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<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 47604 ***</div>
<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Belle's Stratagem, by Hannah Cowley</h1>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr class="pg" />
<p> </p>
<p class="figcenter">
<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="322" height="500" alt="bookcover" title="" />
</p>
<hr class="full" />
<h1>THE BELLE'S STRATAGEM,</h1>
<p> </p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent">
<span class="small">A</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span class="widebb">COMEDY,</span><br />
<br /><br />
<span class="smaller">AS ACTED AT THE</span><br />
<br />
<span class="wide">THEATRE-ROYAL</span><br />
<br />
<span class="smaller">I N</span><br />
<br />
<span class="wide">COVENT-GARDEN.</span>
</p>
</div>
<p> </p>
<hr class="wide" />
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent">By Mrs. <span class="wide">COWLEY</span>.</p>
</div>
<hr class="wide" />
<p> </p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>LONDON</i>:<br />
<span class="small">Printed for</span> <span class="smsmcaps">T. Cadell</span>, <span class="small">in the <i>Strand</i></span>.<br />
<span class="small">1782.</span></p>
</div>
<p> </p>
<hr class="narrow" />
<p> </p>
<h4>TO</h4>
<h2><span class="wide">THE QUEEN</span>.</h2>
<blockquote><p><span class="wide">MADAM</span>,</p></blockquote>
<p><span class="ind4"> </span>In the following Comedy, my
purpose was, to draw a <span class="smallcaps">Female Character</span>,
which with the most lively Sensibility, fine Understanding,
and elegant Accomplishments, should
unite that beautiful Reserve and Delicacy which,
whilst they veil those charms, render them still
more interesting. In delineating such a Character,
my heart naturally dedicated it to <span class="smallcaps">Your Majesty</span>;
and nothing remained, but permission to lay it at
Your feet. Your Majesty's graciously allowing
me this high Honour, is the point to which my
hopes aspired, and a reward, of which without
censure I may be proud.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>
<span class="ind4"> </span><span class="wide">MADAM</span>,
</p>
</blockquote>
<p>
With the warmest wishes for the continuance<br />
<span class="ind4"> </span>of your Majesty's felicity,</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent">I am<br /><br />
<span class="wide">YOUR MAJESTY</span>'s<br />
<br />
<span class="ind2">Most devoted</span><br />
</p>
</div>
<p class="right">and most dutiful Servant,<br />
<br />
<i>H. Cowley</i>.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr class="minimal" />
<p> </p>
<h3><span class="wide">DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.</span></h3>
<div class="center">
<table class="sm" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents">
<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><span class="wide">MEN.</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><span class="smallcaps">Doricourt</span>,</td><td align="left" valign="top">Mr. <i>Lewis</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><span class="smallcaps">Hardy</span>,</td><td align="left" valign="top">Mr. <i>Quick</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><span class="smallcaps">Sir George Touchwood</span>,</td><td align="left" valign="top">Mr. <i>Wroughton</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><span class="smallcaps">Flutter</span>,</td><td align="left" valign="top">Mr. <i>Lee Lewes</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><span class="smallcaps">Saville</span>,</td><td align="left" valign="top">Mr. <i>Aickin</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><span class="smallcaps">Villers</span>, </td><td align="left" valign="top">Mr. <i>Whitfield</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><span class="smallcaps">Courtall</span>,</td><td align="left" valign="top">Mr. <i>Robson</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><span class="smallcaps">Silvertongue</span>,</td><td align="left" valign="top">Mr. <i>W. Bates</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><span class="smallcaps">Crowquill</span>,</td><td align="left" valign="top">Mr. <i>Jones</i>.<br /></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><span class="smallcaps">First Gentleman</span>,</td><td align="left" valign="top">Mr. <i>Thompson</i>.<br /></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><span class="smallcaps">Second Gentleman</span>,</td><td align="left" valign="top">Mr. <i>L'Estrange</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><span class="smallcaps">Mountebank</span>,</td><td align="left" valign="top">Mr. <i>Booth</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><span class="smallcaps">French Servant</span>,</td><td align="left" valign="top">Mr. <i>Wewitzer</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><span class="smallcaps">Porter</span>,</td><td align="left" valign="top">Mr. <i>Fearon</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><span class="smallcaps">Dick</span>,</td><td align="left" valign="top">Mr. <i>Stevens</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td colspan="2"> </td></tr>
<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><span class="wide">WOMEN.</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><span class="smallcaps">Letitia Hardy</span>,</td><td align="left" valign="top">Miss <i>Younge</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Racket</span>,</td><td align="left" valign="top">Mrs. <i>Mattocks</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><span class="smallcaps">Lady Frances Touchwood</span>,</td><td align="left" valign="top">Mrs. <i>Hartley</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><span class="smallcaps">Miss Ogle</span>,</td><td align="left" valign="top">Mrs. <i>Morton</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><span class="smallcaps">Kitty Willis</span>,</td><td align="left" valign="top">Miss <i>Stewart</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><span class="smallcaps">Lady</span>,</td><td align="left" valign="top">Mrs. <i>Poussin</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><span class="smsmcaps">Masqueraders, Tradesmen, Servants, &c.</span></td></tr>
</table>
</div>
<p> </p>
<hr class="narrow" />
<p> </p>
<h5><span class="wide">THE</span></h5>
<h3><span class="wide">BELLE'S STRATAGEM.</span></h3>
<p> </p>
<hr class="minimal" />
<p> </p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent">A C T I.<br />
<br />
<span class="wide">SCENE I</span>.—<i>Lincoln's-Inn.</i><br />
<br />
<i>Enter</i> Saville, <i>followed by a Servant, at the top of the stage,
looking round, as if at a loss</i>.<br />
<br />
<i>Saville.</i>
</p>
</div>
<p class="noindent">Lincoln's-Inn!—Well, but where to find
him, now I am in Lincoln's-Inn?—Where did he
say his Master was?</p>
<p><i>Serv.</i> He only said in Lincoln's-Inn, Sir.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> That's pretty! And your wisdom never enquired
at whose chambers?</p>
<p><i>Serv.</i> Sir, you spoke to the servant yourself.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> If I was too impatient to ask questions, you ought
to have taken directions, blockhead!</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter</i> Courtall <i>singing</i>.</p>
</div>
<p class="noindent">Ha, Courtall!—Bid him keep the horses in motion, and
then enquire at all the chambers round.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit servant.</i></p>
<p class="noindent">What the devil brings you to this part of the town?—Have
any of the Long Robes, handsome wives, sisters or
chambermaids?</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Perhaps they have;—but I came on a different
errand; and, had thy good fortune brought thee here half
an hour sooner, I'd have given thee such a treat, ha!
ha! ha!</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> I'm sorry I miss'd it: what was it?</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> I was informed a few days since, that my
cousins Fallow were come to town, and desired earnestly
to see me at their lodgings in Warwick-Court, Holborn.
Away drove I, painting them all the way as so many
Hebes. They came from the farthest part of Northumberland,
had never been in town, and in course were made
up of rusticity, innocence, and beauty.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Well!</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> After waiting thirty minutes, during which
there was a violent bustle, in bounced five fallow damsels,
four of them maypoles;—the fifth, Nature, by
way of variety, had bent in the Æsop style.—But they
all opened at once, like hounds on a fresh scent:—"Oh,
cousin Courtall!—How do you do, cousin Courtall!
Lord, cousin, I am glad you are come! We want you
to go with us to the Park, and the Plays, and the
Opera, and Almack's, and all the fine places!"<span class="nowrap">——</span>The
devil, thought I, my dears, may attend you, for I
am sure I won't.—However, I heroically stayed an hour
with them, and discovered, the virgins were all come
to town with the hopes of leaving it—Wives:—their heads
full of Knight-Baronights, Fops, and adventures.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Well, how did you get off?</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Oh, pleaded a million engagements.<span class="nowrap">——</span>However,
conscience twitched me; so I breakfasted with
them this morning, and afterwards 'squired them to the
gardens here, as the most private place in town; and then
took a sorrowful leave, complaining of my hard, hard
fortune, that obliged me to set off immediately for Dorsetshire,
ha! ha! ha!</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> I congratulate your escape!—Courtall at Almack's,
with five aukward country cousins! ha! ha!
ha!—Why, your existence, as a Man of Gallantry, could
never have survived it.</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Death, and fire! had they come to town, like
the rustics of the last age, to see Paul's, the Lions, and
the Wax-work—at their service;—but the cousins of our
days come up Ladies—and, with the knowledge they glean
from magazines and pocket-books, Fine Ladies; laugh
at the bashfulness of their grandmothers, and boldly demand
their <i>entrées</i> in the first circles.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Where can this fellow be!—Come, give me some
news—I have been at war with woodcocks and partridges
these two months, and am a stranger to all that
has passed out of their region.</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Oh! enough for three Gazettes. The Ladies
are going to petition for a bill, that, during the war,
every man may be allowed Two Wives.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> 'Tis impossible they should succeed, for the majority
of both Houses know what it is to have one.</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Gallantry was black-ball'd at the <i>Coterie</i> last
Thursday, and Prudence and Chastity voted in.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Ay, that may hold 'till the Camps break up.—But
have ye no elopements? no divorces?</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Divorces are absolutely out, and the Commons-Doctors
starving; so they are publishing trials of <i>Crim.
Con.</i> with all the separate evidences at large; which they
find has always a wonderful effect on their trade, actions
tumbling in upon them afterwards, like mackarel at
Gravesend.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> What more?</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Nothing—for weddings, deaths, and politics,
I never talk of, but whilst my hair is dressing. But
prithee, Saville, how came you in town, whilst all the
qualified gentry are playing at pop-gun on Coxheath, and
the country over-run with hares and foxes?</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> I came to meet my friend Doricourt, who, you
know, is lately arrived from Rome.</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Arrived! Yes, faith, and has cut us all out!—His
carriage, his liveries, his dress, himself, are the
rage of the day! His first appearance set the whole <i>Ton</i>
in a ferment, and his valet is besieged by <i>levées</i> of taylors,
habit-makers, and other Ministers of Fashion, to
gratify the impatience of their customers for becoming
<i>à la mode de Doricourt</i>. Nay, the beautiful Lady Frolic,
t'other night, with two sister Countesses, insisted
upon his waistcoat for muffs; and their snowy arms now
bear it in triumph about town, to the heart-rending affliction
of all our <i>Beaux Garçons</i>.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Indeed! Well, those little gallantries will soon
be over; he's on the point of marriage.</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Marriage! Doricourt on the point of marriage!
