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Frederick Reynolds


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Title: The Dramatist; or Stop Him Who Can!
       A Comedy, in Five Acts


Author: Frederick Reynolds



Release Date: February 23, 2010  [eBook #31374]

Language: English

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THE DRAMATIST;
OR,
STOP HIM WHO CAN!

A Comedy, in Five Acts;

by

FREDERICK REYNOLDS.

As Performed at the
Theatre Royal, Covent Garden.

Printed Under the Authority of the Managers
from the Prompt Book.

With Remarks by Mrs Inchbald.







[Illustration: DRAMATIST

VAPID--PROLOGUE OR EPILOGUE! I'M YOUR MAN:--I'LL WRITE YOU BOTH.

ACT II. SCENE II

PAINTED BY SINGLETON. PUBLISHD BY LONGMAN & CO. ENGRAVD BY ENGLEHEART.]



London:
Printed for Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown,
Paternoster Row.

Edinburgh:
Printed by James Ballantyne and Co.




REMARKS.


Plays of former times were written to be read, not seen. Dramatic
authors succeeded in their aim; their works were placed in libraries,
and the theatres were deserted.--Now, plays are written to be seen, not
read--and present authors gain their views; for they and the managers
are enriched, and the theatres crowded.

To be both seen and read at the present day, is a degree of honour,
which, perhaps, not one comic dramatist can wholly boast, except
Shakspeare. Exclusive of his, scarcely any of the very best comedies of
the best of former bards will now attract an audience: yet the genius of
ancient writers was assisted by various tales, for plots, of which they
have deprived the moderns; they had, besides, the privilege to write
without either political or moral restraint. Uncurbed by law or
delicacy, they wrote at random; and at random wrote some pages worthy
posterity--but along with these, they produced others, which disgrace
the age that reprints and circulates them.

It might be deemed suspicious to insinuate, that those persons, perhaps,
who so vehemently exclaim against modern dramas, give up with reluctance
the old prerogative of listening to wit and repartee, which would make
the refined hearer of the present day blush, and the moral auditor
shudder.

To those who can wisely bear with the faults of their own time, nor
think all that is good is gone by, the representation of the present
comedy will give high entertainment; particularly in those scenes in
which Vapid is concerned.--Reynolds could hardly mistake drawing a
faithful portrait of this character, for it is said--he sat for himself.

Yet those, who expect to be highly delighted with "The Dramatist," must
bring with them to the theatre a proper acquaintance with the stage, and
also of its power over certain of its votaries.

If attraction, if bursts of applause, and still less equivocal
approbation, bursts of laughter, constitute perfect success to a comic
writer, Mr Reynolds, in this, as well as in other of his comedies, has
been preeminently successful.

In this comedy, however, and, perhaps, in one or two more he has
written, there is an obstacle to his independent merit as an author--an
obstacle which too many dramatic writers willingly place in their path
to lasting reputation. He has written for one particular actor to
support his play--Lewis--more worthy to be thus considered than almost
any other performer: but here his very skill gives the alarm--for Lewis
possesses such unaffected spirit on the stage, a kind of vivid fire,
which tempers burlesque with nature, or nature with burlesque, so
happily, that it cannot be hoped any other man will easily support those
characters written purposely for him.

Be that as it may--when Reynolds can no more enliven a theatre by his
Dramatist, this comedy will grow dull in excellent company--for
Congreve's "Way of the World" was hissed, it is said, from a London
stage, the last time it was acted, for insipidity.




DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

LORD SCRATCH                _Mr Quick._
HARRY NEVILLE               _Mr Holman._
FLORIVILLE                  _Mr Blanchard._
WILLOUGHBY                  _Mr Macready._
ENNUI                       _Mr Munden._
PETER                       _Mr Thompson._
VAPID                       _Mr Lewis._
SERVANT                     _Mr Evatt._

LOUISA COURTNEY             _Miss Brunton._
LADY WAITFOR'T              _Mrs Webb._
LETTY                       _Miss Brangin._
MARIANNE                    _Mrs Wells._

_SCENE,--Bath._




THE DRAMATIST.


ACT THE FIRST.


SCENE I.


    _The Grove.--LADY WAITFOR'T'S House._

    _Enter MARIANNE, and LETTY, from the House._

_Mari._ But I tell you I will come out--I didn't come to Bath to be
confined, nor I won't--I hate all their company, but sweet Miss
Courtney's.

_Letty._ I declare, Miss Marianne, you grow worse and worse every day,
your country manners will be the ruin of you.

_Mari._ Don't you talk about that, Letty--It was a shame to bring me up
in the country--if I had been properly taken care of, I might have done
great things--I might have married the poet I danced with at the
ball--But it's all over now.--I shall never get a husband, and, what's
worse, my aunt did it on purpose.--She ruined me, Letty, that nobody
else might.

_Letty._ How you talk!--I hope Miss Courtney hasn't taught you all this?

_Mari._ No,--she's a dear creature,--she has taught me many things; but
nothing improper, I'm sure.

_Letty._ Pray, has she taught you why she never plays any tune but the
one we heard just now?

_Mari._ Yes--and if you'll keep it a secret, I'll tell you, Letty; Mr
Harry Neville taught it her last summer,--and now she is always playing
it, because it puts her in mind of the dear man;--when it is ended,
don't you observe how she sighs from the bottom of her dear little
heart?

_Letty._ Why, I thought they had quarrelled?

_Mari._ So they have--she won't see him, and I believe my aunt, Lady
Waitfor't, has been the occasion of it;--poor Mr Neville!--I wish I
could assist him, for indeed, Letty, I always pity any body that is
crossed in love--it may be one's own case one day or other, you know.

_Letty._ True--and for the same reason, I suppose, you rejoice when it
is successful.--I'm sure now the intended marriage of Lady Waitfor't and
Lord Scratch gives you great pleasure.

_Mari._ What! the country gentleman who has lately come to his title?
No, if you'll believe me, I don't like him at all,--he's a sour old
fellow--is always abusing our sex, and thinks there is only one good
woman under heaven:--now, I'm sure that's a mistake, for I know I'm a
good woman, and I think, Letty, you are another.

_Letty._ Yes,--I hope so, though I confess I think your aunt is better
than either of us.

_Mari._ More shame for you--she is a woman of sentiment, and hums you
over with her flourishes about purity, and feelings.--Feelings!--'faith,
she ought to be ashamed of herself--no other woman would talk in that
manner.

_Letty._ You mistake her--she is a woman of virtue, and can't help
feeling for the vices and misfortunes of others.

_Mari._ Then why can't she do as I have done, Letty? keep her feelings
to herself--If I had given way to them half so much as she has--Oh Lord!
I don't know what might have been the consequence.

_Letty._ For shame! You never hear Lady Waitfor't speak ill of any body.

_Mari._ No,--How should she, when she talks of nobody but herself?

_Letty._ Well, your opinion is of little weight; my Lord sees her merit,
and is come to Bath on purpose to marry her--he thinks her a prodigy of
goodness.

_Mari._ Then, pray let him have her--every fool knows so, to be sure he
does, Letty, that a prodigy of goodness is a very rare thing;--but when
he finds her out!--'faith, it will be a rare joke, when he finds her
out.

_Letty._ Shameful, Miss Marianne! do speak a little intelligibly, and
remember your aunt's favourite observation.

_Mari._ What is it?--I have forgot.

_Letty._ That good sentiments are always plain.

_Mari._ Yes,--so are good women,--bid her remember that, Letty.

_Letty._ Hush:--say no more--here she comes, and Mr Willoughby with her.

_Mari._ Ay--that man is always with her of late--but come, Letty, let's
get out of their way--let's take a walk, and look at the beaux.

_Letty._ The beaux! ah, I see you long to become a woman of fashion.

_Mari._ No--though I hate the country, I never will become a woman of
fashion--I know too well what it is to do many things one don't like,
and 'faith, while there is such real pleasure in following my own
inclinations, I see no reason why, merely out of fashion, I should be
obliged to copy other people's.                     [_Exit, with LETTY._

    _Enter LADY WAITFOR'T and WILLOUGHBY._

_Lady._ [_To SERVANT._] When my lord returns, tell him I'm gone to Lady
Walton's, and shall be back immediately.

_Will._ Then your ladyship is certain Harry Neville is arrived.

_Lady._ Yes--the ungrateful man arrived last night, and, as I yet mean
to consult his happiness, I have written to him to come to me this
evening--but I will ever oppose his union with my lord's ward, Louisa
Courtney, because I think it will be the ruin of them both; and you
know, Willoughby, one cannot forget one's feelings on those occasions.

_Will._ Certainly--Ennui, the time-killer, whose only business in life
is to murder the hour, is also just arrived; and my lord is resolved on
his marrying Louisa instantly.

_Lady._ True--and only because he'll make a quiet member for his brother
in the west. But, for various reasons, I am determined she shall be
yours--yet it must be done artfully--my circumstances are deranged, and
an alliance with my lord Scratch is the only hope of relief.--Such are
the fruits of virtue, Willoughby.

_Will._ Well--but her fortune is entirely dependent on my Lord's
consent, and how is that to be obtained? You know I am no favourite, and
Ennui is a great one.

_Lady._ I know it, and therefore we must incense him against Ennui--let
me see----can't we contrive some mode,--some little ingenious story--he
is a singular character, you know, and has violent prejudices.

_Will._ True--and of all his prejudices, none is so violent, or
entertaining, as that against authors and actors.

_Lady._ Yes,--the stage is his aversion, and some way or other----I have
it--it's an odd thought, but may do much--suppose we tell him Ennui has
written a play.

_Will._ The luckiest thought in the world! it will make him hate him
directly.

_Lady._ Well, leave it to me--I'll explain the matter to him
myself,--and my life on't it proves successful. You see, Willoughby, my
only system is to promote happiness.

_Will._ It is indeed, Lady Waitfor't--but if this fails, may I still
hope for your interest with Miss Courtney?

_Lady._ Yes,--I'm determined she shall be yours, and neither Neville's
nor Ennui's.--But come, it's late--here he is.

_Will._ We'll get rid of him.

    _Enter ENNUI._

_Lady._ Mr Ennui, your most obedient--we are going to the Parade--have
you seen your cousin Neville?

_Ennui._ I've an idea--I've just left him.

_Lady._ I suppose we shall see you at Lady Walton's this evening?--till
then, adieu.                    [_Exeunt LADY WAITFOR'T and WILLOUGHBY._

_Ennui._ I've an idea, I don't like this Lady Waitfor't--she wishes to
trick me out of my match with Miss Courtney, and if I could trick her in
return--[_Takes out his Watch._] How goes the enemy?--only one
o'clock!--I thought it had been that an hour ago!--heigho!--here's my
patron, Lord Scratch.

    _Enter LORD SCRATCH._

_Lord._ What a wonderful virtue is the art of hearing!--may I die, if a
listener be found any where:--Zounds! am not I a peer, and don't I talk
by prerogative?--and, if I mayn't talk ten times as much as another
person, what's the use of my peerage?

_Ennui._ I've an idea--I don't comprehend you.

_Lord._ That fellow Neville wouldn't hear a word I had to
say:--abandoned young dog!--he's come to Bath to invent tales against
that divinity, Lady Waitfor't, again, I suppose--but my ward, Louisa,
shall be put out of his power for ever--she shall marry you to-morrow.

_Ennui._ In fact--I always forgot to give your lordship joy of your
title, though not of your dress.

_Lord._ Not of my dress!--ay, ay;--that's the difference--you poor
devils, in humble life, are obliged to dress well, to look like
gentlemen--we peers may dress as we please--[_Looking at his watch._]
but I shall lose my appointments--past two o'clock.

_Ennui._ Past two o'clock!--delightful!

_Lord._ Delightful!--what, at your old tricks?

_Ennui._ I'd an idea--it had been only one.

_Lord._ And you're delighted because it's an hour later?

_Ennui._ To be sure I am--my dear friend, to be sure I am--the enemy has
lost a limb.

_Lord._ So you're happy, because you're an hour nearer the other
world?--tell me now,--do you wish to die?

_Ennui._ No.--But I wish somebody would invent a new mode of killing
time--in fact, I think I've found one--private acting.

_Lord._ Acting!--never talk to me about the stage--I detest a theatre,
and every thing that belongs to it: and if ever--but no matter--I must
to Lady Waitfor't, and prevail on her to marry me at the same time you
marry my ward.--But, remember our agreement--you are to settle your
estate on Louisa, and I am to bring you into parliament.

_Ennui._ In fact, I comprehend--I am to be a hearer and not a speaker.

_Lord._ Speaker!--if you open your mouth, the Chiltern Hundreds is your
portion.--Look ye--you are to be led quietly to the right side--to sleep
during the debate--give a nod for your vote,--and in every respect, move
like a mandarin, at my command;--in short, you are to be a mandarin
member.--So, fare you well till we're both married. [_Exit._

_Ennui._ I've an idea, here's Neville.--In fact--he knows nothing of my
marrying Louisa, nor shall he, till after the happy day.--Strange news,
Neville.

    _Enter NEVILLE._

_Nev._ I've heard it all. Louisa is going to be married; but to whom I
know not,--and my Lord persists in his fatal attachment to Lady
Waitfor't.

_Ennui._ In fact--Why fatal?

_Nev._ Because it is the source of every mischief.--While she maintains
her power over him, I have no hope of love or fortune:--When my father
died, he left his estate to my brother, relying on my lord providing for
me--and now, how he deserts me!--and all owing to the artifices of an
insidious woman.

