma! So, it is indeed, to loſe both money and huſband—Sir, I have not words to thank you as I ought.

Am I betrayed then!—You baſe de⯑luder! villain!

Ha! ha! ha! I hope your Ladyſhip will forgive his infidelity to you—I proteſt it gives me pain to rob you of ſuch a ſweet man.

Confuſion! are all my raviſhing dreams of happineſs come to this!—Oh, the incon⯑ſtancy of mankind! there's neither love, faith, truth, or honour amongſt them.

But, I hope, no bad conſquences will follow your diſappointment—No hanging, or drowning—O lud! I poſitively will give up all thoughts of him, ſooner than be the death of any perſon.

Come, my Lady, forgive this innocent ar⯑tifice, and look upon me as your beſt friend—You might have fallen a dupe to ſome deſigning villain—who, taking advantage of your weakneſs, would have ruined your family, and entailed perpetual miſery on yourſelf.

So! we are all run on a lee ſhore, here!—Why, widow, you have kept a deviliſh bad reckon⯑ing—But I thought how it would be—As for your generoſity, Mr. Sedley, in favour of my little cock⯑boat, why, I heartily thank you—And, as ſoon as the parſon can tip us a cocket, we'll ſteer away for matrimony harbour, directly.

I'm afraid, Captain, wind and tide are ſo much againſt you, that you'll hardly be able to reach the port this trip.

How's this!—Do you refuſe to take con⯑voy too?

No, provided I chuſe my confort—I'm ſure, if I kept company with you, I ſhould ſoon be obliged to take you in tow.

Whew!

Here's a freſh gale ſprung up!

I think, Captain, you have kept a bad reckoning.

And now, Woodford, thanks to Mr. Sed⯑ley's [72]generoſity, I have it in my power to manifeſt my love—Here, take my hand, my fortune's more than ſufficient to enable us to live happily, though not ſplendidly—But, were it not, be aſſured, I would chearfully prefer poverty and a cottage, with the ob⯑ject of my choice, before riches and the moſt ſplen⯑did palace with the man I diſlike.

Right, Madam, the temple of Hymen was reared by virtue, and only occaſionally embel⯑liſhed by Plutus.—Captain, I am ſure, if you ſeri⯑ouſly conſider every thing, you will ſoon be of the young Lady's mind.

May-hap not, for when I am reſolved on doing any thing, I never think about the matter.

Dear uncle, make my happineſs complete by reſtoring me to your favour—Recollect what a cruel conſtraint you were putting upon both our in⯑clinations.

And, you young dog, do you recollect what a cruel conſtraint you are putting upon mine?

I know, Captain, you are a noble-ſpirited, worthy-hearted Briton—Only reflect, with ſuch a great diſparity of years and temper, what a ridicu⯑lous figure you muſt make united to ſo blooming a girl.

Ay, for all the world, like David and Abiſhag, in our old tapeſtry hangings.

Come, be generous, and act like yourſelf—Fill up the marriage ſettlements with your nephew's name, inſtead of your own, and receive the thanks, nay, the bleſſings of the young couple, for ſo lau⯑dable an act.

Upon my knees, uncle, let me beg—

Riſe, you land ſpaniel—When did you ever ſee a ſeaman in ſuch a poſture?—Had it been for a brother tar, why, I ſhould not have held council about it.

Well! it is ſome comfort, to find others in the ſame ſituation with myſelf.

So! after rigging myſelf out for a cruize to the unknown iſlands, my orders are countermand⯑ed, I am to be dock'd, and laid up for life, as unfit for ſervice.

Why, an pleaſe your honour, I do think your works are too much damaged, to venture out to ſea again—You'd certainly founder in the firſt ſtorm.

Do you think ſo, Swab?—Then let us tack about, and alter our courſe—Come hither, nephew, I forgive you what's paſt—You ſhall go maſter in my ſtead, and here are bills of freight and lading for the voyage—But, harkee, as you are a young ſea⯑man, take my advice—Don't crowd too much ſail, or you'll be apt to overſet.

Never fear, uncle, I'll ſteer by your di⯑rection—your goodneſs to me on this occaſion—

No fair-weather ſpeeches, but mind your buſineſs—And, d'ye hear, boy, by way of encou⯑ragement to ſerve his Majeſty, you ſhall have a thou⯑ſand pounds bounty money for every young volun⯑teer you produce, as ſoon as ever they are able to cry, Huzza! King George and his navy for ever—Ay, damme! tho' you ſhould have above the royal dozen!

There ſpoke the true ſpirit of a Britiſh ſeaman.

What ſay you. Widow?—As we both have been a couple of ridiculous old fools, to make a⯑mends, will you join with me, and do the ſame?

Do the ſame, Captain?—I did not rightly underſtand you—You have not, ſurely, any notion of paying your addreſſes to me?

To you!—Avaſt there, ſheer off——No, ſooner than be tack'd to ſuch a ſpit-fire, I'd turn a gun into my powder-room, and blow myſelf up.

A monſter!—A ſavage bear!—Fit only for Greenland!

Well! a Greenland bear is better than a Lapland witch, at any time.

Come along, Frippery—The men have neither eyes, ears, or underſtanding!

Ay, ay, let her have ſea-room enough, or ſhe'll run foul of ſome of you.

Pleaſe your honour, ſince you are ſharing the prize-money, I hope you'll not be angry if I put in my claim?

What wind blows now?