'Tis the happiest tidings you could have given, next to his
being hanged—Who is the Bride elect?</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> I never saw her; but 'tis Miss Hardy, the rich
heiress—the match was made by the parents, and the
courtship begun on their nurses knees; Master used to
crow at Miss, and Miss used to chuckle at Master.</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Oh! then by this time they care no more for
each other, than I do for my country cousins.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> I don't know that; they have never met since
thus high, and so, probably, have some regard for each
other.</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Never met! Odd!</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> A whim of Mr. Hardy's; he thought his daughter's
charms would make a more forcible impression, if her
lover remained in ignorance of them 'till his return from
the Continent.</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter</i> Saville's <i>Servant</i>.</p>
</div>
<p><i>Serv.</i> Mr. Doricourt, Sir, has been at Counsellor
Pleadwell's, and gone about five minutes.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit Servant.</i></p>
<p><i>Serv.</i> Five minutes! Zounds! I have been five minutes
too late all my life-time!—Good morrow, Courtall; I
must pursue him. (<i>Going.</i>)</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Promise to dine with me to-day; I have some
honest fellows. (<i>Going off on the opposite side.</i>)</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Can't promise; perhaps I may.—See there, there's
a bevy of female Patagonians, coming down upon us.</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> By the Lord, then, it must be my strapping
cousins.—I dare not look behind me—Run, man, run.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit, on the same side.</i></p>
<p> </p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><span class="wide">SCENE II</span>.—<i>A Hall at</i> Doricourt'<i>s</i>. (<i>A gentle knock
at the door.</i>)<br />
<br />
<i>Enter the Porter.</i>
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Port.</i> Tap! What sneaking devil art thou? (<i>Opens
the door.</i>)</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter</i> Crowquill.</p>
</div>
<p class="noindent">So! I suppose <i>you</i> are one of Monsieur's customers too?
He's above stairs, now, overhauling all his Honour's
things to a parcel of 'em.</p>
<p><i>Crowq.</i> No, Sir; it is with you, if you please, that
I want to speak.</p>
<p><i>Port.</i> Me! Well, what do you want with me?</p>
<p><i>Crowq.</i> Sir, you must know that I am—I am the Gentleman
who writes the <i>Tête-à-têtes</i> in the Magazines.</p>
<p><i>Port.</i> Oh, oh!—What, you are the fellow that ties
folks together, in your sixpenny cuts, that never meet
any where else?</p>
<p><i>Crowq.</i> Oh, dear Sir, excuse me!—we always go on
<i>foundation</i>; and if you can help me to a few anecdotes
of your master, such as what Marchioness he lost money to,
in Paris—who is his favourite Lady in town—or the name
of the Girl he first made love to at College—or any
incidents that happened to his Grandmother, or Great
aunts—a couple will do, by way of supporters—I'll weave
a web of intrigues, losses, and gallantries, between them,
that shall fill four pages, procure me a dozen dinners,
and you, Sir, a bottle of wine for your trouble.</p>
<p><i>Port.</i> Oh, oh! I heard the butler talk of you, when
I lived at Lord Tinket's. But what the devil do you
mean by a bottle of wine!—You gave him a crown for a
retaining fee.</p>
<p><i>Crowq.</i> Oh, Sir, that was for a Lord's amours; a
Commoner's are never but half. Why, I have had a Baronet's
for five shillings, though he was a married man,
and changed his mistress every six weeks.</p>
<p><i>Port.</i> Don't tell me! What signifies a Baronet, or a
bit of a Lord, who, may be, was never further than sun and
fun round London? <i>We</i> have travelled, man! My master
has been in Italy, and over the whole island of Spain;
talked to the Queen of France, and danced with her at a
masquerade. Ay, and such folks don't go to masquerades
for nothing; but mum—not a word more—Unless you'll
rank my master with a Lord, I'll not be guilty of blabbing
his secrets, I assure you.</p>
<p><i>Crowq.</i> Well, Sir, perhaps you'll throw in a hint or
two of other families, where you've lived, that may be
worked up into something; and so, Sir, here is one, two,
three, four, five shillings.</p>
<p><i>Port.</i> Well, that's honest, (<i>pocketing the money.</i>) To
tell you the truth, I don't know much of my master's
concerns yet;—but here comes Monsieur and his gang:
I'll pump them: they have trotted after him all round
Europe, from the Canaries to the Isle of Wight.</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter several foreign Servants and two Tradesmen.</i><br />
(<i>The Porter takes one of them aside.</i>)</p>
</div>
<p><i>Tradesm.</i> Well then, you have shew'd us all?</p>
<p><i>Frenchm.</i> All, <i>en vérité, Messieurs!</i> you <i>avez</i> seen every
ting. <i>Serviteur, serviteur.</i></p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exeunt</i> Tradesmen.</p>
<p>Ah, here comes one <i>autre</i> curious Englishman, and
dat's one <i>autre</i> guinea <i>pour moi</i>.</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter</i> Saville.</p>
</div>
<p class="noindent"><i>Allons, Monsieur</i>, dis way; I will shew you tings, such
tings you never see, begar, in England!—velvets by Le
Mosse, suits cut by Verdue, trimmings by Grossette, embroidery
by Detanville<span class="nowrap">——</span></p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Puppy!—where is your Master?</p>
<p><i>Port.</i> Zounds! you chattering frog-eating dunderhead,
can't you see a Gentleman?—'Tis Mr. Saville.</p>
<p><i>Frenchm.</i> Monsieur Saville! <i>Je suis mort de peur.</i>—Ten
tousand pardons! <i>Excusez mon erreur</i>, and permit
me you conduct to Monsieur Doricourt; he be too happy
<i>à vous voir</i>.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exeunt</i> Frenchman <i>and</i> Saville.</p>
<p><i>Port.</i> Step below a bit;—we'll make it out some-how!—I
suppose a slice of sirloin won't make the story go down
the worse.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exeunt</i> Porter <i>and</i> Crowquill.</p>
<p> </p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent">
<span class="wide">SCENE III</span>.—<i>An Apartment at</i> Doricourt'<i>s.<br />
<br />
Enter</i> Doricourt.</p>
</div>
<p><i>Doric.</i> (<i>speaking to a servant behind</i>) I shall be too late
for St. James's; bid him come immediately.</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter</i> Frenchman <i>and</i> Saville.</p>
</div>
<p><i>Frenchm.</i> Monsieur Saville.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit</i> Frenchman.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Most fortunate! My dear Saville, let the warmth
of this embrace speak the pleasure of my heart.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Well, this is some comfort, after the scurvy reception
I met with in your hall.—I prepared my mind, as
I came up stairs, for a <i>bon jour</i>, a grimace, and an <i>adieu</i>.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Why so?</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Judging of the master from the rest of the family.
What the devil is the meaning of that flock of foreigners
below, with their parchment faces and snuffy whiskers?
What! can't an Englishman stand behind your carriage,
buckle your shoe, or brush your coat?</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Stale, my dear Saville, stale! Englishmen make
the best Soldiers, Citizens, Artizans, and Philosophers in
the world; but the very worst Footmen. I keep French
fellows and Germans, as the Romans kept slaves; because
their own countrymen had minds too enlarged and
haughty to descend with a grace to the duties of such a
station.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> A good excuse for a bad practice.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> On my honour, experience will convince you
of its truth. A Frenchman neither hears, sees, nor
breathes, but as his master directs; and his whole system
of conduct is compris'd in one short word, <i>Obedience</i>!
An Englishman reasons, forms opinions, cogitates, and
disputes; he is the mere creature of your will: the other,
a being, conscious of equal importance in the universal
scale with yourself, and is therefore your judge, whilst
he wears your livery, and decides on your actions with
the freedom of a censor.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> And this in defence of a custom I have heard
you execrate, together with all the adventitious manners
imported by our Travell'd Gentry.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Ay, but that was at eighteen; we are always <i>very</i>
wise at eighteen. But consider this point: we go into
Italy, where the sole business of the people is to study and
improve the powers of Music: we yield to the fascination,
and grow enthusiasts in the charming science: we travel
over France, and see the whole kingdom composing ornaments,
and inventing Fashions: we condescend to avail
ourselves of their industry, and adopt their modes: we
return to England, and find the nation intent on the most
important objects; Polity, Commerce, War, with all the
Liberal Arts, employ her sons; the latent sparks glow afresh
within our bosoms; the sweet follies of the Continent imperceptibly
slide away, whilst Senators, Statesmen, Patriots
and Heroes, emerge from the <i>virtû</i> of Italy, and the
frippery of France.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> I may as well give it up! You had always the
art of placing your faults in the best light; and I can't
help loving you, faults and all: so, to start a subject which
must please you, When do you expect Miss Hardy?</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Oh, the hour of expectation is past. She is arrived,
and I this morning had the honour of an interview
at Pleadwell's. The writings were ready; and, in obedience
to the will of Mr. Hardy, we met to sign and seal.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Has the event answered? Did your heart leap,
or sink, when you beheld your Mistress?</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Faith, neither one nor t'other; she's a fine girl,
as far as mere flesh and blood goes.<span class="nowrap">——</span>But<span class="nowrap">——</span></p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> But what?</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Why, she's <i>only</i> a fine girl; complexion, shape,
and features; nothing more.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Is not that enough?</p>
<p>Doric. No! she should have spirit! fire! <i>l'air enjoué!</i>
that something, that nothing, which every body feels,
and which no body can describe, in the resistless charmers
of Italy and France.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Thanks to the parsimony of my father, that kept
me from travel! I would not have lost my relish for true
unaffected English beauty, to have been quarrell'd for by
all the Belles of Versailles and Florence.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Pho! thou hast no taste. <i>English</i> beauty!
'Tis insipidity; it wants the zest, it wants poignancy,
Frank! Why, I have known a Frenchwoman, indebted to
nature for no one thing but a pair of decent eyes, reckon
in her suite as many Counts, Marquisses, and <i>Petits Maîtres</i>,
as would satisfy three dozen of our first-rate toasts. I
have known an Italian <i>Marquizina</i> make ten conquests in
stepping from her carriage, and carry her slaves from one
city to another, whose real intrinsic beauty would have
yielded to half the little <i>Grisettes</i> that pace your Mall on
a Sunday.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> And has Miss Hardy nothing of this?</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> If she has, she was pleased to keep it to herself.