_Ennui._ I've an idea, I comprehend her motive--she loves you.

_Nev._ Yes, 'tis too plain--and, because I would not listen to her
advances, she has ruined me in my uncle's opinion, and degraded me in
Louisa's;--but I will see Miss Courtney herself--I will hear my doom
from her own mouth; and if she avoids me, I will leave her, and this
country, for ever.

    _Enter PETER._

_Peter._ A letter, sir.

_Nev._ Without direction!--What can it mean?

_Peter._ Sir, 'tis from Lady Waitfor't.--The servant, who brought it,
said, her ladyship had reasons for not directing it, which she would
explain to you when she saw you.                                [_Exit._

_Nev._ Oh, the old stratagem:--as it is not directed, she may swear it
was designed for another person.                                [_Reads._

     _Sir_,

     _I have heard of your arrival at Bath, and, strange as
     my conduct may appear, I think it a duty I owe to the
     virtuous part of mankind, to promote their happiness as
     much as I can; I have long beheld your merit, and long
     wished to encourage it.--I shall be at home at six this
     evening.      Yours,_

     A. WAITFOR'T.

_Ennui._ In fact--a very sentimental assignation, that would do as well
for any other man.

_Nev._ If I show it to my lord, I know his bigotry is such, that he
would, as usual, only suppose it a trick of my own--the more cause there
is to condemn, the more he approves.

_Ennui._ I've an idea, he's incomprehensible.--In fact--who have we
here?

_Nev._ As I live, Vapid, the dramatic author--he is come to Bath to pick
up characters, I suppose.

_Ennui._ In fact--pick up!

_Nev._ Yes--he has the ardor scribendi upon him so strong, that he would
rather you'd ask him to write an epilogue to a new play, than offer him
your whole estate--the theatre is his world, in which are included all
his hopes and wishes.--In short, he is a dramatic maniac. And to such an
extent does he carry his folly, that if he were not the best natured
fellow in the world, every body would kick him out of doors.

_Ennui._ Has he not a share of vanity in his composition?

_Nev._ Oh yes--he fancies himself a great favourite with the women.

_Ennui._ Then I've an idea--I've got a thought, by which you may revenge
yourself on Lady Waitfor't--in fact--give him the letter--he'll
certainly believe 'tis meant for himself.

_Nev._ My dear friend, ten thousand thanks!--We'll flatter his vanity,
by persuading him she is young and beautiful, and my life on't it does
wonders;--but, hush, he comes.

    _Enter VAPID._

_Nev._ Vapid! I rejoice to see you,--'tis a long time since we met; give
me leave to introduce you to a particular friend of mine--Mr Ennui--Mr
Vapid.

_Ennui._ I've an idea--you do me honour--Mr Vapid, I shall be proud to
be better acquainted with you--in fact--any thing of consequence
stirring in the fashionable or political world?

_Vapid._ Some whispers about a new pantomime, sir,--nothing else.

_Nev._ And I'm afraid, in the present scarcity of good writers, we have
little else to expect.--Pray, Vapid, how is the present dearth of genius
to be accounted for; particularly dramatic genius?

_Vapid._ Why, as to dramatic genius, sir, the fact is this--to give a
true picture of life, a man should enter into all its scenes,--should
follow nature, sir--but modern authors plunder from one another--the
mere shades of shadows.--Now, sir, for my part, I dive into the world--I
search the heart of man;--'tis true I'm called a rake--but, upon my
soul, I only game, drink, and intrigue, that I may be better able to
dramatize each particular scene.

_Nev._ A good excuse for profligacy.--But tell me, Vapid, have you got
any new characters since you came to Bath?

_Vapid._ 'Faith, only two--and those not very new either.

_Ennui._ In fact--may we ask what they are?

_Vapid._ If you don't write.

_Nev._ No, we certainly do not.

_Vapid._ Then I'll tell you:--The first is a charitable divine, who, in
the weighty consideration how he shall best lavish his generosity, never
bestows it at all:--and the other is a cautious apothecary, who, in
determining which of two medicines is best for his patient, lets him die
for want of assistance.--You understand me, I think, this last will do
something, eh?

_Ennui._ I've an idea--the apothecary would cut a good figure in a
comedy.

_Vapid._ A comedy! pshaw! I mean him for a tragedy.

_Ennui._ In fact--I don't comprehend, nor, possibly, the town.

_Vapid._ I know it--that's the very thing--hark ye, I've found out a
secret--what every body understands, nobody approves; and people always
applaud most where they least comprehend.--There is a refinement, sir,
in appearing to understand things incomprehensible--else whence arises
the pleasure at an opera, a private play, or a speech in parliament?
why, 'tis the mystery in all these things--'tis the desire to find out
what nobody else can--to be thought wiser than others--therefore--you
take me--the apothecary is the hero of my tragedy.

_Nev._ 'Faith, there is some reason in all this--and I'm amazed we have
so many writers for the stage.

_Vapid._ So am I--and I think I'll write no more for an ungrateful
public--you don't know any body that has a play coming out, do you?

_Nev._ No--why do you ask?

_Vapid._ He'll want an epilogue you know, that's all.

_Nev._ Why, you won't write him one, will you?

_Vapid._ I! oh Lord! no;--but genius ought to be encouraged, and as he's
a friend of yours,--what's the name of the play?

_Nev._ I really don't know any body that has written one.

_Vapid._ Yes----yes----you do.

_Nev._ Upon my word, I do not--a cousin of mine, indeed, wrote one for
his amusement, but I don't think he could ever be prevailed on to
produce it on the stage.

_Vapid._ He prevailed on!--the manager you mean--but what did you think
of it?

_Nev._ I never read it, but am told it is a good play--and if performed,
Vapid, he will be proud of your assistance.

_Vapid._ I speak in time, because it is material--many a dull play has
been saved by a good epilogue.

_Nev._ True--but I had almost forgot.--Why, Vapid, the lady in the Grove
will enlarge your knowledge amazingly.

_Ennui._ I've an idea--she's the pattern of perfection.

_Nev._ The paragon of beauty! Ah, Vapid! I would give worlds for the
coldest expression in this letter.

_Vapid._ That letter!--what do you mean by that letter?

_Nev._ And you really pretend not to know the young Lady Waitfor't?

_Vapid._ No,--I hav'n't spoke to a woman at Bath,--but a sweet girl I
danced with at the ball; and who she is, by the Lord, I don't know.

_Nev._ Well, but, Vapid--young Lady Waitfor't--she loves you to
distraction.

_Vapid._ As I hope for fame, I never heard her name before.

_Nev._ Then she has heard yours, and admires your genius; however, read
the letter, and be satisfied she loves you.              [_VAPID reads._

     _Arrived at Bath--duty I owe--virtuous part of
     mankind--beheld your merit--wish to encourage--six this
     evening.--A. Waitfor't--Grove._

_Vapid._ Yes, yes, it's plain enough now--she admires my talents!--It
isn't the first time, Neville, this has happened.--Sweet fond
fool!--I'll go and prepare myself directly.

_Nev._ Ay do, Vapid,--she'll be all on fire to see you.

_Vapid._ All on fire! I suppose so.--Write a play, Neville, write a
play--you see the effect of the muses and graces when they unite--you
see, Neville, you see----but, hold, hold--how the devil came you by this
letter?

_Nev._ That's true enough. [_Aside._] I'll tell you--I was at her party
last night, and on coming out of the room she slipt it into my hand, and
desired me to direct it, and give it to you--She has often spoke to me
in your favour, and I did you all the good I could--however, to be sure
it's no mistake, ask the servant, who admits you, if the name at the
bottom is not her own hand-writing.

_Vapid._ Oh, no!--it's no mistake,--there's no doubt of the
matter.--Write a play, Neville, write a play--and charm the ladies, you
dog!--adieu!                                                    [_Exit._

_Ennui._ I've an idea--if we've common fortune, this will do every
thing.

_Nev._ No,--Lady Waitfor't's arts are numberless--she is so perfect a
hypocrite, that I even doubt her confessing her real sentiments to her
minion Willoughby; and when she does a bad action, she ever pretends
'tis from a good motive.

    _Enter VAPID._

_Vapid._ Gad, I forgot--you'll recollect the epilogue, Neville.

_Nev._ Yes,--I'll write to my cousin to-day.

_Vapid._ But, not a word of the love affair to him--any where else
indeed it might do one a service--but never tell an intrigue to a
dramatic author.

_Ennui._ In fact--why not sir?

_Vapid._ Because it may furnish a scene for a comedy--I do it
myself.--Indeed, I think the best part of an intrigue is the hopes of
incident, or stage effect--however, I can't stay.

_Nev._ Nay, we'll walk with you--I, in pursuit of my brother--you, of
your mistress.

_Vapid._ Ay, Neville, there it is--now, do take my advice, and write a
play--if any incident happens, remember, it is better to have written a
damned play, than no play at all--it snatches a man from obscurity--and
being particular, as this world goes, is a very great thing.

_Nev._ But I confess I have no desire to get into print.

_Vapid._ Get into print!--pshaw! every body gets into print now.--Kings
and quacks--peers and poets--bishops and boxers--tailors and trading
justices--can't go lower, you know--all get into print!--But we soar a
little higher,--we have privileges peculiar to ourselves.--Now, sir,
I--I, for my part, can talk as I please,--say what I will, it is sure to
excite mirth,--for, supposing you don't laugh at my wit, I laugh myself,
Neville, and that makes every body else do the same--so allons!

_Ennui._ I've an idea--no bad mode of routing the enemy. [_Exeunt._




ACT THE SECOND.


SCENE I.


    _An Apartment in LADY WAITFOR'T'S House.--Two Chairs._

    _Enter VAPID and a SERVANT._

_Serv._ Sir, my lady will wait on you immediately.

_Vapid._ Hark ye, sir--Is this young lady of yours very handsome?

_Serv._ Sir?

_Vapid._ Is your young mistress, sir, very handsome?

_Serv._ Yes, sir.--My young mistress is thought a perfect beauty.

_Vapid._ Charming!--What age do you reckon her?

_Serv._ About twenty, sir.

_Vapid._ The right interesting age! and fond of the drama, I suppose?

_Serv._ Sir?

_Vapid._ Very fond of plays, I presume?

_Serv._ Yes, sir, very fond of plays, or any thing relating to them.

_Vapid._ Delightful!--now am I the happiest dog alive:--yes, yes, Vapid!
let the town damn your plays, the women will never desert you. [_Seats
himself._] You needn't stay, sir. [_Exit SERVANT._] That's a good sign,
that fellow isn't used to this kind of business--so much the
better--practice is the destruction of love----yes, I shall indulge a
beautiful woman,--gratify myself, and, perhaps, get the last scene for
my unfinished comedy.

    _Enter LADY WAITFOR'T._

_Lady._ Sir, your most obedient.

_Vapid._ Ma'am.                                               [_Bowing._

_Lady._ Pray keep your seat, sir--I beg I mayn't disturb you.

_Vapid._ By no means, ma'am, give me leave--[_Both sit._] Who the devil
have we here?                                                  [_Aside._

_Lady._ I am told, sir, you have business for Lady Waitfor't?

_Vapid._ Yes, ma'am--being my first appearance in that character, but I
could wait whole hours for so beautiful a woman.

_Lady._ Oh, sir!

_Vapid._ Yes--I am no stranger to her charms----sweet young creature!

_Lady._ Nay, dear sir, not so _very_ young.

_Vapid._ Your pardon, ma'am,--and her youth enhances her other
merits.--But, oh! she has one charm that surpasses all.

_Lady._ Has she, sir?--What may that be?

_Vapid._ Her passion for the stage.

_Lady._ Sir!

_Vapid._ Yes, her passion for the stage; that, in my mind, makes her the
first of her sex.

_Lady._ Sir, she has no passion for the stage.

_Vapid._ Yes, yes, she has.

_Lady._ But I protest she has not.

_Vapid._ But I declare and affirm it as a fact, she has a strong passion
for the stage, and a violent attachment for all the people that belong
to it.

_Lady._ Sir, I don't understand you--explain.

_Vapid._ Hark ye,--we are alone--I promise it shall go no further, and
I'll let you into a secret--I know----

_Lady._ Well, what do you know?

_Vapid._ I know a certain dramatic author with whom she----he had a
letter from her this morning.

_Lady._ What?

_Vapid._ Yes,--an assignation--don't be alarmed--the man may be depended
on--he is safe--very safe!--Long in the habit of intrigue--a good person
too!--a very good person indeed.

_Lady._ Amazement!

_Vapid._ [_Whispering her._] Hark ye, he means to make her happy in less
than half an hour.

_Lady._ [_Rising._] Sir, do you know who you're talking to?--do you know
who I am?

_Vapid._ No,--How the devil should I?

_Lady._ Then know I am Lady Waitfor't!

_Vapid._ You Lady Waitfor't!

_Lady._ Yes, sir--the only Lady Waitfor't!

_Vapid._ Mercy on me!--here's incident!

_Lady._ Yes, and I am convinced you were sent here by that traitor,
Neville.--Speak, is he not your friend?

_Vapid._ Yes, ma'am:--I know Mr Neville.--Here's equivoque!

_Lady._ This is some trick, some stratagem of his.--He gave you the
letter to perplex and embarrass me.

_Vapid._ Gave the letter! 'gad that's great.--Pray, ma'am, give me leave
to ask you one question--Did you write to Mr Neville?