A fair gale, your honour; if I can but preſs yon painter tender into ſervice.

Oh, are you in that quarter?—Have you a mind to deſert your commander in diſtreſs?

No, your honour, never while I have life—, ſhe ſeems a neat tight-ſailing thing, and her upper works are in ſuch nice order, that I ſhould like, of all things, to go maſter.

But, hearkee, have you hail'd her yet, to know whether ſhe'd chuſe to take you on board?

Why, no, your honour; I'm too good a ſeaman to launch out on ſo long a cruize without my commander's leave.

Well, then, Swab, if that's the caſe, after her directly, and bring her too as ſoon as poſſible.

I warrant your honour; to give a good ac⯑count of her—He muſt ſtand many a hard broadſide that takes her from me.

Hey day! here's a Venetian galley, and a whole ſquadron of Turkiſh cruizers in full chace of her.

True, Captain, I have been oblig'd to ran for it, and glad to find this harbour open.

Say you ſo, then let me ſtand in—I'll ſoon make them tack about, and ſheer off.

No occaſion, Captain, I'll ſtand my ground now, and face them—Well, good folks, I ſee by thoſe ſmiles that are ſeated on your counte⯑nances, that every thing is happily ſettled—I give you joy—I met theſe gentlemen in my way hither, they would not believe me, ſo are come to receive their diſmiſſion from your own lips.

Is this true, my dear girl, that you have the inhumanity to be the death of all my hopes?

And can you, Miſs Bloomer, behold my ſufferings without a touch of pity?

The time has been, gentlemen, when I could have play'd on your follies, and encou⯑raged them with the higheſt pleaſure—At preſent, I am diſpoſed to be more ſerious—Therefore, in a word, I beg I may not be honoured with your ad⯑dreſſes more, as you may reſt aſſured, that I never will give you, or any others, the leaſt encourage⯑ment.

And this, my dear, is your poſitive reſo⯑lution?

Poſitive.

Upon my ſoul, my dear, I am ſorry for your taſte—But to ſhew you how faſhionably eaſy I am, under my diſappointment—May elegance re⯑nounce me, if I ever aſk you again—So, ladies and gentlement, wiſhing you all happineſs, I have the honour, ſans ceremonie, to remain, till my lateſt moments, your moſt devoted humble ſervant.

Ha! ha! ha!—As to you, Sir Whif⯑ling, I hope your philoſophy will teach you to bear this event with equal reſignation.

O, I'll anſwer for my uncle——Give him another antedeluvian cockle-ſhell, and he'll renounce the ſex for ever.

Not ſo pert, Miſs—Madam, your frankneſs charms me—I begin to perceive that I de⯑ſerve ridicule for the folly of my purſuits—But, to ſhew you, that, tho' I am old, I am not incorrigi⯑ble, I'll from this moment bid adieu to all thoughts of love, and devote the remainder of my life to more noble ſtudies than either brickbats, cinders, or mutilated ſtatues.

Now, Belgrove, are not theſe genu⯑ine fruits of reformation?

Ha! Monſieur Fineſſe, come back—Why in ſuch a hurry?

Je demande pardon for my intruſion—You be upon de private buſineſs—Je revendrai demain, I'll come again to-morrow.

No, Sir, the preſent time will do better—Hearkee, villain! what motive cou'd induce you to deſtroy my peace, by your infamous miſrepreſentations of Miſs Bloomer?—No evaſion, wretch!

or this moment ſhall be your laſt.

O dear Sir! prenez garde!—Con⯑ſider how ſoon you may frighten a pauvre French⯑man out of his wits.

What, my admirer, Monſieur Fineſſe, is it to you I am ſo much indebted?

Ah, Madame! have pitie!—I confeſſe, I have been von grand rogue—But, je vous en ſup⯑plie—I beſeech you to forgive me.

Riſe!—A moment's reflection ſhews me that you are a wretch beneath my reſentment.

I'l eſt vrai—It is true. indeed, Sir.

Hearkee, ſuppoſe we tar and feather him, and then ſend him home to his own country, to par⯑lez vous with his relations.

By no means, Captain—But, hence from my ſight, let me never ſee you more.

Vous me faites trop d' honneur—You do me too much honour.

The Frenchman, of character and probity, I admire and eſteem—Virtue is not confin'd to clime or complexion, its radient emanations illumine every nation—Yet ſtill, I would not faſhionably encourage the reſuſe of foreign countries, while native merit lies buried in oblivion.

So, Captain, you and I ſeem the only diſconſolate, unprovided creatures in the whole group—We certainly ſhould make a match of it, to com⯑plete the evening's entertainment.

No, no, fair Lady, you have ſome other land in view—As for me—But, no more of what's paſt—Let us enjoy the preſent moments.

And look forward, uncle, to thoſe ſcenes of bliſs which open to our view.

True, Boy, and as this ſeems but a bad harbour to anchor long in, let us all ſteer away for my cabin, where you ſhall have the beſt cheer an old bachelor can give, and as hearty a welcome as the braveſt ſailor in the navy.

We accept your offer, Captain, happy in having our adventures brought to ſo agreeable a con⯑cluſion—I only beg leave to remark—That though our follies and vices juſtly deſerve the comic laſh—Yet, when, inſtead of perſevering, we nobly ac⯑knowledge our errors, and amend—Satire then loſes her ſting, our foibles turn to virtues, and, the moſt permanent felicity ariſes from THE MISTAKES OF THE HEART.