I was in the room half an hour before I could catch the
colour of her eyes; and every attempt to draw her into
conversation occasioned so cruel an embarrassment, that I
was reduced to the necessity of news, French fleets, and
Spanish captures, with her father.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> So Miss Hardy, with only beauty, modesty, and
merit, is doom'd to the arms of a husband who will
despise her.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> You are unjust. Though she has not inspir'd
me with violent passion, my honour secures her felicity.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Come, come, Doricourt, you know very well that
when the honour of a husband is <i>locum-tenens</i> for his
heart, his wife must be as indifferent as himself, if she is
not unhappy.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Pho! never moralise without spectacles. But, as
we are upon the tender subject, how did you bear Touchwood's
carrying Lady Frances?</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> You know I never look'd up to her with hope,
and Sir George is every way worthy of her.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> <i>A la mode Angloise</i>, a philosopher even in love.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Come, I detain you—you seem dress'd at all
points, and of course have an engagement.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> To St. James's. I dine at Hardy's, and accompany
them to the masquerade in the evening: but breakfast
with me to-morrow, and we'll talk of our old companions;
for I swear to you, Saville, the air of the Continent
has not effaced one youthful prejudice or attachment.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i>—With an exception to the case of Ladies and
Servants.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> True; there I plead guilty:—but I have never
yet found any man whom I could cordially take to my
heart, and call Friend, who was not born beneath a
British sky, and whose heart and manners were not
truly English.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit</i> Doricourt <i>and</i> Saville.</p>
<p> </p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><span class="wide">SCENE IV</span>.—<i>An Apartment at Mr.</i> Hardy'<i>s</i>.<br />
Villers <i>seated on a sopha, reading</i>.<br />
<br />
<i>Enter</i> Flutter.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Hah, Villers, have you seen Mrs. Racket?<span class="nowrap">——</span>Miss
Hardy, I find, is out.</p>
<p><i>Vill.</i> I have not seen her yet. I have made a voyage to
Lapland since I came in. (<i>flinging away the book.</i>) A
Lady at her toilette is as difficult to be moved, as a Quaker,
(<i>yawning</i>). What events have happened in the world
since yesterday? have you heard?</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Oh, yes; I stopt at Tattersall's as I came by,
and there I found Lord James Jessamy, Sir William
Wilding, and Mr.<span class="nowrap">——</span>. But, now I think of it, you
sha'n't know a syllable of the matter; for I have been
informed you never believe above one half of what I say.</p>
<p><i>Vill.</i> My dear fellow, somebody has imposed upon you
most egregiously!—Half! Why, I never believe one tenth
part of what you say; that is, according to the plain and
literal expression: but, as I understand you, your intelligence
is amusing.</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> That's very hard now, very hard. I never related
a falsity in my life, unless I stumbled on it by mistake;
and if it were otherwise, your dull matter-of-fact
people are infinitely oblig'd to those warm imaginations
which soar into fiction to amuse you; for, positively, the
common events of this little dirty world are not worth
talking about, unless you embellish 'em!<span class="nowrap">——</span>Hah! here
comes Mrs. Racket: Adieu to weeds, I see! All life!</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter Mrs.</i> Racket.
</p>
</div>
<p class="noindent">Enter, Madam, in all your charms! Villers has been abusing
your toilette for keeping you so long; but I think
we are much oblig'd to it, and so are you.</p>
<p>Mrs. <i>Rack.</i> How so, pray? Good-morning t'ye both.
Here, here's a hand a-piece for you. (<i>They kiss her hands.</i>)</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> How so! Because it has given you so many
beauties.</p>
<p>Mrs. <i>Rack.</i> Delightful compliment! What do you
think of that, Villers?</p>
<p><i>Vill.</i> That he and his compliments are alike—shewy,
but won't bear examining.<span class="nowrap">——</span>So you brought Miss
Hardy to town last night?</p>
<p>Mrs. <i>Rack.</i> Yes, I should have brought her before,
but I had a fall from my horse, that confined me a week.—I
suppose in her heart she wished me hanged a dozen
times an hour.</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Why?</p>
<p>Mrs. <i>Rack.</i> Had she not an expecting Lover in town all
the time? She meets him this morning at the Lawyer's.—I
hope she'll charm him; she's the sweetest girl in the
world.</p>
<p><i>Vill.</i> Vanity, like murder, will out.—You have convinced
me you think yourself more charming.</p>
<p>Mrs. <i>Rack.</i> How can that be?</p>
<p><i>Vill.</i> No woman ever praises another, unless she thinks
herself superior in the very perfections she allows.</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Nor no man ever rails at the sex, unless he is
conscious he deserves their hatred.</p>
<p>Mrs. <i>Rack.</i> Thank ye, Flutter—I'll owe ye a <i>bouquet</i>
for that. I am going to visit the new-married Lady
Frances Touchwood.—Who knows her husband?</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Every body.</p>
<p>Mrs. <i>Rack.</i> Is there not something odd in his character?</p>
<p><i>Vill.</i> Nothing, but that he is passionately fond of his
wife;—and so petulant is his love, that he open'd the cage
of a favourite Bullfinch, and sent it to catch Butterflies,
because she rewarded its song with her kisses.</p>
<p>Mrs. <i>Rack.</i> Intolerable monster! Such a brute deserves<span class="nowrap">——</span></p>
<p><i>Vill.</i> Nay, nay, nay, nay, this is your sex now<span class="nowrap">——</span>Give
a woman but one stroke of character, off she goes,
like a ball from a racket; sees the whole man, marks
him down for an angel or a devil, and so exhibits him
to her acquaintance.—This monster! this brute! is one
of the worthiest fellows upon earth; sound sense, and a
liberal mind; but doats on his wife to such excess, that
he quarrels with every thing she admires, and is jealous
of her tippet and nosegay.</p>
<p>Mrs. <i>Rack.</i> Oh, less love for me, kind Cupid! I can
see no difference between the torment of such an affection,
and hatred.</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Oh, pardon me, inconceivable difference, inconceivable;
I see it as clearly as your bracelet. In the one
case the husband would say, as Mr. Snapper said t'other
day, Zounds! Madam, do you suppose that <i>my</i> table, and
<i>my</i> house, and <i>my</i> pictures!—<i>A-propos, des Bottes.</i> There
was the divinest Plague of Athens sold yesterday at Langford's!
the dead figures so natural, you would have sworn
they had been alive! Lord Primrose bid Five hundred—Six,
said Lady Carmine.—A thousand, said Ingot the Nabob.—Down
went the hammer.—A <i>rouleau</i> for your bargain,
said Sir Jeremy Jingle. And what answer do you
think Ingot made him?</p>
<p>Mrs. <i>Racket.</i> Why, took the offer.</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Sir, I would oblige you, but I buy this picture
to place in the nursery: the children have already got
Whittington and his Cat; 'tis just this size, and they'll
make good companions.</p>
<p>Mrs. <i>Rack.</i> Ha! ha! ha! Well, I protest that's just
the way now—the Nabobs and their wives outbid one at
every sale, and the creatures have no more taste<span class="nowrap">——</span></p>
<p><i>Vill.</i> There again! You forget this story is told by
Flutter, who always remembers every thing but the
circumstances and the person he talks about:—'twas
Ingot who offer'd a <i>rouleau</i> for the bargain, and Sir
Jeremy Jingle who made the reply.</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Egad, I believe you are right.—Well, the story
is as good one way as t'other, you know. Good morning.
I am going to Mrs. Crotchet's concert, and in my way
back shall make my bow at Sir George's. (<i>Going.</i>)</p>
<p><i>Vill.</i> I'll venture every figure in your taylor's bill, you
make some blunder there.</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> (<i>turning back</i>) Done! My taylor's bill has not been
paid these two years; and I'll open my mouth with as
much care as Mrs. Bridget Button, who wears cork
plumpers in each cheek, and never hazards more than
six words for fear of shewing them.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit</i> Flutter.</p>
<p>Mrs. <i>Rack.</i> 'Tis a good-natur'd insignificant creature!
let in every where, and cared for no where.—There's
Miss Hardy return'd from Lincoln's-Inn:—she seems
rather chagrin'd.</p>
<p><i>Vill.</i> Then I leave you to your communications.</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter</i> Letitia, <i>followed by her Maid</i>.
</p>
</div>
<p class="noindent">Adieu! I am rejoiced to see you so well, Madam! but I
must tear myself away.</p>
<p><i>Letit.</i> Don't vanish in a moment.</p>
<p><i>Vill.</i> Oh, inhuman! you are two of the most dangerous
women in town.—Staying here to be cannonaded by
four such eyes, is equal to a <i>rencontre</i> with Paul Jones,
or a midnight march to Omoa!—They'll swallow the
nonsense for the sake of the compliment. (<i>Aside.</i>)</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit</i> Villers.</p>
<p><i>Letit.</i> (<i>gives her cloak to her maid.</i>) Order Du Quesne
never to come again; he shall positively dress my hair no
more. [<i>Exit Maid.</i>] And this odious silk, how unbecoming
it is!—I was bewitched to chuse it. (<i>Throwing
herself on a sopha, and looking in a pocket-glass, Mrs.</i> Racket
<i>staring at her</i>.) Did you ever see such a fright as I am
to-day?</p>
<p>Mrs. <i>Rack.</i> Yes, I have seen you look much worse.</p>
<p><i>Letit.</i> How can you be so provoking? If I do not look
this morning worse than ever I look'd in my life, I am
naturally a fright. You shall have it which way you will.</p>
<p>Mrs. <i>Rack.</i> Just as you please; but pray what is the
meaning of all this?</p>
<p><i>Letit.</i> (<i>rising.</i>) Men are all dissemblers! flatterers!
deceivers! Have I not heard a thousand times of my air,
my eyes, my shape—all made for victory! and to-day,
when I bent my whole heart on one poor conquest, I
have proved that all those imputed charms amount to nothing;—for
Doricourt saw them unmov'd.—A husband of
fifteen months could not have examined me with more
cutting indifference.</p>
<p>Mrs. <i>Rack.</i> Then you return it like a wife of fifteen
months, and be as indifferent as he.</p>
<p><i>Letit.</i> Aye, there's the sting! The blooming boy,
who left his image in my young heart, is at four and
twenty improv'd in every grace that fix'd him there. It
is the same face that my memory, and my dreams, constantly
painted to me; but its graces are finished, and
every beauty heightened. How mortifying, to feel myself
at the same moment his slave, and an object of perfect
indifference to him!</p>
<p>Mrs. <i>Rack.</i> How are you certain that was the case?
Did you expect him to kneel down before the lawyer, his
clerks, and, your father, to make oath of your beauty?</p>
<p><i>Letit.</i> No; but he should have look'd as if a sudden
ray had pierced him! he should have been breathless!
speechless! for, oh! Caroline, all this was I.</p>
<p>Mrs. <i>Rack.</i> I am sorry you was such a fool. Can
you expect a man, who has courted and been courted by
half the fine women in Europe, to feel like a girl from a
boarding-school? He is the prettiest fellow you have
seen, and in course bewilders your imagination; but he
has seen a million of pretty women, child, before he
saw you; and his first feelings have been over long ago.</p>
<p><i>Letit.</i> Your raillery distresses me; but I will touch
his heart, or never be his wife.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Absurd, and romantic! If you have no
reason to believe his heart pre-engaged, be satisfied;
if he is a man of honour, you'll have nothing to complain
of.</p>
<p><i>Letit.</i> Nothing to complain of! Heav'ns! shall I
marry the man I adore, with such an expectation as
that?</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> And when you have fretted yourself
pale, my dear, you'll have mended your expectation
greatly.</p>
<p><i>Letit.</i> (<i>pausing.</i>) Yet I have one hope. If there is any
power whose peculiar care is faithful love, that power I
invoke to aid me.</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter Mr.</i> Hardy.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Hardy.</i> Well, now; wasn't I right? Aye, Letty!