_Lady._ Yes, sir,--to confess the truth, I did--but from motives----

_Vapid._ Stop, my dear ma'am, stop--I have it--now,--let me be
clear--first, you send him a letter; is it not so? yes: then he gives it
to me--very well: then I come (supposing you only twenty) mighty
well!--then you turn out ninety--charming!---then comes the
embarrassment: then the eclaircissement! Oh! it's glorious!--Give me
your hand--you have atoned for every thing.

_Lady._ O! I owe all this to that villain, Neville--I am not
revengeful--but 'tis a weakness to endure such repeated provocations,
and I am convinced the mind, that too frequently forgives bad actions,
will at last forget good ones.

_Vapid._ Bravo! encore, encore--it is the very best sentiment I ever
heard--say it again, pray say it again--I'll take it down, and blend it
with the incident, and you shall be gratified, one day or other, with
seeing the whole on the stage.--"The mind that too frequently forgives
bad actions will at last forget good ones."
                             [_Taking it down in his common place book._

_Lady._ This madman's folly is not to be borne--if my Lord too should
discover him. [_VAPID sits, and takes notes._] Here, the consequences
might be dreadful, and the scheme of Ennui's play all undone.--Sir, I
desire you'll quit my house immediately--Oh! I'll be revenged, I'm
determined.                                                     [_Exit._

_Vapid._ What a great exit!----Very well!--I've got an incident,
however.--'Faith, I have noble talents--to extract gold from lead has
been the toil of numberless philosophers; but I extract it from a baser
metal, human frailty--Oh! it's a great thing to be a dramatic genius!--a
very great thing indeed.                              [_As he is going,_

    _Enter LORD SCRATCH._

_Vapid._ Sir, your most devoted,----How d'ye do?

_Lord._ Sir, your most obedient.

_Vapid._ Very warm tragedy weather, sir!--but, for my part, I hate
summer, and I'll tell you why,--the theatres are shut, and when I pass
by their doors in an evening, it makes me melancholy--I look upon them
as the tombs of departed friends that were wont to instruct and delight
me--I don't know how you feel--perhaps you are not in my way?

_Lord._ Sir!

_Vapid._ Perhaps you don't write for the stage--if you do,--hark
ye--there is a capital character in this house for a farce.

_Lord._ Why! what is all this--who are you?

_Vapid._ Who am I?--here's a question! in these times who can tell who
he is?--for aught I know I may be great uncle to yourself, or first
cousin to Lady Waitfor't--the very woman I was about to--but no
matter--since you're so very inquisitive, do you know who you are?

_Lord._ Look ye, sir, I am Lord Scratch.

_Vapid._ A peer! pshaw! contemptible;--when I ask a man who he is, I
don't want to know what are his titles, and such nonsense; no, Old
Scratch, I want to know what he has written, when he had the curtain up,
and whether he's a true son of the drama.--Harkye, don't make yourself
uneasy on my account--In my next pantomime, perhaps, I'll let you know
who I am, Old Scratch.                                          [_Exit._

_Lord._ Astonishing! can this be Lady Waitfor't's house--"Very warm
tragedy weather, sir!" "In my next pantomime, let you know who I
am."--Gad, I must go and investigate the matter immediately, and if she
has wronged me, by the blood of the Scratches, I'll bring the whole
business before parliament, make a speech ten hours long, reduce the
price of opium, and set the nation in a lethargy.               [_Exit._


SCENE II.


    _A Library in LADY WAITFOR'T'S House.--A Sofa and two Chairs._

    _Enter VAPID._

_Vapid._ Either this house is a labyrinth, or I, in reflecting on my
incident, have forgot myself; for so it is I can't find my way out--who
have we here? by the sixtieth night, my little partner!

    _Enter MARIANNE, with a Book in her Hand._

_Mari._ The poet I danced with!--he little thinks how much I've thought
of him since--Sir.                                       [_Courtesying._

_Vapid._ Ma'am.                                              [_Bowing._]

_Mari._ I hope, sir, you caught no cold the other night?

_Vapid._ No, ma'am, I was much nearer a fever than a cold.--Pray, ma'am,
what is your study?

_Mari._ I have been reading "All for Love."--Pray, sir, do you know any
thing about plays?

_Vapid._ Know any thing about plays!--there's a question!

_Mari._ I know so much about them, that I once acted at a private
theatre.

_Vapid._ Did you? Then you acted for your own amusement, and nobody's
else: what was the play?

_Mari._ I can't tell!

_Vapid._ Can't tell?

_Mari._ No,--nobody knew,--it's a way they have.

_Vapid._ Then they never act a play of mine.--With all this partiality
for the stage--perhaps you would be content with a dramatist for
life--particularly if his morals were fine?

_Mari._ Lord! I don't care about fine morals--I'd rather my husband had
fine teeth,--and I'm told most women of fashion are of the same opinion.

_Vapid._ To be sure they are,--but could you really consent to run away
with a poet?

_Mari._ 'Faith--with all my heart--they never have any money, you know,
and, as I have none, our distress would be complete; and, if we had any
luck, our adventures would become public, and then we should get into a
novel at last.

_Vapid._ Into a prison, more probably--if she goes on in this way, I
must dramatize her first,--and run away with her afterwards. [_Aside._]
Come, are you ready?

_Lady W._ [_Without._] Tell my lord, sir, I'll wait in the library.

_Mari._ Oh lord! my aunt, what's to be done?

_Vapid._ What's to be done!--why?

_Mari._ She mustn't find you here--she'll be the death of us, she is so
violent.

_Vapid._ Well, I'm not afraid--she's no manager.

_Mari._ If you have any pity for me--here--hide yourself for a moment
behind this sofa, and I'll get her out of the room directly.

_Vapid._ Behind the sofa! here's an incident!

_Mari._ Nay--pray--she's here! come--quick!--quick!--

    [_VAPID gets behind the Sofa, MARIANNE sits on it, takes
      out her work bag, and begins singing----_

_Mari._ Toll de roll, &c.

    _Enter LADY WAITFOR'T._

_Lady._ Marianne, how came you here? I desire you'll leave the room
directly.

_Mari._ Leave the room, aunt?

_Lady._ Yes, leave the room immediately--what are you looking at?

_Mari._ Nothing, aunt, nothing--Lord! lord! what will become of poor,
poor Mr Poet?                                                   [_Exit._

_Lady._ So--here's my lord--now to mention Ennui's play, and if it does
but prejudice him against him, Willoughby marries Louisa, and Neville is
in my own power.

    _Enter LORD SCRATCH._

_Lord._ That curst pantomime ruffian! nobody knows any thing about
him--perhaps my lady has got a sudden touch of the dramatic mania, and
prefers him--here she is--now if she would talk about the stage.

_Lady._ Pray be seated, my lord--I want to ask you a favour.

_Lord._ Ask me a favour? Is it possible?                    [_They sit._

_Lady._ Yes, for your friend Ennui--what do you think he has done?

_Lord._ What?

_Lady._ Turned author.--He has written a comedy.

_Lord._ A comedy!--she has it.

_Lady._ Yes--it's very true, and it has been approved of by men of the
first dramatic fame.

_Lord._ Dramatic fame! she has it!--dam'me, she has it!

_Lady._ Nay, if you need farther proof, my lord, it has been approved by
the manager of one of the theatres, and the curtain is to draw up next
winter.

_Lord._ The curtain draw up!--Look ye, madam, I care no more for the
manager or his theatre----

_Lady._ Now, my lord, the favour I have to ask of you is this--promise
me to peruse the play, make alterations, and write the epilogue.

_Lord._ The epilogue!--fire and forefathers!          [_LADY holds him._

_Lady._ Ay, or the prologue.

_Lord._ The prologue! blood and gunpowder!

    [_VAPID comes from behind the sofa, and smacks him on
      the back._

_Vapid._ Prologue or epilogue!--I'm the man--I'll write you both.

_Lord._ There he is again!

_Lady._ Oh! I shall faint with vexation!--My lord, I desire you'll
misinterpret nothing--every thing shall be explained to you.--Marianne!

_Lord._ Here's the curtain up with a vengeance!

    _Enter MARIANNE._

_Lady._ Answer me directly, how came that gentleman in this apartment? I
know it is some trick of yours.

_Vapid._ [_Coming down the stage._] To be sure, never any thing was so
fortunate!--upon my soul, I beg your pardon; but, curse me, if I can
help laughing, to think how lucky it was for you both I happened to be
behind the sofa!--ha! ha! ha!

_Mari._ [_As if taking the hint._] 'Faith, no more can I--to be sure it
was the luckiest thing in the world! ha! ha! ha!

    [_Here they both laugh loud, and point to my LORD, and
      LADY WAITFOR'T, who stand, between them in amazement._

_Lady._ Sir, I insist you lay aside this levity, and instantly explain
how you came in this room.

_Lord._ Ay, sir,--explain.

_Vapid._ Never fear, old lady--I'll bring you off, depend on't.

_Lady._ Bring me off, sir! speak out, sir, how came you in this
apartment?

_Vapid._ With all my heart--by her ladyship's own appointment.

_Lady._ My own appointment!----I shall run wild.

_Vapid._ To be sure you have hardly forgot your own hand writing.

_Lord._ Her own hand writing!--get on, sir,--I beseech you, get on.

_Vapid._ Why, look ye, old Scratch,--you seem to be an admirer of this
lady's.--Now I think it my duty as a moral dramatist--a moral dramatist,
sir, mark that--to expose hypocrisy--therefore, sir, there is the
letter, read it, and be convinced of your error.

_Lord._ Very well; have you done, sir--have you done?--consider I'm a
peer of the realm, and I shall die if I don't talk.

_Vapid._ And now, sir, I must beg a favour of you--[_Gets close to
him._]--keep the whole affair secret, for if it gets hacknied, it loses
its force.--To bring it all on the stage: hush! say nothing--it will
have a capital effect, and brother bards will wonder where I stole
it--your situation will be wonderful--you hav'n't an idea how ridiculous
you will look--you will laugh very much at yourself, I assure you.

_Lord._ What is all this! Well, now I will speak--I'll wait no longer.

_Vapid._ Yes, yes, I shall take care of you,--Falstaff in the buck
basket will be nothing to it--he was only the dupe of another man's
wife,--you'll be the dupe of your own, you know--"think of that, Master
Brook, think of that." Well, your servant.                      [_Exit._

_Lord._ He's gone without hearing me!--then there's an end of every
thing, for here I stand, once a barrister,--since a country gentleman,
and now a peer; and, though I have made twenty attempts to speak, I
can't be heard a syllable,--mercy! what will this world come to! A peer,
and not be heard!

_Lady._ My lord,--assured of my innocence, I have no doubt of justifying
my own conduct, and even by means of that letter increasing your
affection.--It was written to another person--your ungrateful nephew.

_Lord._ My nephew?

_Lady._ Yes, sir, I could not perceive him losing the esteem of his
friends, without having the desire to reclaim him--indeed, I knew no
better mode of fulfilling my project, than by personally warning him of
his situation.--For this purpose, I wrote that letter, and I never
thought it would have been thus misused.--If there is any improper
warmth in the expressions, it only proceeds from my anxiety of ensuring
an interview.--I hope, sir, you are satisfied.

_Lord._ Why, I believe you, my lady; and I should be perfectly satisfied
if I could forget your passion for the stage, and that madman behind the
sofa.

_Lady._ As to that, sir, this young lady can best inform you.--I desired
him to leave the house an hour ago.

_Mari._ [_Aside._] I'm afraid my only way is to confess all.--My lord,
if I confess the truth, I hope you'll prevail on my aunt to forgive me.

_Lord._ Tell what you know, and I'll answer for your forgiveness.

_Mari._ Why, sir, I found the gentleman alone, and not having had a
_tete-a-tete_ a long time, I pressed him to stay, and, on hearing your
voice, I put him behind the sofa,--that you might not think any thing
had happened,--and, indeed, sir, nothing did happen--upon my word he's
as quiet, inoffensive a gentleman as yourself.

_Lord._ My fears are over! Oh! you finished composition! come to my
arms, and when I suspect you again--[_Coughs much._]--this curst cough,
it takes one so suddenly!

    _Enter ENNUI._

_Ennui._ I've an idea--Floriville is arrived--in fact--I just now spoke
to him.

_Lord._ Floriville arrived!--Come, my lady--let's go see what his
travels have done for him.--Hark ye, Ennui--prepare for your interview
with Louisa, and remember you make a mandarin member.--Come, my
lady--nay, never irritate your feelings.        [_Exeunt LORD and LADY._

_Mari._ So--poor Mr Neville is to lose Miss Courtney.--Her present
quarrel with him is so violent, that she may marry this idiot merely in
revenge.--If I could dupe him now, and ensure her contempt.--I'll
try.--Mr Ennui, have you seen your intended wife yet?

_Ennui._ No.

_Mari._ So I thought--why you'll never please her while you remain as
you are.--You must alter your manners.--She is all life!--all
spirits!--and loves a man the very opposite to you.

_Ennui._ I've an idea--I'm very sorry--in fact--how can I please her?

_Mari._ There's the difficulty--let me see--the sort of man she prefers
is--you know Sir Harry Hustle?--a man all activity and confidence!--who
does every thing from fashion, and glories in confessing it.

_Ennui._ Sir Harry Hustle?--in fact--he's a modern blood of fashion.