Aye, Cousin Racket! wasn't I right? I knew 'twould
be so. He was all agog to see her before he went abroad;
and, if he had, he'd have thought no more of her face,
may be, than his own.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> May be, not half so much.</p>
<p><i>Hardy.</i> Aye, may be so:—but I see into things; exactly
as I foresaw, to-day he fell desperately in love
with the wench, he! he! he!</p>
<p><i>Letit.</i> Indeed, Sir! how did you perceive it?</p>
<p><i>Hardy.</i> That's a pretty question! How do I perceive
every thing? How did I foresee the fall of corn, and the
rise of taxes? How did I know, that if we quarrelled with
America, Norway deals would be dearer? How did I
foretell that a war would sink the funds? How did I
forewarn Parson Homily, that if he didn't some way or
other contrive to get more votes than Rubrick, he'd lose
the lectureship? How did I<span class="nowrap">——</span>But what the devil
makes you so dull, Letitia? I thought to have found
you popping about as brisk as the jacks of your harpsichord.</p>
<p><i>Letit.</i> Surely, Sir, 'tis a very serious occasion.</p>
<p><i>Hardy.</i> Pho, pho! girls should never be grave before
marriage. How did you feel, Cousin, beforehand?
Aye!</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Feel! why exceedingly full of cares.</p>
<p><i>Hardy.</i> Did you?</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> I could not sleep for thinking of my
coach, my liveries, and my chairmen; the taste of
clothes I should be presented in, distracted me for a
week; and whether I should be married in white or lilac,
gave me the most cruel anxiety.</p>
<p><i>Letit.</i> And is it possible that you felt no other care?</p>
<p><i>Hardy.</i> And pray, of what sort may your cares be,
Mrs. Letitia? I begin to foresee now that you have
taken a dislike to Doricourt.</p>
<p><i>Letit.</i> Indeed, Sir, I have not.</p>
<p><i>Hardy.</i> Then what's all this melancholy about?
A'n't you going to be married? and, what's more, to a
sensible man? and, what's more to a young girl, to a
handsome man? And what's all this melancholy for,
I say?</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Why, because he <i>is</i> handsome and sensible,
and because she's over head and ears in love with
him; all which, it seems, your foreknowledge had not
told you a word of.</p>
<p><i>Letit.</i> Fye, Caroline!</p>
<p><i>Hardy.</i> Well, come, do you tell me what's the matter
then? If you don't like him, hang the signing and
sealing, he sha'n't have ye:—and yet I can't say that
neither; for you know that estate, that cost his father and
me upwards of fourscore thousand pounds, must go all to
him if you won't have him: if he won't have you, indeed,
'twill be all yours. All that's clear, engross'd upon
parchment, and the poor dear man set his hand to it
whilst he was a dying.—"Ah!" said I, "I foresee you'll
never live to see 'em come together; but their first son
shall be christened Jeremiah after you, that I promise
you."<span class="nowrap">——</span>But come, I say, what is the matter? Don't
you like him?</p>
<p><i>Letit.</i> I fear, Sir—if I must speak—I fear I was less
agreeable in Mr. Doricourt's eyes, than he appeared in
mine.</p>
<p><i>Hardy.</i> There you are mistaken; for I asked him,
and he told me he liked you vastly. Don't you think he
must have taken a fancy to her?</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Why really I think so, as I was not by.</p>
<p><i>Letit.</i> My dear Sir, I am convinced he has not; but
if there is spirit or invention in woman, he shall.</p>
<p><i>Hardy.</i> Right, Girl; go to your toilette—</p>
<p><i>Letit.</i> It is not my toilette that can serve me: but a
plan has struck me, if you will not oppose it, which flatters
me with brilliant success.</p>
<p><i>Hardy.</i> Oppose it! not I indeed! What is it?</p>
<p><i>Letit.</i> Why, Sir—it may seem a little paradoxical;
but, as he does not like me enough, I want him to like
me still less, and will at our next interview endeavour to
heighten his indifference into dislike.</p>
<p><i>Hardy.</i> Who the devil could have foreseen that?</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Heaven and earth! Letitia, are you serious?</p>
<p><i>Letit.</i> As serious as the most important business of my
life demands.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Why endeavour to make him dislike
you?</p>
<p><i>Letit.</i> Because 'tis much easier to convert a sentiment
into its opposite, than to transform indifference into
tender passion.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> That may be good philosophy, but I am
afraid you'll find it a bad maxim.</p>
<p><i>Letit.</i> I have the strongest confidence in it. I am inspired
with unusual spirits, and on this hazard willingly
stake my chance for happiness. I am impatient to begin
my measures.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit</i> Letitia.</p>
<p><i>Hardy.</i> Can you foresee the end of this, Cousin?</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> No, Sir; nothing less than your penetration
can do that, I am sure; and I can't stay now to
consider it. I am going to call on the Ogles, and then
to Lady Frances Touchwood's, and then to an Auction,
and then—I don't know where<span class="nowrap">——</span>but I shall be at home
time enough to witness this extraordinary interview.
Good-bye.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit Mrs.</i> Racket.</p>
<p><i>Hardy.</i> Well, 'tis an odd thing—I can't understand
it—but I foresee Letty will have her way, and so I sha'n't
give myself the trouble to dispute it.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit</i> Hardy.</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><span class="wsc">END of the FIRST ACT.</span></p>
</div>
<p> </p>
<hr class="narrow" />
<p> </p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent">A C T I I.<br />
<br />
<span class="wide">SCENE I</span>. <i>Sir George Touchwood</i>'s.<br />
<br />
<i>Enter</i> Doricourt <i>and</i> Sir George.<br />
<br />
<i>Doricourt.</i>
</p>
</div>
<p class="noindent">Married, ha! ha! ha! you, whom I heard in
Paris say such things of the sex, are in London
a married man.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> The sex is still what it has ever been since
<i>la petite morale</i> banished substantial virtues; and rather
than have given my name to one of your high-bred
fashionable dames, I'd have crossed the line in a fire-ship,
and married a Japanese.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Yet you have married an English beauty, yea,
and a beauty born in high life.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> True; but she has a simplicity of heart and
manners, that would have become the fair Hebrew damsels
toasted by the Patriarchs.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Ha! ha! Why, thou art a downright matrimonial
Quixote. My life on't, she becomes as mere a
Town Lady in six months as though she had been bred to
the trade.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> Common—common—(<i>contemptuously</i>). No,
Sir, Lady Frances despises high life so much from the
ideas I have given her, that she'll live in it like a salamander
in fire.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Oh, that the circle <i>dans la place Victoire</i>
could witness thy extravagance! I'll send thee off to
St. Evreux this night, drawn at full length, and coloured
after nature.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> Tell him then, to add to the ridicule, that
Touchwood glories in the name of Husband; that he has
found in one Englishwoman more beauty than Frenchmen
ever saw, and more goodness than Frenchwomen
can conceive.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Well—enough of description. Introduce me
to this phœnix; I came on purpose.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> Introduce!—oh, aye, to be sure—I believe
Lady Frances is engaged just now—but another time.
How handsome the dog looks to-day! <i>Aside.</i></p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Another time!—but I have no other time.
'Sdeath! this is the only hour I can command this fortnight!</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> [<i>Aside.</i> I am glad to hear it, with all my soul.]
So then, you can't dine with us to-day? That's very unlucky.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Oh, yes—as to dinner—yes, I can, I believe,
contrive to dine with you to-day.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> Psha! I didn't think on what I was saying;
I meant supper.—You can't sup with us?</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Why, supper will be rather more convenient
than dinner.—But you are fortunate—if you had ask'd me
any other night, I could not have come.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> To-night!—Gad, now I recollect, we are
particularly engaged to-night.—But to-morrow night—</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Why look ye, Sir George, 'tis very plain you
have no inclination to let me see your wife at all; so
here I sit (<i>throws himself on a sopha.</i>)—There's my hat,
and here are my legs.—Now I sha'n't stir till I have seen
her; and I have no engagements: I'll breakfast, dine,
and sup with you every day this week.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> Was there ever such a provoking wretch!
But, to be plain with you, Doricourt, I and my house
are at your service: but you are a damn'd agreeable fellow,
and ten years younger than I am; and the women,
I observe, always simper when you appear. For these
reasons, I had rather, when Lady Frances and I are together,
that you should forget we are acquainted, further
than a nod, a smile, or a how-d'ye.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Very well.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> It is not merely yourself in <i>propriâ personâ</i>
that I object to; but, if you are intimate here, you'll
make my house still more the fashion than it is; and it
is already so much so, that my doors are of no use to me.
I married Lady Frances to engross her to myself; yet such
is the blessed freedom of modern manners, that, in spite
of me, her eyes, thoughts, and conversation, are continually
divided amongst all the Flirts and Coxcombs of
Fashion.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> To be sure, I confess that kind of freedom is
carried rather too far. 'Tis hard one can't have a jewel
in one's cabinet, but the whole town must be gratified
with its lustre. He sha'n't preach me out of seeing his
wife, though. <i>Aside.</i></p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> Well, now, that's reasonable. When you
take time to reflect, Doricourt, I always observe you decide
right, and therefore I hope<span class="nowrap">——</span></p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter Servant.</i>
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Serv.</i> Sir, my Lady desires<span class="nowrap">——</span></p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> I am particularly engaged.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Oh, Lord, that shall be no excuse in the
world (<i>leaping from the sopha</i>). Lead the way, John.—I'll
attend your Lady.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit, following the Servant.</i></p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> What devil possessed me to talk about her!—Here,
Doricourt! (<i>Running after him.</i>) Doricourt!</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter</i> Mrs. Racket, <i>and</i> Miss Ogle, <i>followed by a Servant</i>.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Acquaint your Lady, that Mrs. Racket,
and Miss Ogle, are here.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit</i> Servant.</p>
<p><i>Miss Ogle.</i> I shall hardly know Lady Frances, 'tis so
long since I was in Shropshire.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> And I'll be sworn you never saw her <i>out</i>
of Shropshire.—Her father kept her locked up with his
Caterpillars and Shells; and loved her beyond any thing—but
a blue Butterfly, and a petrified Frog!</p>
<p><i>Miss Ogle.</i> Ha! ha! ha!—Well, 'twas a cheap way
of breeding her:—you know he was very poor, though
a Lord; and very high-spirited, though a Virtuoso.—In
town, her Pantheons, Operas, and Robes de Cour,
would have swallowed his Sea-Weeds, Moths, and Monsters,
in six weeks!—Sir George, I find, thinks his
Wife a most extraordinary creature: he has taught her to
despise every thing like Fashionable Life, and boasts that
example will have no effect on her.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> There's a great degree of impertinence in
all that—I'll try to make her a Fine Lady, to humble
him.</p>
<p><i>Miss Ogle.</i> That's just the thing I wish.</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter Lady</i> Frances.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> I beg ten thousand pardons, my dear Mrs.