_Mari._ I know--that's the reason she likes him, and you must become the
same, if you wish to win her affection--a new dress--bold looks--a few
oaths, and much swaggering, effects the business. [_ENNUI puts himself
in attitudes._] Ay, that's right, you are the very man already.

_Ennui._ I'm a lad of fashion!--eh, dam'me!--I've an idea--I shall fall
asleep in the midst of it.

_Mari._ No, no;--go about it directly--see Sir Harry Hustle, and study
your conversation before hand--but remember Louisa is so fond of
fashion, that you can't boast too much of its vices and absurdities.

_Ennui._ If virtue was the fashion, I should be virtuous!--I should,
dam'me!

_Mari._ Ay, that's the very thing--well;--good bye, Mr Ennui--success
attend you--mind you talk enough.

_Ennui._ Talk!--I'll talk till I fall asleep!--I will! dam'me!
                                [_Exit, swaggering.--MARIANNE laughing._




ACT THE THIRD.


SCENE I.


    _A Saloon in LADY WAITFOR'T'S House._

    _LOUISA discovered reading._

_Louisa._ Heigho! these poets are wonderfully tiresome--always on the
same theme--nothing but love--I'm weary of it. [_Lays down the book, and
rises._] Ungenerous Neville! how could he use me so cruelly? to attempt
to gain my affections, and then address another? Lady Waitfor't has
convinced me of the fact,--I can never forgive him: yet, I fear I love
him still--well, I'll even go examine my heart, and determine whether I
do love him or not.

    _Enter NEVILLE, as she is going out._

Mr Neville!--I thought, sir, I had desired we might never meet again.

_Nev._ 'Tis true, madam, and I meant to obey your commands, hard as they
were, implicitly obey them--but I came hither to welcome my brother, and
not to intrude on the happiness of her I am doomed to avoid.

_Louisa._ If I remember, sir, truth was ever among the foremost of your
virtues?

_Nev._ Yes--and I am confident you have no reason to doubt it--though
you have cause to censure my presumption, you have none to suspect my
fidelity.

_Louisa._ Oh no!--I don't suspect your fidelity in the least, but when
people are faithful to more than one, you know, Mr Neville----

_Nev._ I don't understand you, ma'am.

_Louisa._ It is no matter, Mr Neville--you may spare yourself any
trouble in attempting to justify your conduct--I am perfectly satisfied,
sir, I'll assure you.                                          [_Going._

_Nev._ Oh, do not leave me in this anxious state!--perhaps this is the
last time we shall ever meet, and to part thus, would embitter every
future moment of my life. Indeed, I have no hopes that concern not your
happiness--no wishes that relate not to your esteem.

_Louisa._ Sir,--I will freely confess to you, had you shown the least
perseverance in your affection or sincerity in your behaviour, I could
have heard your addresses with pleasure--but to listen to them now, Mr
Neville, would be to approve a conduct, my honour prompts me to resent,
and my pride to despise.

_Nev._ Then I am lost indeed!--'Tis to the perfidious Lady Waitfor't I
owe all this--my present

    _Enter LADY WAITFOR'T, behind._

misery--my future pain--are all the product of her jealous rage!--She is
so vile a hypocrite, that--

_Lady._ [_Coming forward._] Who is a hypocrite, sir?

_Nev._ Madam!

_Lady._ Who is a hypocrite, sir? answer me.

_Nev._ Ask your own heart, that can best inform you.

_Lady._ Tell me, Mr Neville, what have I done, that you dare insult me
thus?

_Nev._ What have you done! look on that lady, madam;--there all my hopes
and wishes were combined!--There was the very summit of my bliss!--I
thought I had attained it; but in the moment of my happiness, you came,
crushed every hope, and baffled all my joys.

_Lady._ Upon my word, sir, very romantic,--but I thank Heaven, I look
for approbation in a better opinion than that of Mr Neville's.

_Nev._ 'Tis well you do, madam; for were I your judge, your punishment
should be exemplary.--But I'll waste words no more--I only hope [_To
LOUISA._] you, madam, are satisfied that one of my errors may at least
be forgiven, and this last suspicion for ever blotted from your memory.

_Lady._ Sir,--from that lady's forgiveness you have nothing to
expect--if she consents to pardon you, I'll take care my lord never
shall.

_Nev._ No--I do not hope for forgiveness--I have heard her
determination; and, cruel as it is, to that I must resign;--she may be
assured I never will intrude where I know I offend.

_Louisa._ Do you then leave us, Mr Neville?

_Nev._ Yes, madam,--and for ever!----May you be as blest in the
gratification of your hopes as I have been wretched in the
disappointment of mine.                                         [_Exit._

_Lady._ Tyrant! I wish he had stayed to hear reason--I hope he is not
serious in leaving us.

_Louisa._ You hope!--Why does it concern you?

_Lady._ Oh! no further than from that general love I bear mankind.--You
forget my feelings on these occasions, Louisa.

_Louisa._ Yes, indeed--I have too much reason to attend to my
own!--You'll excuse me--I have particular business--I'll return
immediately.                                                    [_Exit._

_Lady._ Oh! the cause of her confusion is evident--she loves him
still--but they shall never meet again--I have already sent a letter to
Willoughby, which imparts a scheme I have long cherished. My lord, in
his anger about my stage mania, has forgot Ennui's play; so, that there
may be no bars to Willoughby's happiness, I am determined Louisa shall
be his this very night.

    _Enter LORD SCRATCH._

_Lord._ Here's a spectacle for a peer! Floriville is below, and has
returned from his travels a finished coxcomb.--I'll not give him a
farthing.

_Lady._ Nay, my lord, perhaps you may be mistaken.

_Lord._ Mistaken! no,--he has travelled not to see, but to say he had
seen.

    _Enter MARIANNE, with a French Watch and Chain._

_Mari._ Oh, uncle-in-law! look here----I never saw any thing so elegant
in all my life.

_Lord._ Whose present is this?

_Mari._ Whose!--why the sweet gentleman's just arrived from
Italy.--Lord! he's a dear man!--He has promised to do every thing for
me--to get me a fortune--to get me a husband--to get me a----

_Lord._ Hush! you don't know what you are talking about.

_Mari._ Yes, but I do, though--he has told me every thing--Lord! I have
heard such things!--Come here, near--[_LORD SCRATCH gets close to her._]
get my aunt out of the room, and I'll tell you stories that shall make
your old heart bound again! Hush! do it quietly--I will, upon my
honour.--What an old fool it is!                               [_Aside._

_Lady._ Marianne, you mustn't listen to Mr Floriville,--for travellers
may persuade you into any thing--and many a woman has been ruined in one
country, by being told it is the fashion in another.

_Lord._ Here he comes: I see, as plain as my peerage, I sha'n't keep my
temper.

    _Enter FLORIVILLE._

_Flor._ Ladies, a thousand pardons, for not waiting on you before, but
this is the first vacant moment I have had since my arrival in Bath.

_Mari._ Sir, your coming at all is taken as a very great compliment,
I'll assure you.

_Lady._ Leave the room immediately--no reply--I will be obeyed--[_To
MARIANNE, who exits._] Mr Floriville, we are very happy to see you.

_Flor._ Ma'am, you do me honour--my lord, where's Harry?--I thought to
have found him here;--what, he didn't chuse to stay?--so much the
better--it shows he's not a man of ceremony--we do the same in Italy.
But, hark ye, uncle,--is this the lady I'm to call my aunt?

_Lord._ My gorge is rising: I shall certainly do him a mischief.

_Flor._ [_Spying at her._] Rather experienced or so--a little antique,
eh!--however, the same motive that makes her a good aunt to me, will
make her a good wife to you--you understand me?

_Lord._ Dam'me if I do.

_Flor._ Well, well, no matter--come, I want to hear every thing--to know
what remarkable occurrences have happened since I left England.--Pray,
Lady Waitfor't, inform me--do let me know every little circumstance.

_Lady._ Rather, sir, we should ask of you what happened in your travels?

_Flor._ Oh, nothing so shocking!--no man can be the herald of his own
praise.

_Lady._ Yes, sir,--but I wish to know how you like the Chapel of
Loretto, the Venus de Medicis of Florence, the Vatican at Rome, and all
the numberless curiosities peculiar to the countries you have travelled
through?

_Lord._ Look ye--I'll answer for it, he knows nothing of the gentlemen
you mention--do you, my sweet pretty?--Oh! you damned puppy!

_Flor._ Why swear, my lord?

_Lord._ Swear, my lord! Zounds! it's my prerogative, and, by----tell me
how you spent your time, sir?

_Flor._ Why, in contemplating living angels, not dead antiquities;--in
basking in the rays of beauty, not mouldering in the dust of
ancestry;--in mirth, festivity, and pleasure; not study, pedantry, and
retirement.--Oh, I have lived, sir! lived for myself, not an ungrateful
world, who, should I die a martyr to their cause, would only laugh and
wonder at my folly.

_Lady._ You seem to know the world, Mr Floriville.

_Flor._ No, ma'am, I know little of mankind, and less of myself,--I have
no pilot, but my pleasures;--no mistress, but my passions;--and I don't
believe, if it was to save my life, I could reason consequentially for a
minute together.

_Lord._ Granted:--you have seen every thing worth seeing, yet know
nothing worth knowing;--and now you have just knowledge enough to prove
yourself a fool on every subject.

_Flor._ Vastly well, my lord--upon my word, you improve with your title,
but I am perfectly satisfied, believe me--for what I don't know, I take
for granted is not worth knowing--therefore we'll call another
topic.--I'm in love, my lord.

_Lord._ In love!--with who, sir?

_Flor._ Can't you guess?

_Lord._ No, sir, I cannot.

_Flor._ With one that will please you very much--at least, ought to
please you--you'll be in raptures, dear uncle.

_Lord._ Raptures! and you shall be in agonies, my dear nephew.

_Flor._ You have known one another a long while, yet you hav'n't met for
years--you have loved one another a long while, yet you quarrelled not
an hour ago--you have differed from one another all your lives, yet you
are likely to be friends as long as you live--and, above all, the person
is now in the house.

_Lord._ In this house! let me know who it is this moment, or by the
blood of the Scratches----

_Flor._ One who has charms enough to set the world on fire;--one who has
fortune enough to set a state at war, sir;--one who has talents, health,
and prosperity, and yet not half what the person deserves:--can you tell
now, sir?

_Lord._ No, sir, and if you don't tell this instant----

_Flor._ Then I'll tell you, [_Slaps him on the back._] it's myself, sir!
my own charming self!--I have searched the world over, and I don't find
any thing I like half so well. [_Walks up the stage._

_Lord._ I won't disgrace myself,--I won't lower the dignity of peerage,
by chastising a commoner;--else, you Prince of Butterflies----come, my
lady----look ye, sir--I intend to be handed down to posterity; and,
while you are being lampooned in ballads and newspapers, I mean to cut a
figure in the History of England:--so, come along, my lady--in the
History of England, you coxcomb!                [_Exeunt LORD and LADY._

_Flor._ If the face is the picture of the mind, that intended aunt of
mine is a great hypocrite, and the story I heard of the poet proves
it.--But now for a frolic--'gad it's very strange I could never reform,
and become a serious thinking being--but what's the use of thinking?

    Reason stays till we call, and then not oft is near,
    But honest instinct comes a volunteer!--                    [_Exit._


SCENE II.


    _An Apartment in LADY WAITFOR'T'S House._

    _Enter WILLOUGHBY and SERVANT._

_Will._ [_To SERVANT._] Tell your mistress I shall be punctual to the
appointment. [_Exit SERVANT._] So, thanks to fortune, Lady Waitfor't has
at length consented to my entreaties, and this night makes Louisa mine
for ever!--now to read the letter once more.                   [_Reads._

     _Louisa accompanies me to-night to Lady Walton's, which
     you know is at the extremity of the town--on some
     pretence or other I'll tell her I have ordered the
     servant at the back gate which adjoins the
     paddock,--there I'll leave her--and if you have a
     chaise waiting near the spot, you may conduct her where
     you please.--You know my feelings on this occasion, but
     it is for her good only, I'll assure you--she don't
     deserve it, Mr Willoughby:--indeed she don't deserve
     it._

     A. WAITFOR'T.

So--this is beyond my hopes!--ha! my Lord, and Louisa with him, come to
receive Ennui, whom, to my astonishment, I met just now swearing and
capering, and boasting of the vices of fashion--but no matter--I must to
the rendezvous immediately--now, Louisa, tremble at my vengeance!
                                                                [_Exit._

    _Enter LORD SCRATCH and LOUISA._

_Lord._ Yes, yes:--Ennui will be here in an instant--but he's so
reserved--and so mild--

_Louisa._ So I understand, sir--and so very silent, that he won't talk
so much in a year, as I intend in an hour.

_Lord._ I know--that's the reason I bring him into parliament--he'll
never speak--only say "Ay" or "No," and be up stairs to beef-steaks in
an instant, [_Knock._] Here he is!--now encourage him--don't mind his
diffidence--

_Louisa._ No, sir--I'll do all in my power to make him talk.

_Lord._ That's well--I'll leave you together--I won't interrupt you,
[_Stamping without._] Odso!--I must get out of the way,--encourage him;
Louisa--I beseech you encourage him!                            [_Exit._

_Ennui._ [_Without._] Stand by! no ceremony, damme!--

_Louisa._ Heaven!--is this diffidence?

    _Enter ENNUI and SERVANT._

_Ennui._ Get down stairs, you dog--get down,--[_Exit SERVANT._] Here I
am, ma'am:--ease is every thing--I'll seat myself--now for
business!--yaw--aw!--                                    [_Yawns aside._

_Louisa._ Sir!

_Ennui._ In one word, I'll tell you my character,--I'm a lad of
fashion!--I love gaming--I hate thinking--I like racing--I despise
reading--I patronize boxing--I detest reasoning--I pay debts of
honour,--not honourable debts--in short, I'll kick your servants--cheat
your family, and fight your guardian--and so if you like me, take
me--heh, damme!--I'm tired already!--yaw--aw.            [_Yawns aside._

_Louisa._ Astonishing!--Mr Ennui--

_Ennui._ Ma'am? yaw--aw!                                       [_Aside._

_Louisa._ Mr Ennui, can you be in your senses?

_Ennui._ In fact--I don't comprehend [_Forgetting
himself._]--Oh--ay--senses! [_Recollecting himself._] a lad of fashion
in his senses!--that's a very good joke!--if one of us had any sense,
the rest would shut him up in a cabinet of curiosities, or show him as a
wonderful animal:--they would, damme!--I can't support it!--yaw--aw!
                                                         [_Yawns aside._

_Louisa._ So, you glory in your ignorance?

_Ennui._ Ma'am--yaw! aw!                                       [_Aside._

_Louisa._ So, you glory in your ignorance--in your vices?

_Ennui._ I've an idea--I can't understand--[_Forgetting
himself._]--vices! Oh:--ay, damme, to be sure; [_Recollecting himself._]
you must be wicked, or you can't be visited--singularity is every
thing,--every man must get a character, and I'll tell you how I first
got mine:--I pretended to intrigue with my friend's wife,--paragraph'd
myself in the newspapers,--got caricatured in the print-shops--made the
story believed,--was abused by every body,--noticed for my gallantry by
every body--and at length visited by every body--I was, damme!--I'm
curst sleepy,--yaw--aw!                                  [_Yawns aside._

_Louisa._ Incredible!--but if singularity is your system, perhaps being
virtuous would make you as particular as any thing.

_Ennui._ Vastly well!--'gad, you're like me, a wit, and don't know it.
[_Taking out his Watch._] How goes the enemy?--more than half the day
over!--tol de rol lol! [_Humming a tune._] I'm as happy as if I was at a
fire, or a general riot.--Come to my arms, thou angel--thou--[_As he
goes to embrace her, LORD SCRATCH enters--he embraces him._]
Ah,--Scratch!--my friend Scratch!--sit down, my old boy--sit
down,--we've settled every thing. [_Forces him into a Chair, and sits by
him._]

_Lord._ Why,--what is all this?

_Ennui._ She's to intrigue, and you and I are to go halves in the
damages--some rich old Nabob--we'll draw him into _crim. con._--bring an
action directly, and a ten thousand pound verdict at least--eh, damme!--

_Lord._ Why he's mad!--that dramatic maniac has bit him.

_Ennui._ Get a divorce--marry another, and go halves again, damme!

_Lord._ [_Rising._] Why, look ye, you impostor!--you--didn't you come
here to pay your addresses to this lady? and wasn't I to bring you into
parliament, for your quiet silent disposition?

_Ennui._ [_Pushing him out of his way._] Hold your tongue! out of the
way, Scratch!--out of the way, or I'll do you a mischief--I will,
damme!--Zounds!--a'nt I at the top of the beau monde? and don't I set
the fashions?--if I was to cut off my head, wouldn't half the town do
the same?--they would, damme!--I get sleepy again!--yaw--aw!-- [_Aside._

_Lord._ Here now!--here's a mandarin member;--why, he'd have bred a
civil war!--made ten long speeches in a day!--cut your head off,
indeed!--curse me but I wish you would--you must be silent then--you
couldn't talk without a head, could you?

_Ennui._ Yes, in parliament--as well without a head as with one--do you
think a man wants a head for a long speech, damme!--

    _Enter SERVANT._

_Servant._ Her ladyship is waiting, ma'am.

_Louisa._ Oh, I attend her,--Mr Ennui, your most obedient.

_Ennui._ [_Taking her Hand._] With your leave, ma'am.--You see,
Scratch--you see.

_Lord._ Why, Louisa!--

_Ennui._ Keep your distance, Scratch--contemplate your superiors,--look
at me with the same awful respect a city beau looks at a prince,--this
way, most angelic--Scratch, cut your head off--this way, most angelic.
                                                    [_Exit with LOUISA._

_Lord._ Here's treatment!--was ever poor peer so tormented?--what am I
to do?--I'll go to Lady Waitfor't, for from her alone I meet
relief,--find a silent member, indeed!--by my privilege one might as
soon find a pin in the ocean,--charity in a bench of bishops,--or wit in
Westminster hall!                                               [_Exit._




ACT THE FOURTH.


SCENE I.


    _The Paddock near LADY WALTON'S House--A View of the
    House at a distance, and partly moonlight._

    _WILLOUGHBY alone._

_Willoughby._ 'Tis past the hour Lady Waitfor't appointed--why does she
delay? I cannot have mistaken the place--yonder's Lady Walton's
house--Oh! 'would all were past, and Louisa safely mine! I hear a
noise--by Heaven 'tis she! and with her all my happiness--I'll withdraw
a while, and observe them.                                   [_Retires._

    _Enter LADY WAITFOR'T and LOUISA COURTNEY._

_Louisa._ My dear Lady Waitfor't, why do you loiter here? you cannot
find your servants in this place--let us return to Lady Walton's.

_Lady._ No, no, they must be here,--I ordered them to wait in this very
spot, to avoid confusion. What can have become of Willoughby? [_Aside._

_Louisa._ If you have the least sense of fear for yourself, or regard
for me, I beg we may return to Lady Walton's.

_Lady._ No, no, I tell you I ordered William at the back gate, that he
might conduct us through the paddock to our carriage; you know we might
have been whole hours getting through the crowd the other way--do be a
little patient, hav'n't I as much reason to be alarmed as yourself?

_Louisa._ Yes, but you have not the apprehension I have; I don't know
why, but I am terrified beyond description.

_Lady._ Well, well, never fear; [_Looking out._] Oh, yonder's
Willoughby! now for the grand design! [_Aside._] Louisa, if you'll wait
here a moment I'll step to the next gate, and see if they are
there;--they cannot escape us then.

_Louisa._ No, no, don't leave me;--I wouldn't stay by myself for the
world.

_Lady._ Ridiculous! can't you protect yourself for an instant? must you
be all your life watch'd like a baby in leading-strings? Oh! I am
ashamed of you--only wait a moment, lest they pass by in my absence, and
I'll return to you immediately.

_Louisa._ Well: don't stay.

_Lady._ Stay! what have you to be frightened at? I shall not be out of
call;--besides, if there's any fear of a personal attack, may not I be
as terrified as yourself? It isn't the first time, I'll assure you, but
that's no matter;--show yourself a woman of spirit, and, at least,
emulate one of my virtues.--Now, Willoughby, the rest is thine! [_Exit._

    _WILLOUGHBY comes forward._

_Willoughby._ Be not alarmed, Miss Courtney.

_Louisa._ Mr Willoughby!

_Willoughby._ Yes, madam; the man you most avoid.

_Louisa._ Tell me, sir, immediately, how, and by whose appointment, you
came here?

_Willoughby._ By love, madam; the same passion that has prompted me to
pursue you for years, now happily conducts me hither;--I come to lessen
your fears, not to increase them.

_Louisa._ Then, leave me, sir, I can protect myself.

_Willoughby._ No, not till you have heard and pitied me; I have been
long your suitor, and long scorned by you; you have treated me with
indifference, and preferred my inferiors; how I have deserved all this,
yourself can best explain, but, to prove all former cruelties are
forgotten, I here offer you my hand, and, with it, my heart.

_Louisa._ Sir,--this is no time for hearing you on this subject; if you
wish to oblige me, leave me.

_Willoughby._ No, not till I am answered;--years may elapse ere I shall
have another opportunity like the present, therefore no time can be so
well as now.

_Louisa._ Then I command you to leave me,--I will not be threatened into
a compliance.

_Willoughby._ Look ye, Miss Courtney--I would avoid taking advantage of
your situation--nay, start not--but if you persist in your contempt of
me, I know not to what extremities passion may hurry me; I have every
motive for redress, and, if you do not instantly give me your word, to
prefer me to that beggar Neville, I may do that, my cooler sense would
scorn.

_Louisa._ Beggar, sir!

_Willoughby._ Yes; and, were he not beneath my resentment, I'd tell you
more;--but he is too poor--too--

_Louisa._ Hold, sir; did you resemble him, I might esteem, nay, adore
you; but as you are, I loath, I despise, I defy you;--you take advantage
of my situation!--Hear me, sir,--though not a friend is near,--though
night opposes me, and Heaven deserts me, yet can I smile upon your
menaces, and make you tremble, villain as you are.

_Willoughby._ Have a care, madam! another declaration like that, and
I'll delay no longer;--I'll force you to my purpose.

_Louisa._ You dare not, on your life you dare not.

_Willoughby._ Nay, then--I am not to be terrified by threats,--[_Lays
hold of her._] all struggling is in vain; this moment gratifies my
revenge,--away!

_Louisa._ Off,--let me go! Oh, help! help!

    [_As he is forcing her out, enter FLORIVILLE, half
      drunk._]

_Flor._ "Donne, donne, donne, dow." [_Singing part of an Italian air._]
Oh, this burgundy's a glorious liquor! hey-day! who have we here?

_Louisa._ Oh, sir! if you have any pity for an injured, helpless woman,
assist one who never knew distress till now!

_Flor._ Go on, ma'am, go on--both damn'd drunk I perceive.

_Louisa._ Do not be deaf to my entreaties--do not desert me--

_Flor._ Go on, ma'am, go on--I love oratory in a woman.

_Louisa._ Gracious Heaven! how have I deserved all this? I see, sir, you
avoid me. I see you are indifferent to my fate.

_Flor._ No, ma'am, you wrong me--but in Italy--observe--we always take
these things coolly--now, sir, will you explain?

_Willoughby._ No, sir, I will not.

_Flor._ You will not?

_Willoughby._ No, sir, and I warn you not to listen to the wild ravings
of a senseless woman--it may be better for you, sir.

_Flor._ Why so, Prince Prettiman?

_Willoughby._ No matter, sir, I will not be amused from my purpose.

_Flor._ You won't, old Pluto, won't you? then, ma'am, observe! you shall
behold my mode of fighting--I'll kill him like a gentleman, and he shall
die without a groan;--you'll be delighted, ma'am--I learnt it all in
Italy.--Come, Belzebub, are you ready?

_Willoughby._ 'Sdeath! what can I do? he is drunk, perhaps I may disarm
him.

_Flor._ Now, thou original sin, thou prince of darkness! come out; never
let her see thy black infernal visage more, or by my life I'll pulverize
you--you see, ma'am, no bad orator either--learnt it all in Italy.

_Willoughby._ Come on, sir.

_Flor._ Ay, now old Sysiphus, push home--but fight like a gentleman, if
you can, for remember, there is a lady in company--observe, ma'am,
observe; you won't see it again. [_They fight.--FLORIVILLE disarms
WILLOUGHBY._]

_Flor._ What, vanquished, Tarquin? hah! hah! [_Parrying up and down the
stage by himself._]--You see, ma'am, you see!--Oh! Italy's your only
country!--Now, ma'am, would you have me kill him here, "in Allegro," or
postpone it, that you may have the pleasure of pinking him yourself, "in
Penseroso?"

_Louisa._ [_Coming near FLORIVILLE, and discovering him._] Floriville,
my deliverer!--generous man!--No, sir, whatever are his crimes, do not
kill him; his greatest punishment will be to live.

_Flor._ There, then, caitiff, take your sword, and, d'ye hear?
retire;--that black front of thine offends the lady;--if you want
another flourish, you will soon find Floriville--abscond.

_Willoughby._ Sir, you shall hear from me--distraction!         [_Exit._

_Flor._ And now, my dear little angel, how can I assist you? I'm very
sorry that I can't help it--I'm cursed drunk, and not proper company for
a lady of your dignity,--but I won't affront you,--I mean to make myself
agreeable, and if I do not--it is the fault of that place, [_Pointing to
his head._] and not of this, [_Pointing to his heart._]

_Louisa._ Sir, your conduct has endeared you to me for ever, and while I
live, your generosity and valour shall be engraven on my heart.

_Flor._ Gently, gently, have a care, make no declarations; if you are in
love with me, as I suppose you are, keep it secret,--for at this moment
you might raise a flame that would consume us both;--poor creature! how
fond she is of me! any other time I would indulge her, but not
now--[_Looks at her sometime, then runs, and kisses her hand._]--Oh, you
paragon!--"Angels must paint to look as fair as you."--[_Goes from her
again._]--I'll leave you, or, by Heaven, it will be all over with us.

_Louisa._ No, no, don't desert me! alas! I have no way left but to
commit myself to your care--if I could bring him to recollect me, all
would be safe. Mr Floriville, don't you know me?

_Flor._ No, 'would to Heaven I did.

_Louisa._ What, not Miss Courtney?

_Flor._ What, Louisa? my brother's idol?

_Louisa._ Alas! the very same.

_Flor._ Then may I die, if I don't get out of your debt before I leave
you--where--where shall I conduct you?