Racket.—Miss Ogle, I rejoice to see you: I should
have come to you sooner, but I was detained in conversation
by Mr. Doricourt.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Pray make no apology; I am quite happy
that we have your Ladyship in town at last.—What stay
do you make?</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> A short one! Sir George talks with regret
of the scenes we have left; and as the ceremony of presentation
is over, will, I believe, soon return.</p>
<p><i>Miss Ogle.</i> Sure he can't be so cruel! Does your Ladyship
wish to return so soon?</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> I have not the habit of consulting my own
wishes; but, I think, if they decide, we shall not return
immediately. I have yet hardly form'd an idea of London.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> I shall quarrel with your Lord and Master,
if he dares think of depriving us of you so soon. How
do you dispose of yourself to-day?</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> Sir George is going with me this morning
to the mercer's, to chuse a silk; and then<span class="nowrap">——</span></p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Chuse a silk for you! ha! ha! ha! Sir
George chuses your laces too, I hope; your gloves, and
your pincushions!</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> Madam!</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> I am glad to see you blush, my dear Lady
Frances. These are strange homespun ways! If you do
these things, pray keep 'em secret. Lord bless us! If
the Town should know your husband chuses your gowns!</p>
<p><i>Miss Ogle.</i> You are very young, my Lady, and have
been brought up in solitude. The maxims you learnt
among the Wood-Nymphs in Shropshire, won't pass
current here, I assure you.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Why, my dear creature, you look quite
frighten'd!—Come, you shall go with us to an Exhibition,
and an Auction.—Afterwards, we'll take a turn in
the Park, and then drive to Kensington;—so we shall be
at home by four, to dress; and in the evening I'll attend
you to Lady Brilliant's masquerade.</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> I shall be very happy to be of your party,
if Sir George has no engagements.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> What! Do you stand so low in your own
opinion, that you dare not trust yourself without Sir
George! If you chuse to play Darby and Joan, my dear,
you should have stay'd in the country;—'tis an Exhibition
not calculated for London, I assure you!</p>
<p><i>Miss Ogle.</i> What I suppose, my Lady, you and Sir
George, will be seen pacing it comfortably round the
Canal, arm and arm, and then go lovingly into the same
carriage;—dine <i>tête-à-tête</i>, spend the evening at Picquet,
and so go soberly to bed at Eleven!—Such a snug
plan may do for an Attorney and his Wife; but, for
Lady Frances Touchwood, 'tis as unsuitable as linsey-woolsey,
or a black bonnet at the <i>Festino!</i></p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> These are rather new doctrines to me!—But,
my dear Mrs. Racket, you and Miss Ogle must
judge of these things better than I can. As you observe,
I am but young, and may have caught absurd opinions.—Here
is Sir George!</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter Sir</i> George.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> (<i>Aside.</i>) 'Sdeath! another room full!</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> My love! Mrs. Racket, and Miss
Ogle.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Give you joy, Sir George.—We came to
rob you of Lady Frances for a few hours.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> A few hours!</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> Oh, yes! I am going to an Exhibition,
and an Auction, and the Park, and Kensington, and a
thousand places!—It is quite ridiculous, I find, for married
people to be always together—We shall be laughed
at!</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> I am astonished!—Mrs. Racket, what does
the dear creature mean?</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Mean, Sir George!—what she says, I
imagine.</p>
<p><i>Miss Ogle.</i> Why, you know, Sir, as Lady Frances
had the misfortune to be bred entirely in the Country,
she cannot be supposed to be versed in Fashionable
Life.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> No; heaven forbid she should!—If she had,
Madam, she would never have been my Wife!</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Are you serious?</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> Perfectly so.—I should never have had the
courage to have married a well-bred Fine Lady.</p>
<p><i>Miss Ogle.</i> Pray, Sir, what do you take a Fine Lady
to be, that you express such fear of her? (<i>sneeringly.</i>)</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> A being easily described, Madam, as she is seen
every where, but in her own house. She sleeps at home, but
she lives all over the town. In her mind, every sentiment
gives place to the Lust of Conquest, and the vanity
of being particular. The feelings of Wife, and
Mother, are lost in the whirl of dissipation. If she continues
virtuous, 'tis by chance—and if she preserves
her Husband from ruin, 'tis by her dexterity at the
Card-Table!—Such a Woman I take to be a perfect
Fine Lady!</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> And you I take to be a slanderous Cynic
of two-and-thirty.—Twenty years hence, one might
have forgiven such a libel!—Now, Sir, hear my definition
of a Fine Lady:—She is a creature for whom Nature
has done much, and Education more; she has Taste,
Elegance, Spirit, Understanding. In her manner she is
free, in her morals nice. Her behaviour is undistinguishingly
polite to her Husband, and all mankind;—her
sentiments are for their hours of retirement. In a word,
a Fine Lady is the life of conversation, the spirit of
society, the joy of the public!—Pleasure follows where
ever she appears, and the kindest wishes attend her slumbers.—Make
haste, then, my dear Lady Frances, commence
Fine Lady, and force your Husband to acknowledge
the justness of my picture!</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> I am sure 'tis a delightful one. How can
you dislike it, Sir George? You painted Fashionable Life
in colours so disgusting, that I thought I hated it; but,
on a nearer view, it seems charming. I have hitherto
lived in obscurity; 'tis time that I should be a Woman
of the World. I long to begin;—my heart pants with
expectation and delight!</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Come, then; let us begin directly. I am
inpatient to introduce you to that Society, which you
were born to ornament and charm.</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> Adieu! my Love!—We shall meet again
at dinner. (<i>Going.</i>)</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> Sure, I am in a dream!—Fanny!</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> (<i>returning</i>) Sir George?</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> Will you go without me?</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Will you go without me!—ha! ha! ha!
what a pathetic address! Why, sure you would not always
be seen side by side, like two beans upon a stalk. Are you
afraid to trust Lady Frances with me, Sir?</p>
<p><i>Sir George.</i> Heaven and earth! with whom can a man
trust his wife, in the present state of society? Formerly
there were distinctions of character amongst ye: every
class of females had its particular description; Grandmothers
were pious, Aunts, discreet, Old Maids censorious!
but now aunts, grandmothers, girls, and maiden gentlewomen,
are all the same creature;—a wrinkle more or
less is the sole difference between ye.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> That Maiden Gentlewomen have lost their
censoriousness, is surely not in your catalogue of grievances.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> Indeed it is—and ranked amongst the most
serious grievances.—Things went well, Madam, when the
tongues of three or four old Virgins kept all the Wives
and Daughters of a parish in awe. They were the Dragons
that guarded the Hesperian fruit; and I wonder they
have not been oblig'd, by act of parliament, to resume
their function.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Ha! ha! ha! and pension'd, I suppose,
for making strict enquiries into the lives and conversations
of their neighbours.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> With all my heart, and impowered to oblige
every woman to conform her conduct to her real situation.
You, for instance, are a Widow: your air should be sedate,
your dress grave, your deportment matronly, and in
all things an example to the young women growing up
about you!—instead of which, you are dress'd for conquest,
think of nothing but ensnaring hearts; are a
Coquette, a Wit, and a Fine Lady.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Bear witness to what he says! A Coquette!
a Wit! and a Fine Lady! Who would have expected an
eulogy from such an ill-natur'd mortal!—Valour to a
Soldier, Wisdom to a Judge, or glory to a Prince, is not
more than such a character to a Woman.</p>
<p><i>Miss Ogle.</i> Sir George, I see, languishes for the charming
society of a century and a half ago; when a grave
'Squire, and a still graver Dame, surrounded by a sober
family, form'd a stiff groupe in a mouldy old house in the
corner of a Park.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Delightful serenity! Undisturb'd by any
noise but the cawing of rooks, and the quarterly rumbling
of an old family-coach on a state-visit; with the happy
intervention of a friendly call from the Parish Apothecary,
or the Curate's Wife.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> And what is the society of which you boast?—a
meer chaos, in which all distinction of rank is lost in a
ridiculous affectation of ease, and every different order of
beings huddled together, as they were before the creation.
In the same <i>select party</i>, you will often find the wife
of a Bishop and a Sharper, of an Earl and a Fidler. In
short, 'tis one universal masquerade, all disguised in the
same habits and manners.</p>
<p><i>Serv.</i> Mr. Flutter.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit</i> Servant.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> Here comes an illustration. Now I defy you
to tell from his appearance, whether Flutter is a Privy
Counsellor or a Mercer, a Lawyer, or a Grocer's 'Prentice.</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter</i> Flutter.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Oh, just which you please, Sir George; so you
don't make me a Lord Mayor. Ah, Mrs. Racket!<span class="nowrap">——</span>Lady
Frances, your most obedient; you look—now hang
me, if that's not provoking!—had your gown been of
another colour, I would have said the prettiest thing
you ever heard in your life.</p>
<p><i>Miss Ogle.</i> Pray give it us.</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> I was yesterday at Mrs. Bloomer's. She was
dress'd all in green; no other colour to be seen but that of
her face and bosom. So says I, My dear Mrs. Bloomer!
you look like a Carnation, just bursting from its pod.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> And what said her Husband?</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Her Husband! Why, her Husband laugh'd, and
said a Cucumber would have been a happier simile.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> But there <i>are</i> Husbands, Sir, who would
rather have corrected than amended your comparison; I,
for instance, should consider a man's complimenting my
Wife as an impertinence.</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Why, what harm can there be in compliments?
Sure they are not infectious; and, if they were, you, Sir
George, of all people breathing, have reason to be satisfied
about your Lady's attachment; every body talks of
it: that little Bird there, that she killed out of jealousy,
the most extraordinary instance of affection, that ever
was given.</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> I kill a Bird through jealousy!—Heavens!
Mr. Flutter, how can you impute such a cruelty to me?</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> I could have forgiven you, if you had.</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Oh, what a blundering Fool!—No, no—now I
remember—'twas your Bird, Lady Frances—that's it;
your Bullfinch, which Sir George, in one of the refinements
of his passion, sent into the wide world to seek its
fortune.—He took it for a Knight in disguise.</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> Is it possible! O, Sir George, could I
have imagin'd it was you who depriv'd me of a creature I
was so fond of?</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> Mr. Flutter, you are one of those busy, idle,
meddling people, who, from mere vacuity of mind, are,
the most dangerous inmates in a family. You have neither
feelings nor opinions of your own; but, like a glass in a
tavern, bear about those of every Blockhead, who gives
you his;—and, because you <i>mean</i> no harm, think yourselves
excus'd, though broken friendships, discords,
and murders, are the consequences of your indiscretions.</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> (<i>taking out his Tablets</i>) Vacuity of Mind!—What
was the next? I'll write down this sermon; 'tis
the first I have heard since my Grandmother's funeral.</p>
<p><i>Miss Ogle.</i> Come, Lady Frances, you see what a cruel
creature your loving Husband can be; so let us leave
him.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> Madam, Lady Frances shall not go.</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran. Shall</i> not, Sir George?—This is the first
time such an expression—(<i>weeping</i>)</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> My love! my life!</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> Don't imagine I'll be treated like a Child!
denied what I wish, and then pacified with sweet words.</p>
<p><i>Miss Ogle</i> (<i>apart</i>). The Bullfinch! that's an excellent
subject; never let it down.</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> I see plainly you would deprive me of
every pleasure, as well as of my sweet Bird—out of pure
love!—Barbarous Man!</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> 'Tis well, Madam;—your resentment of that
circumstance proves to me, what I did not before suspect,
that you are deficient both in tenderness and understanding.—Tremble
to think the hour approaches, in
which you would give worlds for such a proof of my
love. Go, Madam, give yourself to the Public; abandon
your heart to dissipation, and see if, in the scenes
of gaiety and folly that await you, you can find a recompence
for the lost affection of a doating Husband.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit</i> Sir George.</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Lord! what a fine thing it is to have the gift of
Speech! I suppose Sir George practises at Coachmakers-hall,
or the Black-horse in Bond-street.</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> He is really angry; I cannot go.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Not go! Foolish Creature! you are arrived
at the moment, which some time or other was sure to
happen; and everything depends on the use you make of it.</p>
<p><i>Miss Ogle.</i> Come, Lady Frances! don't hesitate!—the
minutes are precious.</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> I could find in my heart!—and yet I
won't give up neither.—If I should in this instance, he'll
expect it for ever.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exeunt Lady</i> Frances, <i>and Mrs.</i> Racket.</p>
<p><i>Miss Ogle.</i> Now you act like a Woman of Spirit.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exeunt Miss</i> Ogle, <i>and Mrs.</i> Racket.</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> A fair tug, by Jupiter—between Duty and Pleasure!—Pleasure
beats, and off we go, <i>Iö! triumphe</i></p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit</i> Flutter.</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Scene changes to an Auction Room.—Busts, Pictures, &c. &c.<br />
Enter</i> Silvertongue <i>with three Puffers</i>.</p>
</div>
<p><i>Silv.</i> Very well,—very well.—This morning will be devoted
to curiosity; my sale begins to-morrow at eleven.