_Louisa._ I know not--return to lady Waitfor't's again, I will not--I
had rather be a wanderer all my life--to lady Walton's there is no
excuse for returning, and I know no friend in Bath I dare intrude
upon.--I have so high an opinion, Mr Floriville, of your honour, that,
notwithstanding your present situation, there is no man on earth I would
sooner confide in;--can you then think of any place where I may rest in
safety for a few hours, and then I will set out for my uncle's in the
country.

_Flor._ Indeed I cannot, I am a wanderer myself;--I have no home but
what this gentleman is to purchase me [_Taking out his purse._]--you
cannot partake of that.

_Louisa._ Oh! what will become of me?

_Flor._ Let me see--I have it--I'll take her to my brother's;--she'll be
safe there, and not a soul shall come near her.--Well, Miss Courtney,--I
have recollected a place where I know you'll be safe--a friend's house,
that will be as secure--nay, don't droop--in Italy we're never
melancholy.

_Louisa._ Oh, Mr Floriville, to what a hazard has lady Waitfor't exposed
me!--to her perfidy I owe it all--but yonder's that wretch again--pray
let us begone.

_Flor._ Belzebub again,--no, no, we mustn't stir;--what! an angel fly
from a devil? damme, I'll stay and crush him.

_Louisa._ Nay, sir, reflect,--'twere madness to remain.

_Flor._ 'Faith that's true; I believe it's braver to retire,--therefore,
Tarquin, adieu; come, my best angel! I'll fight your battles, and if I
don't sink all your enemies, may I never see Italy again as long as I
live!                                                         [_Exeunt._

    _Enter WILLOUGHBY._

_Willoughby._ Ha! gone,--I am sorry for it--I would have seen them--lady
Waitfor't has just left me, and treated me like her slave,--insulted and
derided me; but I'll have done with her for ever,--I'll be her dupe no
more;--she is now gone to Neville's lodgings, under pretence of pursuing
Louisa, but, in fact, to see him, and prevent his leaving Bath;--this I
will write to my lord, and then let him follow, and be witness of her
infamy;--thus, I hope, I shall make some reparation for the wrongs I
have committed, and prove at last I have some sense of virtue.  [_Exit._


SCENE II.


    _NEVILLE'S Lodgings--A Closet in back Scene.--Two
    Chairs, and a Table, with Wine on it.--A knocking at the
    Door._

    _Enter PETER, reading a Card._

_Peter._ _Vapid presents his compliments to his friend Neville; has
thought of nothing but writing the epilogue for his friend's play since
they parted; he has made great progress, and will wait on him to take
his judgment on it in a few minutes._ If the gentleman should come
soon, I fear my master won't be at home to receive him.

    [_Knocks.--PETER opens the Door, and lets in VAPID._

_Vapid._ Well, here it is;--where's Neville?

_Peter._ Not within, sir.

_Vapid._ Yes, yes, here it is:--I must see him.

_Peter._ Sir, he's gone out.

_Vapid._ Gone out? impossible!

_Peter._ Impossible! it's very true, sir.

_Vapid._ Gone out! why, I've brought him the epilogue--the new epilogue
to Mr What's-his-name's comedy; the very best thing I ever wrote in my
life; I knew it would delight him.

_Peter._ Sir, he has been gone out above these two hours.

_Vapid._ Then he'll never forgive himself as long as he lives; why, it's
all correct--all chaste! only one half line wanting at the end to make
it complete.

_Peter._ Indeed, sir, it's very unfortunate.

_Vapid._ Unfortunate! I wanted to have heard him read it too; when
another person reads it, one often hits on a thought that might
otherwise have escaped; then, perhaps, he would have hit on that cursed
half line, I have so long been working at.

_Peter._ Sir, if it is not impertinent, and you'd permit me to read it--

_Vapid._ You read it!

_Peter._ Yes, sir, if you'd allow me that honour.

_Vapid._ 'Faith, I should have no objection,--but wouldn't it lower
one's dignity? No, no, Moliere used to read his plays to his servants,
so I believe all's regular.--Come, sir, begin.
                                              [_PETER reading Epilogue._

    In ancient times, when agonizing wars,
    And bleeding nations, fill'd the world with jars;
    When murder, battle, sudden death, prevail'd,
    When----

_Vapid._ Stop--stop--I have it: not a word for your life; I feel
it--it's coming on--the last line directly--quick! quick!
                                                         [_PETER reads._

    The tyrant totters, and the senate nods,
    Die all, die nobly!----

_Peter._ Here's something wanting, sir.

_Vapid._ I know it, say nothing--I have it--
                                        [_Walks backwards and forwards._

    The tyrant totters, and the senate nods,
    Die all, die nobly!----

Oh, damn it! damn it! damn it!--that cursed half line!--I shall never
accomplish it--all so chaste--all so correct,--and to have it marr'd for
want of one half line,--one curst half line! I could almost weep for
disappointment.

_Peter._ Never mind, sir, don't perplex yourself,--put in any thing.

_Vapid._ Put in any thing! why, 'tis the last line, and the epilogue
must end with something striking, or it will be no trap for applause--no
trap for applause, after all this fine writing!--Put in any thing!--what
do you mean, sirrah?

_Peter._ Methinks this is a strange epilogue to a comedy--[_Knock at the
door._]--Perhaps this is my master--[_Looks out._]--no, as I live, 'tis
Mr Floriville and Miss Courtney! she mustn't on any account be seen by
this gentleman.

_Vapid._ Well, who is it?--"The tyrant totters"--

_Peter._ Sir, it's a friend of my master's who has brought a lady with
him--I'm sure you've too much gallantry to interrupt an amour; and,
therefore, you'll be kind enough to get out of the way directly.

_Vapid._ Get out of the way! what the devil, in the middle of my
composition?--"Die all, die nobly"--

_Peter._ Nay, sir, only step for a moment into this closet, and you
shall be released,--now, pray, sir,--pray be prevailed on.

_Vapid._ Well, let me see--in this closet! why, here's china, zounds!
would you put a live author in a china closet?

_Peter._ What can I do, sir? there is no way out but that door--get in
here for an instant, and I'll show them into the library--now do, sir.

_Vapid._ Well, be brief then,--"Die all! die nobly!"--oh! oh! oh!
                      [_Enters Closet, and FLORIVILLE and LOUISA enter._

_Flor._ Hey-day!--my old acquaintance, Peter! where's my brother?

_Peter._ Sir, he has been out the whole evening.

_Louisa._ In the same house with Neville!--oh, Heavens!

_Flor._ Well, Miss Courtney, I hope now you are convinced of your
safety.

_Louisa._ Yes, sir, but I would it were in any other place; lady
Waitfor't, ere this, is in pursuit of me, and if she discovers me here,
you know too well how much I have to dread.
                                      [_Knock at the Door.--Exit PETER._

_Flor._ Don't be alarm'd, there's nothing shall molest you.

_Louisa._ Oh, sir, you don't know the endless malice of lady
Waitfor't--she will triumph in my misery, and till my lord is convinced
of her duplicity, I see no hope of your brother's happiness, or my own.

    _Enter PETER._

_Peter._ Lady Waitfor't is below, inquiring for that lady, or my master.

_Flor._ For my brother?

_Peter._ Yes, sir, and my lord has sent to know if Mr Vapid, or her
ladyship, have been here;--he was in bed, but on receiving a letter, got
up, and will be here in an instant.

_Louisa._ For Heaven's sake, Mr Floriville, let me retire,--I cannot
support the conflict.

_Flor._ Promise to recall your spirits, and you shall.

_Louisa._ What I can do I will.

_Flor._ Then know no apprehension, for, on my life, you shall not be
disturbed.

    [_Leads her to the Door of the Library, and talks in
      dumb show._

_Vapid._ [_From Closet._] Peter! Peter! can't you release me?

_Peter._ No, sir, don't move, you'll ruin every thing.

_Vapid._ Then give me that candle--I have pen and ink--I think I could
finish my epilogue.

_Peter._ Here, sir.                                    [_Giving Candle._

_Vapid._ That curst half line--"Die all"--        [_PETER shuts him in._

_Flor._ So, now, the storm begins, and if I don't have some sport with
the enemy--[_Sits at Table, and begins drinking._]--here she comes.

    _Enter LADY WAITFOR'T._

_Flor._ Chairs, Peter, chairs,--Sit down, ma'am--sit down--you honour me
exceedingly.

_Lady._ Where is your brother, sir? I insist on seeing him.

    _Enter LORD SCRATCH._

_Lord._ There she is!--in a man's lodgings at midnight--here's
treatment!

_Lady._ My lord, I came here in search of Louisa, who has been betrayed
from my power.

_Lord._ Look ye, my lady--read that letter, that's all; read that
letter, and then say, if we sha'n't both cut a figure in the print
shops.

_Lady._ [_Taking Letter._] Ha! Willoughby's hand! [_Reads._] _Lady
Waitfor't, (I have only time to tell you) is gone to Neville's lodgings,
to meet one she has long had a passion for--follow her, and be convinced
of her duplicity._ Oh, the villain! well, my lord, and pray who is the
man I come to meet?

_Lord._ Why, who should it be but the stage ruffian? if there was a sofa
in the room, my life on't, he'd pop from behind it.--Zounds! that fellow
will lay straw before my door every nine months!

_Lady._ This is fortunate.--[_Aside._]--Well, sir, if I discover Louisa,
I hope you'll be convinced I came here to redeem her, and not disgrace
myself. Tell me, sir, immediately, where she is concealed.
                                                       [_To FLORIVILLE._

_Flor._ Sit down, ma'am--sit down: drink, drink, then we'll talk over
the whole affair--there is no doing business without wine; come, here's
"The glory of gallantry"--I'm sure you'll both drink that.

_Lady._ No trifling, sir; tell me where she is concealed;--nay, then
I'll examine the apartment myself--[_Goes to Door of Library._]--the
door lock'd! give me the key, sir.

_Flor._ [_Drinking._] "The glory of gallantry, ma'am."

_Lord._ Hear me, sir, if the lady's in that apartment, I shall be
convinced that you and your brother are the sole authors of all this
treachery; if she is there, by the honour of my ancestors, she shall be
Willoughby's wife to-morrow morning.

_Flor._ [_Rising._] Shall she, my lord? Pray, were you ever in Italy?

_Lord._ Why, coxcomb?

_Flor._ Because, I'm afraid you've been bitten by a tarantula--you'll
excuse me, but the symptoms are wonderfully alarming--There is a blazing
fury in your eye--a wild emotion in your countenance, and a green spot--

_Lord._ Damn the green spot! open that door, and let me see immediately:
I'm a peer, and have a right to look at any thing.

_Flor._ [_Standing before the Door._] No, sir; this door must not be
open'd.

_Lord._ Then I'll forget my peerage, and draw my sword.

_Flor._ [_To LADY WAITFOR'T, who is going to interfere._] Don't be
alarm'd, ma'am, I'll only indulge him for my own amusement--mere trout
fishing, ma'am--

    _Enter LOUISA, from the Apartment._

_Louisa._ Hold! I charge you, hold!--let not my unhappy fate be the
source of more calamities.

_Lord._ 'Tis she herself:--My lady did not come to meet the madman.

_Flor._ By the lord, ma'am, you have ruined all.

_Louisa._ I know, sir, the consequences of this discovery, and I abide
by them.--But what I have done, I can justify, and 'would to Heaven all
here could do the same!

_Flor._ Indeed, I can't tell--I wish I was in Italy.

_Lord._ Mark me, madam,--nay, tears are in vain--to-morrow shall make
you the wife of Willoughby; and he shall answer for your follies.--No
reply, sir, [_To FLORIVILLE, who is going to speak._] I wou'dn't hear
the chancellor.

_Lady._ Now, who is to blame? Oh, virtue is ever sure to meet its
reward!--Come to meet a mad poet, indeed!--My lord, I forgive you only
on condition of your signing a contract to marry me to-morrow, and
Louisa to Willoughby, at the same time.

_Lord._ I will, thou best of women!--draw it up immediately--and Neville
shall starve for his treachery.
                        [_LADY WAITFOR'T goes to the Table, and writes._

_Louisa._ [_Falling at the feet of LORD SCRATCH._] Hear me, sir, not for
myself, but for a wrong'd friend, I speak:--Mr Neville knows not of my
concealment; on my honour, he is innocent:--if that lady's wrongs must
be avenged, confine the punishment to me--I'll bear it, with patience
bear it.

_Lord._ Let go!--let go, I say!--Lady Waitfor't, make haste with the
contract.

_Lady._ It only waits the signature.--Now, my lord.

_Flor._ Look ye, uncle--she's the cause of all this mischief, and if you
are not lost----

_Lord._ Out of my way!--O'd--noise and nonsense!--don't fancy yourselves
in the House of Commons! we're not speaking twenty at a time. Here! give
me the pen--I'll sign directly; and now--

    [_As he is going to sign, VAPID breaks the China in the
      Closet, and rushes out, with the Epilogue in his Hand._

_Vapid._ "Die all! die nobly! die like demi-gods!"--Huzza, huzza! 'tis
done! 'tis past! 'tis perfect.

_Flor._ Huzza!--the poet at last; "Stop him who can!"

_Lady._ Confusion!--tell me, sir, immediately, what do you mean by this
new insult?

_Vapid._ "Die all! die nobly! die like demi-gods!"--oh, it's
glorious!--Ah, old Scratch, are you there?--Joy, joy! give me joy!--I've
done your business! the work's past!--the labour's o'er, my boy!--"think
of that, Master Brook--think of that!"

_Lady._ My lord, I am vilely treated.--I desire you'll insist on an
explanation.

_Flor._ He can't speak, madam.
                       [_All this time, my LORD is slowly walking away._

_Lady._ How! are you going to leave me, my lord?

_Vapid._ [_Taking out his Common-place Book._] 'Faith this musn't be
lost!--here's something worth observing.           [_Exit LORD SCRATCH._

_Lady._ Oh, I shall burst with rage!--Mr Vapid, I desire you'll explain
how you came in that closet.--Why don't you answer me, sir?

_Vapid._ Your pardon, ma'am, I was taking a note of the affair--and yet
I'm afraid----

_Lady._ What are you afraid of, sir?

_Vapid._ That it has been dramatized before;--it is certainly not a new
case.

_Lady._ Insupportable!--But I take my leave of you all!--I abandon you
for ever!--I!--oh, I shall go wild!                   [_Exit in a rage._

_Flor._ Ay, ay, follow his lordship--virtue is ever sure to meet its
reward. Now, Mr Vapid, tell us how you came in that closet?

_Vapid._ 'Faith, I can't.--I believe the servant hurried me there on
your approach.

_Flor._ Then you didn't come to meet lady Waitfor't?

_Vapid._ Meet lady Waitfor't!--no, I came to read my epilogue to
Neville; and a wonderful production it is--"The tyrant totters, and the
senate nods."                                          [_Walking about._

_Louisa._ To what a strange fatality of circumstances has her character
been exposed!--but vice often finds its punishment for a crime it never
committed, when it escapes for thousands it daily practises.

_Flor._ Well, Miss Courtney, I hope now your apprehensions are at an
end?

_Louisa._ Yes, sir, I shall remain for the short time necessary to
prepare for my journey, and beg I may detain you no longer. I'm afraid I
have already been a great intruder.

_Flor._ No, you have been the occasion of more happiness than ever I
experienced. But you won't leave Bath, till you've seen my brother?

_Louisa._ Oh, I have been cruelly deceived, Mr Floriville! I have
injured your brother so much, that, though I wish, I almost dread to see
him.

_Flor._ Then I'll go in search of him,--and if I don't reconcile
you----Come, Mr Vapid, will you walk?

_Vapid._ With all my heart.

_Flor._ [_Taking him by the hand._] By Heaven, you are an honest fellow.

_Vapid._ Madam, good night!--if I can be of any service to you in the
dramatic, or any other way, you may command me.

_Flor._ Ay, I'll answer for him,--he would die to serve you.

_Vapid._ Die to serve her! ay, "Die all!--die nobly!--die like
demi-gods!"                                                   [_Exeunt._




ACT THE FIFTH.


SCENE I.


    _LADY WAITFOR'T'S Apartment._

    _LADY WAITFOR'T discovered at her Toilette. LETTY
    waiting._

_Lady._ Mr Vapid not come yet, Letty?

_Letty._ No, ma'am,--but the servant, who found him at the tavern, said
he would be here immediately.

_Lady._ I protest, I am almost weary of them all.--[_Noise without._]
See who's there.                          [_LETTY listens, and returns._

_Letty._ Mr Vapid at last:--now, pray your ladyship, insist on his
explaining every thing to my lord.

_Lady._ Yes; but vilely as he has treated me, I must still be calm.

    _VAPID, putting his head in._

Walk in, sir, walk in.

_Vapid._ No, ma'am, I'd rather stay here.

_Lady._ I beg you'll be seated, Mr Vapid--I have something of
consequence to impart to you.

    _Enter VAPID, gently._

_Vapid._ I'd never have ventured but in hopes of seeing my dear
Marianne.

_Lady._ Indeed I will not detain you a moment.

_Vapid._ Very well, ma'am, if that's the case----[_Slowly seating
himself._] It's very alarming.                                 [_Aside._

_Lady._ Letty, leave the room, and fasten the door.       [_Exit LETTY._

_Vapid._ No, no!--don't do that, I beseech you!

_Lady._ You're very much frightened, Mr Vapid;--I hope you don't suppose
I have any design against you?

_Vapid._ I don't know, really, ma'am--such things are perfectly
dramatic.

_Lady._ Well, but, to release you from your fears, I'll tell you why I
have given you this trouble--My business, Mr Vapid, was to converse with
you on the farcical affair that happened at Neville's.

_Vapid._ Farcical!

_Lady._ Yes, sir, the farcical affair that happened at Mr Neville's.

_Vapid._ Farcical?--what, my epilogue, ma'am?--I hope you don't mean to
reflect on that?

_Lady._ No, sir, far from it--I have no doubt but it is a very elegant
composition.

_Vapid._ Doubt!--here it is, read it!--the very first production of the
age! A regular climax of poetic beauty!--the last line the _ne plus
ultra_ of genius.

_Lady._ But, to be serious, Mr Vapid----

_Vapid._ Why, I am serious:--and I'll tell you, lady Waitfor't, 'tis the
last line of an epilogue, and the last scene of a comedy, that always
distracts me--'tis the reconciliation of lovers--there's the
difficulty!--You find it so in real life, I dare say?

_Lady._ Yes.--But Mr Vapid, this affair concerns me excessively, and I
wish to know what is to be done.

_Vapid._ I'll tell you,--write a play,--and, bad as it may possibly be,
say it's a translation from the French, and interweave a few compliments
on the English, and, my life on't, it does wonders.--Do it, and say you
had the thought from me.

_Lady._ Sir, do you mean to deride me?

_Vapid._ No.--But only be cautious in your style--women are in general
apt to indulge that pruriency and warm luxuriancy of fancy they
possess,--but do be careful--be decent--if you are not, I have done with
you.

_Lady._ Sir, I desire you'll be more respectful.--I don't understand it
at all.                                                       [_Rising._

    _Enter MARIANNE._

_Vapid._ Then here comes one that will explain every thing.

    "There's in her all that we believe of Heaven;
    Amazing brightness, purity, and truth,
    Eternal joy, and everlasting love!"

My dear sweet little partner, I rejoice to see you!

_Mari._ And, my dear sweet Mr Poet, I rejoice to see you!

_Lady._ Provoking!--Have I not told you a thousand times, never to break
in upon me when I am alone?

_Mari._ Alone, my lady! do you call Mr Vapid nobody, then?

_Lady._ Suppose I should,--what is that to you?

_Mari._ Then I have a wrong notion of your nobodies.--I always thought
them harmless, unmeaning things; but Mr Vapid's not so very harmless
either--are you, Mr Vapid?

_Vapid._ Indeed, ma'am, I am not.

_Mari._ There now,--I told you so.--Upon my word, you rely too much on
your time of life,--you do indeed. You think, because you're a little
the worse for wear, you may trust yourself any where,--but you're
mistaken--you're not near so bad as you imagine--nay, I don't flatter,
do I, Mr Vapid?

_Vapid._ Indeed, ma'am, you do not.

_Lady._ Look ye, miss,--your insolence is not to be borne--you have been
the chief cause of all my perplexities.

_Mari._ Nay, aunt, don't say that.

_Lady._ No matter,--your behaviour is shameless, and it is high time I
exerted the authority of a relation--you are a disgrace to me--to
yourself, and your friends--therefore, I am determined to put into
execution a scheme I have long thought of.

_Mari._ What is it? something pleasant I hope.

_Lady._ No, you shall retire to a convent, till you take possession of
your fortune.

_Mari._ A convent! Oh lord! I can't make up my mind to it, now don't,
pray don't think of it--I declare it's quite shocking.

_Lady._ It is a far better place than you deserve; my resolution is
fixed, and we shall see whether a life of solitude and austerity will
not awaken some sense of shame in you.

_Mari._ Indeed, I can't bear the thoughts of it.--Oh do speak to her, Mr
Vapid--tell her about the nasty monks, now do,--a convent! mercy! what a
check to the passions! Oh! I can't bear it.                  [_Weeping._

_Vapid._ Gad, here's a sudden touch of tragedy--pray, Lady Waitfor't,
reflect--you can't send a lady to a convent when the theatres are open.

_Mari._ It will be the death of me! pray, my dear aunt----

_Lady._ Not a word--I am determined--to-morrow you shall leave this
country, and then I have done with you for ever.

_Mari._ Oh! my poor heart! Oh, oh!

_Vapid._ See! she'll faint!

_Mari._ Oh! oh! oh!         [_MARIANNE faints in LADY WAITFOR'T'S Arms._

_Lady._ Oh! I have gone too far, Mr Vapid!

_Vapid._ I fly, I'll call the servants. Have you got any drops?

_Lady._ I have some drops in this closet may recover her--hold her a
moment, and for heaven's sake take care of her.                 [_Exit._

    [_MARIANNE lays in VAPID'S Arms._

_Vapid._ Here's a situation!--Poor girl!--how I pity her! I really loved
her.

_Mari._ Did you really love me, Mr Vapid?

_Vapid._ Hey-day! recovered!--here's incident!

_Mari._ But did you really love me, Mr Vapid?

_Vapid._ Yes I did,--here's stage effect!

_Mari._ And would you have really run away with me, Mr Vapid?

_Vapid._ Yes, I really would.

_Mari._ Then come along this moment.

_Vapid._ Hush!--here's the old lady! keep dying, as before, and we'll
effect the business--more equivoque!

    _Enter LADY WAITFOR'T._

_Lady._ Well, Mr Vapid, how does she do? lord! she's in strong
convulsions.

_Vapid._ Yes, ma'am, she's dying; where are the drops?

_Lady._ Here, sir.

_Vapid._ There are very few--are there any more of the same kind?

_Lady._ Yes, plenty.

_Vapid._ Fetch them,--'tis the only hope--if you have any hartshorn too,
bring a little of that.

_Lady._ I'm quite shocked!                                      [_Exit._

_Mari._ Well, Mr Vapid, now let's run away--come--why what are you
thinking of?

_Vapid._ My last act, and I fear--

_Mari._ What do you fear?

_Vapid._ That it can't be managed--let me see--we certainly run away,
and she returns--'faith, I must see her return.

_Mari._ No, no, pray let us begone, think of this another time.

_Vapid._ So I will--it will do for the fourth, though not for the fifth
act,--therefore, my dear little girl, come away, and we'll live and die
together.

_Mari._ Die together!

_Vapid._ Ay, "Die all! die nobly! die like demi-gods!" [_Exeunt._

    _Enter LADY WAITFOR'T._

_Lady._ Here, Mr Vapid--here are the drops!--What, gone!--ruined by a
writer of epilogues!--Oh! I shall burst with disappointment!    [_Exit._


SCENE II.


    _Another Apartment in NEVILLE'S House--In the back
    Scene, Glass Doors, with Curtains._

    _Enter LOUISA COURTNEY._

_Louisa._ Still in the same house, yet still afraid to meet him! Oh,
Neville! my superior in every thing; how can I hope for your
forgiveness? while you revealed an affection it had done you credit to
deny, I concealed a passion I might have been proud to confess.

    _Enter VAPID and MARIANNE._

_Mari._ Oh! Miss Courtney! my sweet Miss Courtney! Mr Vapid, here, has
run away with me, and I am so frightened for fear of Lady Waitfor't.

_Louisa._ Yes, she may well alarm you,--she has destroyed my peace for
ever! but have you seen Mr Neville? yet, why do I ask!

_Vapid._ Seen Mr Neville!--What, doesn't he yet know you are in his
lodgings?

_Louisa._ No, and I hope never will--the moment his brother returns, I
shall set out for my uncle's, and perhaps never see him more.

_Vapid._ And why not see him, ma'am?

_Louisa._ Because I cannot bear the sight of one I have so injured.

_Vapid._ This'll do--mutual equivoque! equal misunderstanding! my own
case exactly!

_Mari._ Your own case! Lord! you base man, have you got a young lady in
your lodgings?

_Vapid._ Ridiculous! don't talk about young ladies at such an awful--the
very situation in my comedy! the last scene to a syllable!--here's an
opportunity of improving the denouement!

    _Enter PETER._

_Peter._ Ma'am, my master is returned--the occasion of his delay has
been a long interview with Mr Willoughby,--he doesn't know you are here.

_Louisa._ Marianne, excuse me--you'll be safe from Lady Waitfor't
here--indeed I'm very ill.

_Mari._ Nay--where are you going?

_Louisa._ Alas! any where to avoid him--farewell! and may you enjoy that
happiness I have for ever lost!                                 [_Exit._

_Mari._ Poor dear girl! I mustn't leave her thus--Mr Vapid, we won't run
away till something is done for her.

_Vapid._ Go,--there's a good girl--follow her, and comfort her.

_Mari._ I will--Lord! if they must be happy in being friends again, what
must I be who make them so!                                     [_Exit._

_Vapid._ The picture before me! all from nature,--I must heighten his
distress, for contrast is every thing--Peter, not a word for your life.

    _Enter NEVILLE._

_Nev._ Vapid, I am glad to see you--any letter from my brother?
                                                            [_To PETER._

_Peter._ None, sir.

_Nev._ Nor message?

_Peter._ No, sir.

_Nev._ Then I need doubt no longer--'tis evident he avoids me--cruel,
ungenerous Floriville!--                               [_Seats himself._

_Vapid._ [_Leaning over his Chair._] Miss Courtney will never see you
again.

_Nev._ I know it--too well I know it--that, and that alone, makes me
determined to leave this country for ever.

_Vapid._ You are unhappy then?

_Nev._ Completely so.