But, Mrs. Fagg, if you do no better than you did in Lord
Fillagree's sale, I shall discharge you.—You want a
knack terribly: and this dress—why, nobody can mistake
you for a Gentlewoman.</p>
<p><i>Fag.</i> Very true, Mr. Silvertongue; but I can't dress
like a Lady upon Half-a-crown a day, as the saying is.—If
you want me to dress like a Lady, you must double my
pay.<span class="nowrap">——</span>Double or quits, Mr. Silvertongue.</p>
<p><i>Silv.</i><span class="nowrap">——</span><i>Five Shillings</i> a day! what a demand! Why,
Woman, there are a thousand Parsons in the town, who
don't make Five Shillings a day; though they preach,
pray, christen, marry, and bury, for the Good of the Community.—Five
Shillings a day!—why, 'tis the pay of a
Lieutenant in a marching Regiment, who keeps a Servant,
a Mistress, a Horse; fights, dresses, ogles, makes
love, and dies upon Five Shillings a day.</p>
<p><i>Fag.</i> Oh, as to that, all that's very right. A Soldier
should not be too fond of life; and forcing him to do all
these things upon Five Shillings a day, is the readiest way
to make him tir'd on't.</p>
<p><i>Silv.</i> Well, Mask, have you been looking into the Antiquaries?—have
you got all the terms of art in a string—aye?</p>
<p><i>Mask.</i> Yes, I have: I know the Age of a Coin by the
taste; and can fix the Birth-day of a Medal, <i>Anno Mundi</i>
or <i>Anno Domini</i>, though the green rust should have eaten up
every character. But you know, the brown suit and
the wig I wear when I personate the Antiquary, are in
Limbo.</p>
<p><i>Silv.</i> Those you have on, may do.</p>
<p><i>Mask.</i> These!—Why, in these I am a young travell'd
<i>Cognoscento</i>: Mr. Glib bought them of Sir Tom Totter's
Valet; and I am going there directly. You know
his Picture-Sale comes on to-day; and I have got my
head full of Parmegiano, Sal Rosa, Metzu, Tarbaek,
and Vandermeer. I talk of the relief of Woovermans,
the spirit of Teniers, the colouring of the Venetian
School, and the correctness of the Roman. I distinguish
Claude by his Sleep, and Ruysdael by his Water. The
rapidity of Tintoret's pencil strikes me at the first glance;
whilst the harmony of Vandyk, and the glow of Correggio,
point out their Masters.</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter Company.</i>
</p>
</div>
<p><i>1st Lady.</i> Hey-day, Mr. Silvertongue! what, nobody
here!</p>
<p><i>Silv.</i> Oh, my Lady, we shall have company enough
in a trice; if your carriage is seen at my door, no other
will pass it, I am sure.</p>
<p><i>1st Lady.</i> Familiar Monster! [<i>Aside.</i>] That's a beautiful
Diana, Mr. Silvertongue; but in the name of Wonder,
how came Actæon to be placed on the top of a
House?</p>
<p><i>Silv.</i> That's a David and Bathsheba, Ma'am.</p>
<p><i>Lady.</i> Oh, I crave their pardon!<span class="nowrap">——</span>I remember the
Names, but know nothing of the Story.</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>More Company enters.</i>
</p>
</div>
<p><i>1st Gent.</i> Was not that Lady Frances Touchwood,
coming up with Mrs. Racket?</p>
<p><i>2d Gent.</i> I think so;<span class="nowrap">——</span>yes, it is, faith.<span class="nowrap">——</span>Let us go
nearer.</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter Lady</i> Frances, <i>Mrs.</i> Racket, <i>and Miss</i> Ogle.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Silv.</i> Yes, Sir, this is to be the first Lot:—the Model
of a City, in wax.</p>
<p><i>2d Gent.</i> The Model of a City! What City?</p>
<p><i>Silv.</i> That I have not been able to discover; but call
it Rome, Pekin, or London, 'tis still a City: you'll find
in it the same jarring interests, the same passions, the same
virtues, and the same vices, whatever the name.</p>
<p><i>Gent.</i> You may as well present us a Map of <i>Terra
Incognita</i>.</p>
<p><i>Silv.</i> Oh, pardon me, Sir! a lively imagination would
convert this waxen City into an endless and interesting
amusement. For instance—look into this little House on
the right-hand; there are four old Prudes in it, taking care
of their Neighbours Reputations. This elegant Mansion
on the left, decorated with Corinthian pillars—who
needs be told that it belongs to a Court Lord, and is the
habitation of Patriotism, Philosophy, and Virtue? Here's
a City Hall—the rich steams that issue from the windows,
nourish a neighbouring Work-House. Here's a Church—we'll
pass over that, the doors are shut. The Parsonage-house
comes next;—we'll take a peep here, however.—Look
at the Doctor! he's asleep on a volume of Toland;
whilst his Lady is putting on <i>rouge</i> for the Masquerade.—Oh!
oh! this can be no English City; our Parsons are
all orthodox, and their Wives the daughters of Modesty
and Meekness.</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Lady</i> Frances <i>and Miss</i> Ogle <i>come forward, followed by</i>
Courtall.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> I wish Sir George was here.<span class="nowrap">——</span>This man
follows me about, and stares at me in such a way, that I
am quite uneasy.</p>
<p><i>Miss Ogle.</i> He has travell'd, and is heir to an immense
estate; so he's impertinent by Patent.</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> You are very cruel, Ladies. Miss Ogle—you
will not let me speak to you. As to this little scornful
Beauty, she has frown'd me dead fifty times.</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> Sir—I am a married Woman. (<i>Confus'd.</i>)</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> A married Woman! a good hint. (<i>Aside.</i>)
'Twould be a shame if such a charming Woman was not
married. But I see you are a Daphne just come from your
sheep, and your meadows; your crook, and your waterfalls.
Pray now, who is the happy Damon, to whom you
have vow'd eternal truth and constancy?</p>
<p><i>Miss Ogle.</i> 'Tis Lady Frances Touchwood, Mr. Courtall,
to whom you are speaking.</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Lady Frances! By Heaven, that's Saville's old
flame. [<i>Aside.</i>] I beg your Ladyship's pardon. I ought
to have believed that such beauty could belong only to
your Name<span class="nowrap">——</span>a Name I have long been enamour'd of;
because I knew it to be that of the finest Woman in the
world.</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Mrs.</i> Racket <i>comes forward</i>.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> [<i>Apart.</i>] My dear Mrs. Racket, I am so
frighten'd! Here's a Man making love to me, though he
knows I am married.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Oh, the sooner for that, my dear; don't
mind him. Was you at the <i>Cassino</i> last night, Mr.
Courtall?</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> I look'd in.<span class="nowrap">——</span>'Twas impossible to stay. No
body there but Antiques. You'll be at Lady Brilliant's
to-night, doubtless?</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Yes, I go with Lady Frances.</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> Bless me! I did not know this Gentleman
was acquainted with Mrs. Racket.—I behaved so rude to
him! [<i>To Miss</i> Ogle.]</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Come, Ma'am; [<i>looking at her Watch</i>.] 'tis
past one. I protest, if we don't fly to Kensington, we
sha'n't find a soul there.</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> Won't this Gentleman go with us?</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> [<i>Looking surpris'd.</i>] To be sure, you make me
happy, Madam, beyond description.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Oh, never mind him—he'll follow.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exeunt Lady</i> Frances, <i>Mrs.</i> Racket,<br />
<i>and Miss</i> Ogle.</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Lady <i>Touchwood</i>! with a vengeance! But, 'tis
always so;—your reserved Ladies are like ice, 'egad!—no
sooner begin to soften, than they melt.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Following.</i></p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><span class="wsc">END of the SECOND ACT.</span></p>
</div>
<p> </p>
<hr class="narrow" />
<p> </p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent">A C T I I I.<br />
<br />
<span class="wide">SCENE I</span>. <i>Mr.</i> Hardy'<i>s</i>.<br />
<br />
<i>Enter</i> Letitia <i>and Mrs.</i> Racket.<br />
<br />
<i>Mrs.</i> Racket.
</p>
</div>
<p class="noindent">Come, prepare, prepare; your Lover is coming.</p>
<p><i>Letit.</i> My Lover!—Confess now that my absence at
dinner was a severe mortification to him.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> I can't absolutely swear it spoilt his appetite;
he eat as if he was hungry, and drank his wine as
though he liked it.</p>
<p><i>Letit.</i> What was the apology?</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> That you were ill;—but I gave him a
hint, that your extreme bashfulness could not support
his eye.</p>
<p><i>Letit.</i> If I comprehend him, aukwardness and bashfulness
are the last faults he can pardon in a woman; so
expect to see me transform'd into the veriest maukin.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> You persevere then?</p>
<p><i>Letit.</i> Certainly. I know the design is a rash one,
and the event important;—it either makes Doricourt
mine by all the tenderest ties of passion, or deprives me
of him for ever; and never to be his wife will afflict me
less, than to be his wife and not be belov'd.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> So you wo'n't trust to the good old maxim—"Marry
first, and love will follow?"</p>
<p><i>Letit.</i> As readily as I would venture my last guinea,
that good fortune might follow. The woman that has not
touch'd the heart of a man before he leads her to the altar,
has scarcely a chance to charm it when possession
and security turn their powerful arms against her.—But
here he comes.—I'll disappear for a moment.—Don't
spare me.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit</i> Letitia.</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter</i> Doricourt (<i>not seeing Mrs.</i> Racket.)
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Doric.</i> So! [<i>Looking at a Picture.</i>] this is my mistress, I
presume.—<i>Ma foi!</i> the painter has hit her off.—The
downcast eye—the blushing cheek—timid—apprehensive—bashful.—A
tear and a prayer-book would have made her
<i>La Bella Magdalena</i>.—</p>
<div class="center">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="poem">
<tr><td align="left">Give <i>me</i> a woman in whose touching mien<br />
A mind, a soul, a polish'd art is seen;<br />
Whose motion speaks, whose poignant air can move.<br />
Such are the darts to wound with endless love.</td></tr>
</table>
</div>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Is that an impromptu? [<i>Touching him on
the shoulder with her fan.</i>]</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> (<i>starting.</i>) Madam!—[<i>Aside.</i>] Finely caught!—Not
absolutely—it struck me during the dessert, as a
motto for your picture.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Gallantly turn'd! I perceive, however,
Miss Hardy's charms have made no violent impression
on you.—And who can wonder?—the poor girl's defects
are so obvious.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Defects!</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Merely those of education.—Her father's
indulgence ruin'd her.—<i>Mauvaise honte</i>—conceit and ignorance—all
unite in the Lady you are to marry.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Marry!—I marry such a woman!—Your picture,
I hope, is overcharged.—I marry <i>mauvaise honte</i>,
pertness and ignorance!</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Thank your stars, that ugliness and ill
temper are not added to the list.—You must think her
handsome?</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Half her personal beauty would content me;
but could the Medicean Venus be animated for me, and
endowed with a vulgar soul, <i>I</i> should become the statue,
and my heart transformed to marble.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Bless us!—We are in a hopeful way
then!</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> (<i>Aside.</i>) There must be some envy in this!—I
see she is a coquette. Ha, ha, ha! And you imagine I
am persuaded of the truth of your character? ha, ha, ha!
Miss Hardy, I have been assur'd, Madam, is elegant and
accomplished:<span class="nowrap">——</span>but one must allow for a Lady's
painting.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> (<i>Aside.</i>) I'll be even with him for that.
Ha! ha! ha! and so you have found me out!—Well,
I protest I meant no harm; 'twas only to increase the
<i>éclat</i> of her appearance, that I threw a veil over her
charms.<span class="nowrap">——</span>Here comes the Lady;—her elegance and
accomplishments will announce themselves.</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter</i> Letitia, <i>running</i>.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Let.</i> La! Cousin, do you know that our John<span class="nowrap">——</span>oh,
dear heart!—I didn't see you, Sir. (<i>Hanging down her
head, and dropping behind Mrs.</i> Racket.)</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Fye, Letitia! Mr. Doricourt thinks you a
woman of elegant manners. Stand forward, and confirm
his opinion.</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> No, no; keep before me.<span class="nowrap">——</span>He's my Sweetheart;
and 'tis impudent to look one's Sweetheart in the face,
you know.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> You'll allow in future for a Lady's painting,
Sir. Ha! ha! ha!</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> I am astonish'd!</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> Well, hang it, I'll take heart.—Why, he is but a
Man, you know, Cousin;—and I'll let him see I wasn't
born in a Wood to be scar'd by an Owl. [<i>Half apart;
advances, and looks at him through her fingers.</i>] He! he! he!
[<i>Goes up to him, and makes a very stiff formal curtesy.</i>]—[<i>He
bows.</i>]—You have been a great Traveller, Sir, I hear?</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> Yes, Madam.</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> Then I wish you'd tell us about the fine sights
you saw when you went over-sea.—I have read in a book,
that there are some countries where the Men and Women
are all Horses.—Did you see any of them?</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Mr. Doricourt is not prepared, my dear,
for these enquiries; he is reflecting on the importance of
the question, and will answer you<span class="nowrap">——</span>when he can.</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> When he can! Why, he's as slow in speech, as
Aunt Margery, when she's reading Thomas Aquinas;—and
stands gaping like mum-chance.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Have a little discretion.</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> Hold your tongue!—Sure I may say what I please
before I am married, if I can't afterwards.—D'ye think a
body does not know how to talk to a Sweetheart. He is
not the first I have had.</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> Indeed!</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> Oh, Lud! He speaks!—Why, if you must know—there
was the Curate at home:—when Papa was a-hunting,
he used to come a suitoring, and make speeches to me out
of books.—No body knows what a <i>mort</i> of fine things he
used to say to me;—and call me Venis, and Jubah, and
Dinah!</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> And pray, fair Lady, how did you answer him?</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> Why, I used to say, Look you, Mr. Curate, don't
think to come over me with your flim-flams; for a better
Man than ever trod in your shoes, is coming over-sea to
marry me;—but, ifags! I begin to think I was out.—Parson
Dobbins was the sprightfuller man of the two.</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> Surely this cannot be Miss Hardy!</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> Laws! why, don't you know me! You saw me
to-day—but I was daunted before my Father, and the
Lawyer, and all them, and did not care to speak out:—so,
may be, you thought I couldn't;—but I can talk as
fast as any body, when I know folks a little:—and now I
have shewn my parts, I hope you'll like me better.</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter</i> Hardy.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Har.</i> I foresee this won't do!—Mr. Doricourt, may
be you take my Daughter for a Fool; but <ins title="original has your">you</ins> are mistaken:
she's a sensible Girl, as any in England.</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> I am convinced she has a very uncommon understanding,
Sir. [<i>Aside.</i>] I did not think he had been such
an Ass.</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> My Father will undo the whole.—Laws! Papa,
how can you think he can take me for a fool! when
every body knows I beat the Potecary at Conundrums
last Christmas-time? and didn't I make a string of
names, all in riddles, for the Lady's Diary?—There was
a little River, and a great House; that was Newcastle.—There
was what a Lamb says, and three Letters; that
was <i>Ba</i>, and <i>k-e-r</i>, ker, Baker.—There was—</p>
<p><i>Hardy.</i> Don't stand ba-a-ing there. You'll make me
mad in a moment!—I tell you, Sir, that for all that, she's
dev'lish sensible.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Sir, I give all possible credit to your assertions.</p>
<p><i>Letit.</i> Laws! Papa, do come along. If you stand
watching, how can my Sweetheart break his mind, and
tell me how he admires me?</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> That would be difficult, indeed, Madam.</p>
<p><i>Hardy.</i> I tell you, Letty, I'll have no more of this.<span class="nowrap">——</span>I
see well enough<span class="nowrap">——</span></p>
<p><i>Letit.</i> Laws! don't snub me before my Husband—that is
to be.—You'll teach him to snub me too,—and I believe,
by his looks, he'd like to begin now.—So, let us
go, Cousin; you may tell the Gentleman what a genus I
have—how I can cut Watch-papers, and work Cat-gut;
make Quadrille-baskets with Pins, and take Profiles in
Shade; ay, as well as the Lady at N<sup>o</sup>. 62, South Moulton-street,
Grosvenor-square.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit</i> Hardy <i>and</i> Letitia.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> What think you of my painting, now?</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Oh, mere water-colours, Madam! The Lady
has caricatured your picture.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> And how does she strike you on the whole?</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Like a good Design, spoiled by the incapacity of
the Artist. Her faults are evidently the result of her Father's
weak indulgence. I observed an expression in her
eye, that seemed to satyrise the folly of her lips.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> But at her age, when Education is fixed,
and Manner becomes Nature—hopes of improvement—</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Would be as rational, as hopes of Gold from a
Jugler's Crucible.—Doricourt's Wife must be incapable
of improvement; but it must be because she's got beyond
it.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> I am pleased your misfortune sits no heavier.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Your pardon, Madam; so mercurial was the
hour in which I was born, that misfortunes always go
plump to the bottom of my heart, like a pebble in water,
and leave the surface unruffled.—I shall certainly set off
for Bath, or the other world, to-night;—but whether I
shall use a chaise with four swift coursers, or go off in a
tangent—from the aperture of a pistol, deserves consideration;
so I make my <i>adieus</i>. (<i>Going.</i>)</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Oh, but I intreat you, postpone your journey
'till to-morrow; determine on which you will—you
must be this night at the Masquerade.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Masquerade!</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Why not?—If you resolve to visit the
other world, you may as well take one night's pleasure
first in this, you know.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Faith, that's very true; Ladies are the best
Philosophers, after all. Expect me at the Masquerade.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit</i> Doricourt.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> He's a charming Fellow!—I think Letitia
sha'n't have him. (<i>Going.</i>)</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter</i> Hardy.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Hardy.</i> What's he gone?</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Yes; and I am glad he is. You would
have ruined us!—Now, I beg, Mr. Hardy, you won't interfere
in this business; it is a little out of your way.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit Mrs.</i> Racket.</p>
<p><i>Hardy.</i> Hang me, if I don't though. I foresee very
clearly what will be the end of it, if I leave ye to yourselves;
so, I'll e'en follow him to the Masquerade, and
tell him all about it: Let me see.—What shall my dress
be? A Great Mogul? No.—A Grenadier? No;—no,
that, I foresee, would make a laugh. Hang me, if I don't
send to my favourite little Quick, and borrow his
Jew Isaac's dress:—I know the Dog likes a glass of good
wine; so I'll give him a bottle of my Forty-eight, and he
shall teach me. Aye, that's it—I'll be Cunning Little
Isaac! If they complain of my want of wit, I'll tell
'em the cursed Duenna wears the breeches, and has spoilt
my parts. [<i>Exit</i> Hardy.</p>
<p> </p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent">SCENE II.<span class="nowrap">——</span><i>Courtall's.</i><br />
<br />
<i>Enter</i> Courtall, Saville, <i>and three others, from an Apartment
in the back Scene</i>. (<i>The last three tipsey.</i>)</p>
</div>
<p><i>Court.</i> You shan't go yet:—Another catch, and another
bottle!</p>
<p><i>First Gent.</i> May I be a bottle, and an empty bottle,
if you catch me at that!—Why, I am going to the
Masquerade. Jack<span class="nowrap">——</span>, you know who I mean, is to
meet me, and we are to have a leap at the new lustres.</p>
<p><i>Second Gent.</i> And I am going too—a Harlequin—(<i>hiccups</i>)
Am not I in a pretty pickle to make Harlequinades?<span class="nowrap">——</span>And
Tony, here—he is going in the disguise—in
the disguise—of a Gentleman!</p>
<p><i>First Gent.</i> We are all very disguised; so bid them
draw up—D'ye hear!</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exeunt the three Gentlemen.</i></p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Thy skull, Courtall, is a Lady's thimble:—no,
an egg-shell.</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Nay, then you are gone too; you never aspire
to similes, but in your cups.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> No, no; I am steady enough—but the fumes of
the wine pass directly through thy egg-shell, and leave thy
brain as cool as<span class="nowrap">——</span>Hey! I am quite sober; my similes
fail me.</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Then we'll sit down here, and have one sober
bottle.—Bring a table and glasses.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> I'll not swallow another drop; no, though the
juice should be the true Falernian.</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> By the bright eyes of her you love, you shall
drink her health.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Ah! (<i>sitting down</i>.) Her I loved is gone (<i>sighing.</i>)—She's
married!</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Then bless your stars you are not her Husband!
I would be Husband to no Woman in Europe, who was
not dev'lish rich, and dev'lish ugly.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Wherefore ugly?</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Because she could not have the conscience to
exact those attentions that a Pretty Wife expects; or, if
she should, her resentments would be perfectly easy to
me, nobody would undertake to revenge her cause.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Thou art a most licentious fellow!</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> I should hate my own wife, that's certain; but
I have a warm heart for those of other people; and so
here's to the prettiest Wife in England—Lady Frances
Touchwood.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Lady Frances Touchwood! I rise to drink her.