_Vapid._ Then stop.--[_Sits by him._] She was an angel, Harry.

_Nev._ Ay, a divinity!

_Vapid._ And then to lose her!

_Nev._ [_Rising._] 'Sdeath!--don't torment me!--my griefs are already
beyond bearing.

_Vapid._ It will do--he's as unhappy as I could wish.

_Peter._ I can hold no longer--sir!

_Vapid._ Hush!--you d--d dog, you'll ruin the catastrophe.

_Peter._ I don't care--I'll tell him every thing--sir!--Mr Neville!

_Vapid._ You villain!--Do you ever go to a play?--did you ever sit in
the gallery?

_Peter._ Yes, sir, sometimes.

_Vapid._ Then know this is all for your good----you'll applaud it some
day or other, you dog--curse it, won't he have happiness enough bye and
bye?---What--you are going abroad, Neville?

_Nev._ Yes, for ever.--Farewell, Vapid.

_Vapid._ Farewell, Neville--good night----Now for the effect!--Miss
Courtney is in the next room.

_Nev._ What!

_Vapid._ Miss Courtney is in the next room.

_Nev._ Louisa! is it possible?

_Vapid._ There's light and shade!--Yes, your brother brought her here,
and she expects him to return every moment.

_Nev._ My brother! then 'tis he means to marry her--nay, perhaps they
are already married--Heavens! I shall go wild!

_Vapid._ Don't, don't go wild--that will ruin the denouement.

_Nev._ No matter--I am resolved--I'll bid her farewell for ever--Vapid,
'tis the last favour I shall ask of you--give her this, [_A Letter._]
and tell her, since I have resented Willoughby's attack on her honour, I
think I may be allowed to vindicate my own; tell her, great as have been
my faults, my truth has still been greater, and wherever I wander--

_Vapid._ Here's a flourish, now!--why you misunderstand--she is not
married, nor going to be married.

_Nev._ Come, this is no time for raillery.

_Vapid._ Raillery!--why, I'm serious--serious as the fifth act--she is
now weeping on your account.

_Nev._ Pr'ythee leave fooling, it will produce no effect, believe me.

_Vapid._ Won't it? it will produce a very great effect though, believe
me. Zounds! go to her--preserve the unity of action,--marry her
directly, and if the catastrophe does not conclude with spirit, damn my
comedy--damn my comedy--that's all, damn my comedy.

_Nev._ 'Would to Heaven you were in earnest!

_Vapid._ Earnest! why there it is now! the women, dear creatures, are
always ready enough to produce effect--but the men are so curst
undramatic.--Go to her, I tell you, go to her.
                                   [_Exit NEVILLE.--VAPID stands aside._

    _Enter LORD SCRATCH and FLORIVILLE._

_Lord._ That curst dramatic maniac,--if I see him again----

_Flor._ My dear uncle, consent to Harry's marriage, and depend on it he
shall trouble you no more.

_Lord._ I tell you again, sir, I will not.

_Flor._ Will you give any hopes of future consent?

_Lord._ By the word of a peer, I will not.

    [_VAPID, coming forward, touching LORD SCRATCH on the
      Shoulder, and writing in common-place book._

_Vapid._ Master Brook, let me persuade you.

_Lord._ Flames and firebrands, the fiend again!

_Vapid._ Give consent, and I'll give Neville a fortune--he shall have
the entire profit of the different plays in which I intend to have the
honour of introducing yourself and the old Lady Hurlothrumbo.

_Lord._ Oh, that I was not a peer! if I was any thing else--but, thank
Heaven, Louisa is more averse to the match than myself.

_Vapid._ Is she?

_Lord._ Yes, she knows his falsehood, and despises him.

_Vapid._ What, you are confident of it?

_Lord._ Out of my way, sir,--I'll not answer you,--I'll go take her to
town directly.--Out of my way, sir.

_Vapid._ Stop--you're wrong, Master Brook--she's in that room.

_Lord._ Where?--behind me?

_Vapid._ Yes--there--there! [_Pointing._] Now for it!--what an effect!

    [_LORD S. opens the Glass Doors, and discovers NEVILLE
      kneeling to LOUISA. MARIANNE with them._

_Vapid._ There, Peter! there's catastrophe!--Shakspeare's invention
nothing!--Applaud it, you dog--clap, clap, Peter, clap!

_Lord._ What are you at, you impudent rascal?--get out of the room.
                                                          [_Exit PETER._

_Vapid._ I should set this down--I may forget.

_Mari._ Lord! he has a very bad memory,--I hope he won't forget our
marriage.

_Nev._ Oh! Louisa, what am I to think?

_Louisa._ That I have wronged thee, Neville!               [_Embracing._

_Flor._ My dear Harry, let this be my apology for not having seen you
before. [_Giving him a Paper._] Miss Courtney, ten thousand joys;--could
I have found my brother, you should have seen him sooner.

_Nev._ Why, here is a deed of gift of half your estate!

_Flor._ I know it, but say nothing. When you gave me money, five years
ago, did I say any thing?--no, I forgot it as soon as it was over; and
should never have recollected, at this moment, but for my lord's
inhumanity.--Uncle, I thank you,--you have made me the happiest man
alive.

_Lord._ Don't perplex me;--what a compound of folly and generosity!

_Mari._ Uncle-in-law, what are your feelings on this occasion?--as my
aunt says.

_Lord._ Feelings!--I never knew a peer had any.

_Mari._ Didn't you?

_Lord._ No; but now I find the contrary: I begin to think I've a heart
like other men. It's better to atone for an error, than persist in
one--therefore give me that deed, Neville----there, sir, [_Giving it to
FLORIVILLE._] do you think nobody has estates but yourself?--Louisa and
her fortune are your own, Neville; and after my death, you shall have
all mine:--and now there's a cursed burden off my mind.

_Mari._ Now, you're a dear creature! and I won't marry,--that's what I
won't, without consulting you.

_Lord._ You marry! why, who should you marry?--And pray, how came you
here?

_Mari._ A gentleman run away with me;--he is now in the room.

_Lord._ In the room! what, Floriville?

_Mari._ No, behind you. [_Pointing to VAPID, who is writing at a Table._

_Lord._ Ghosts and spectres! my evil genius!

_Mari._ Come, my dear, haven't you almost finished?      [_VAPID rises._

_Vapid._ Yes, the denouement is complete, and now, Mrs Vapid, I resign
myself to love and you.

_Mari._ Come, give consent, my lord,--my husband will get money, though
I have none.

_Lord._ None!--I dare say he can tell you, you will have twelve thousand
pounds in less than a year.

_Vapid._ That's a new incident!

_Mari._ Shall I? then 'faith, Mr Vapid, we'll build a theatre of our
own! you shall write plays, and I'll act them.

    _Enter ENNUI._

_Ennui._ I've an idea--I give you joy, Neville.--I mean to kill time, by
living single; and, therefore, I hope, the lady and the borough may be
yours.

_Mari._ Mr Ennui, I hope you'll forgive me, and Sir Harry Hustle, the
fatigue we occasioned you?

_Ennui._ Yaw, aw--don't mention it.--The very recollection makes me
faint.--In fact--my lord, I just met one of Lady Waitfor't's servants,
who tells me she has left Bath in a rage.

_Flor._ I am afraid she has escaped too easily.

_Lord._ Oh, never think of her! I can answer for her punishment being
adequate to her crimes--Willoughby has told me all her schemes,--and if
ever I hear her name again, may I lose my peerage, and dress like a
gentleman.

_Ennui._ My lord--I've an idea--

_Vapid._ Sir, I beg your pardon; but really, if you have an idea, I will
trouble you to spare it me for my comedy.

_Ennui._ In fact--I don't comprehend. I have read your "die-all"
epilogue, and--

_Vapid._ Oh, then I don't wonder at your having ideas!

_Lord._ Oh, poor fellow! he's always talking about what he never
has.--Neville, my boy, may you be as happy as I am.

_Flor._ Ay, I'll answer for his happiness by my own.--Miss Courtney,
notwithstanding my brother, I will "still live in your eye,--die in your
lap--and be buried in your heart:" and, moreover, I will stay with you
both in England.

_Louisa._ Yes, Floriville, if you would behold pure, unsullied love,
never travel out of this country. Depend on't,

    No foreign climes such high examples prove,
    Of wedded pleasure, or connubial love.
    Long in this land have joys domestic grown,
    Nursed in the cottage--cherish'd on the throne.


THE END.




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    at the Theatre Royal, Covent Garden, 8vo. 2s 6d
Shakspeare's King John, do. 2s
Shakspeare's Henry VIII. do. 2s


BY THOMAS MORTON, ESQ.

Speed the Plough, 2s 6d
Zorinski, a Play, 2s 6d
The Way to get Married, 2s 6d
A Cure for the Heart Ache, a Comedy, 2s 6d
Secrets worth Knowing, a Comedy, 2s 6d
The School of Reform; or How to Rule a Husband, a Comedy, 2s 6d


BY JOHN O'KEEFFE, ESQ.

Lie of the Day, a Comedy, 2s
Highland Reel, 1s 6d
The Farmer, an Opera, 1s 6d
Modern Antiques, a Farce, 1s 6d
Love in a Camp; or, Patrick in Prussia, 1s 6d
The Positive Man, 1s 6d
The Poor Soldier, 1s 6d
Wild Oats, a Comedy, 2s 6d
The Castle of Andalusia, an Opera, 2s 6d
Sprigs of Laurel, 1s 6d
Prisoner at Large, 1s 6d


BY FREDERICK REYNOLDS, ESQ.

The Delinquent, 2s 6d
The Will, a Comedy, 2s 6d
Folly as it flies, 2s 6d
Life, a Comedy, 2s 6d
Management, a Comedy, 2s 6d
Laugh when you can, 2s 6d
The Dramatist, 2s 6d
Notoriety, a Comedy, 2s 6d
How to grow Rich, 2s 6d
The Rage, a Comedy, 2s 6d
Speculation, a Comedy, 2s 6d
The Blind Bargain, 2s 6d
Fortune's Fool, 2s 6d
Werter, a Tragedy, 2s

       *       *       *       *       *

The Honey Moon, a Comedy, by John Tobin, 2s 6d
The Duenna, a Comic Opera, by Mr Sheridan, 2s 6d
The Heiress, a Comedy, by General Burgoyne, 2s 6d
The Road to Ruin, a Comedy, by Mr Holcroft, 2s 6d
Deserted Daughter, a Comedy, by ditto, 2s 6d
The Belle's Stratagem, a Comedy, by Mrs Cowley, 2s 6d
Which is the Man? a Comedy, by do. 2s 6d
England Preserved, a Tragedy, by Mr Watson, 2s 6d
The Bank Note, a Comedy, by Mr Macready, 2s 6d
The Votary of Wealth, a Comedy, by Mr Holman, 2s 6d
Ramah Droog; or, Wine does Wonders, by J. Cobb, Esq. 2s 6d
Mary, Queen of Scots, a Tragedy, by Hon. Mr St John, 2s 6d
The Stranger, a Play, as performed at Drury Lane, 2s 6d
The Maid of Bristol, a Play, by Mr Boaden, 2s
Raising the Wind, a Farce, by Mr Kenney, 1s 6d
Too many Cooks, by ditto, 1s 6d
Matrimony, a Petit Opera, by ditto, 1s 6d
The Point of Honour, a Play, by Mr C. Kemble, 2s
What is She? a Comedy, 2s 6d
Wife in the Right, a Comedy, by Mrs Griffith, 2s 6d
Julia; or, the Italian Lover, a Tragedy, by Mr Jephson, 2s 6d
Clementina, a Tragedy, by Kelly, 2s 6d
Doctor and Apothecary, a Farce, 1s 6d
Smugglers, a Farce, 1s 6d
First Floor, a Farce, 1s 6d
Tit for Tat, a Farce, 1s 6d
Sulian, a Farce, 1s 6d
Match for a Widow, an Opera, 1s 6d
Turnpike Gate, a Farce, by Knight, 1s 6d
Soldier's Return, a Farce, 1s 6d
Hartford Bridge, a Farce, by Mr Pearce, 1s 6d
The Midnight Wanderers, an Opera, by ditto, 1s 6d
Netley Abbey, an Opera, by ditto, 1s 6d
Arrived at Portsmouth, a Farce, by ditto, ls 6d
The Mysteries of the Castle, by Mr Andrews, 2s 6d
The Irishman in London, a Farce, by Mr Macready, 1s 6d
Lock and Key, a Farce, by Mr Hoare, 1s 6d
Marian, an Opera, by Mrs Brookes, 1s 6d




       *       *       *       *       *




Transcriber's note:

The following typographical errors present in the original edition
have been corrected.

In Act I, Scene I, a missing question mark was added after "Has he not a
share of vanity in his composition".

In Act IV, Scene I, "_Willoughby._" was added before the lines beginning
"'Tis past the hour" and "Ha! gone,--I am sorry for it".

In Act IV, Scene II, "_Peter._" was added before the line beginning
"Vapid presents his compliments"; the line "Here's something wanting,
sir.", which was originally formatted as a stage direction, has been
reformatted as dialogue; a missing quotation mark was inserted before
the words "Die all" in the line "in the middle of my composition?--Die
all, die nobly"; and missing brackets were added before the stage
directions beginning "As he is going to sign" and the final "Exeunt".

In Act V, Scene II, "_Vapid._" was added before the line beginning
"Here's a situation!"

In the advertisements, a missing comma was added after "West Indian".



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