(<i>drinks</i>) How the devil came Lady Frances in your head?
I never knew you give a Woman of Chastity before.</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> That's odd, for you have heard me give half
the Women of Fashion in England.—But, pray now,
what do you take a Woman of Chastity to be? (<i>sneeringly.</i>)</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Such a woman as Lady Frances Touchwood,
Sir.</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Oh, you are grave, Sir; I remember you was
an Adorer of her's—Why didn't you marry her?</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> I had not the arrogance to look so high—Had
my fortune been worthy of her, she should not have been
ignorant of my admiration.</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Precious fellow! What, I suppose you would
not dare tell her now that you admire her?</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> No, nor you.</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> By the Lord, I have told her so.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Have! Impossible!</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Ha! ha! ha!—Is it so?</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> How did she receive the declaration?</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Why, in the old way; blushed, and frowned,
and said she was married.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> What amazing things thou art capable of! I
could more easily have taken the Pope by the beard, than
prophaned her ears with such a declaration.</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> I shall meet her at Lady Brilliant's to-night,
where I shall repeat it; and I'll lay my life, under a
mask, she'll hear it all without blush, or frown.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> (<i>rising</i>) 'Tis false, Sir!—She won't.</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> She will! (<i>rising</i>) Nay, I'd venture to lay a
round sum, that I prevail on her to go out with me<span class="nowrap">——</span>only
to taste the fresh air, I mean.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Preposterous vanity! From this moment I suspect
that half the victories you have boasted, are false and
slanderous, as your pretended influence with Lady Frances.</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Pretended!—How should such a Fellow as you,
now, who never soared beyond a cherry-cheeked Daughter
of a Ploughman in Norfolk, judge of the influence
of a Man of my Figure and Habits? I could shew thee
a list, in which there are names to shake thy faith in the
whole sex!—and, to that list I have no doubt of adding
the name of Lady<span class="nowrap">——</span></p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Hold, Sir! My ears cannot bear the profanation;—you
cannot—dare not approach her!—For your soul
you dare not mention Love to her! Her look would
freeze the word, whilst it hovered on thy licentious lips!</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Whu! whu! Well, we shall see—this evening,
by Jupiter, the trial shall be made—if I fail—I fail.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> I think thou darest not!—But my life, my honour
on her purity.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit</i> Saville.</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Hot-headed fool! But since he has brought it
to this point, by Gad I'll try what can be done with her
Ladyship (<i>musing</i>)—(<i>rings</i>) She's frost-work, and the
prejudices of education yet strong: <i>ergo</i>, passionate professions
will only inflame her pride, and put her on her
guard.—For other arts then!</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter</i> Dick.
</p>
</div>
<p class="noindent">Dick, do you know any of the servants at Sir George
Touchwood's?</p>
<p><i>Dick.</i> Yes, Sir; I knows the Groom, and one of the
House-maids: for the matter-o'-that, she's my own
Cousin; and it was my Mother that holp'd her to the
place.</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Do you know Lady Frances's Maid?</p>
<p><i>Dick.</i> I can't say as how I know she.</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Do you know Sir George's Valet?</p>
<p><i>Dick.</i> No, Sir; but Sally is very thick with Mr. Gibson,
Sir George's Gentleman.</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Then go there directly, and employ Sally to
discover whether her Master goes to Lady Brilliant's this
evening; and, if he does, the name of the shop that sold
his Habit.</p>
<p><i>Dick.</i> Yes, Sir.</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Be exact in your intelligence, and come to me
at Boodle's: [<i>Exit</i> Dick.] If I cannot otherwise succeed,
I'll beguile her as Jove did Alcmena, in the shape
of her Husband. The possession of so fine a Woman—the
triumph over Saville, are each a sufficient motive;
and united, they shall be resistless.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit</i> Courtall.</p>
<p> </p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><span class="wide">SCENE III</span>.<span class="nowrap">——</span><i>The Street.<br />
<br />
Enter</i> Saville.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Sav.</i> The air has recover'd me! What have I been
doing! Perhaps my petulance may be the cause of <i>her</i>
ruin, whose honour I asserted:—his vanity is piqued;—and
where Women are concerned, Courtall can be a
villain.</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter</i> Dick. <i>Bows, and passes hastily.</i>
</p>
</div>
<p class="noindent">Ha! that's his Servant!<span class="nowrap">——</span>Dick!</p>
<p><i>Dick.</i> [<i>returning</i>] Sir.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Where are you going, Dick?</p>
<p><i>Dick.</i> Going! I am going, Sir, where my Master
sent me.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Well answer'd;—but I have a particular reason
for my enquiry, and you must tell me.</p>
<p><i>Dick.</i> Why then, Sir, I am going to call upon a Cousin
of mine, that lives at Sir George Touchwood's.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Very well.—There, [<i>gives him money</i>] you must
make your Cousin drink my health.—What are you going
about?</p>
<p><i>Dick.</i> Why, Sir, I believe 'tis no harm, or elseways I
am sure I would not blab.—I am only going to ax if Sir
George goes to the Masquerade to-night, and what Dress
he wears.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Enough! Now, Dick, if you will call at my
lodgings in your way back, and acquaint me with your
Cousin's intelligence, I'll double the trifle I have given
you.</p>
<p><i>Dick.</i> Bless your honour, I'll call<span class="nowrap">——</span>never fear.</p>
<p class="right">[Exit <i>Dick.</i></p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Surely the occasion may justify the means:—'tis
doubly my duty to be Lady Frances's Protector. Courtall,
I see, is planning an artful scheme; but Saville shall
out-plot him.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit</i> Saville.</p>
<p> </p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><span class="wide">SCENE IV</span>.<span class="nowrap">——</span><i>Sir George Touchwood</i>'s.<br />
<br />
<i>Enter</i> Sir George <i>and</i> Villers.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Vill.</i> For shame, Sir George! you have left Lady Frances
in tears.—How can you afflict her?</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> 'Tis I that am afflicted;—my dream of happiness
is over.—Lady Frances and I are disunited.</p>
<p><i>Vill.</i> The Devil! Why, you have been in town but
ten days: she can have made no acquaintance for a Commons
affair yet.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> Pho! 'tis our minds that are disunited: she
no longer places her whole delight in me; she has yielded
herself up to the world!</p>
<p><i>Vill.</i> Yielded herself up to the World! Why did you
not bring her to town in a Cage? Then she might have
taken a peep at the World!—But, after all, what has the
World done? A twelvemonth since you was the gayest
fellow in it:—If any body ask'd who dresses best?—Sir
George Touchwood.—Who is the most gallant Man?
Sir George Touchwood.—Who is the most wedded to
Amusement and Dissipation? Sir George Touchwood.—And
now Sir George is metamorphosed into a sour Censor;
and talks of Fashionable Life with as much bitterness,
as the old crabbed Fellow in Rome.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> The moment I became possessed of such a jewel
as Lady Frances, every thing wore a different complexion:
that Society in which I liv'd with so much <i>éclat</i>, became
the object of my terror; and I think of the manners
of Polite Life, as I do of the atmosphere of a Pest-house.—My
Wife is already infected; she was set upon
this morning by Maids, Widows, and Bachelors, who
carried her off in triumph, in spite of my displeasure.</p>
<p><i>Vill.</i> Aye, to be sure; there would have been no triumph
in the case, if you had not oppos'd it:—but I have heard
the whole story from Mrs. Racket; and I assure you,
Lady Frances didn't enjoy the morning at all;—she wish'd
for you fifty times.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> Indeed! Are you sure of that?</p>
<p><i>Vill.</i> Perfectly sure.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> I wish I had known it:<span class="nowrap">——</span>my uneasiness at
dinner was occasioned by very different ideas.</p>
<p><i>Vill.</i> Here then she comes, to receive your apology; but
if she is true Woman, her displeasure will rise in proportion
to your contrition;—and till you grow careless
about her pardon, she won't grant it:<span class="nowrap">——</span>however, I'll
leave you.<span class="nowrap">——</span>Matrimonial Duets are seldom set in the
style I like.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit</i> Villers.</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter Lady</i> Frances.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> The sweet sorrow that glitters in these eyes, I
cannot bear (<i>embracing her</i>). Look chearfully, you Rogue.</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> I cannot look otherwise, if you are pleas'd
with me.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> Well, Fanny, to-day you made your <i>entrée</i> in
the Fashionable World; tell me honestly the impressions
you receiv'd.</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> Indeed, Sir George, I was so hurried from
place to place, that I had not time to find out what my
impressions were.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> That's the very spirit of the life you have
chosen.</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> Every body about me seem'd happy—but
every body seem'd in a hurry to be happy somewhere else.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> And you like this?</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> One must like what the rest of the World
likes.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> Pernicious maxim!</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> But, my dear Sir George, you have not
promis'd to go with me to the Masquerade.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> 'Twould be a shocking indecorum to be seen
together, you know.</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> Oh, no; I ask'd Mrs. Racket, and she told
me we might be seen together at the Masquerade—without
being laugh'd at.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> Really?</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> Indeed, to tell you the truth, I could wish
it was the fashion for married people to be inseparable;
for I have more heart-felt satisfaction in fifteen minutes
with you at my side, than fifteen days of amusement
could give me without you.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> My sweet Creature! How that confession
charms me!—Let us begin the Fashion.</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> O, impossible! We should not gain a single
proselyte; and you can't conceive what spiteful things
would be said of us.—At Kensington to-day a Lady met
us, whom we saw at Court, when we were presented; she
lifted up her hands in amazement!<span class="nowrap">——</span>Bless me! said she
to her companion, here's Lady Francis without Sir Hurlo
Thrumbo!—My dear Mrs. Racket, consider what an important
charge you have! for Heaven's sake take her
home again, or some Enchanter on a flying Dragon will
descend and carry her off.—Oh, said another, I dare
say Lady Frances has a clue at her heel, like the peerless
Rosamond:—her tender swain would never have trusted
her so far without such a precaution.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> Heav'n and Earth!<span class="nowrap">——</span>How shall Innocence
preserve its lustre amidst manners so corrupt!—My dear
Fanny, I feel a sentiment for thee at this moment, tenderer
than Love—more animated than Passion.<span class="nowrap">——</span>I could
weep over that purity, expos'd to the sullying breath
of Fashion, and the <i>Ton</i>, in whose latitudinary vortex
Chastity herself can scarcely move unspotted.</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter</i> Gibson.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Gib.</i> Your Honour talk'd, I thought, something about
going to the Masquerade?</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> Well.</p>
<p><i>Gib.</i> Isn't it?—hasn't your Honour?—I thought your
Honour had forgot to order a Dress.</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> Well consider'd, Gibson.—Come, will you
be Jew, Turk, or Heretic; a Chinese Emperor, or a
Ballad-Singer; a Rake, or a Watchman?</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> Oh, neither, my Love; I can't take the trouble
to support a character.</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> You'll wear a Domino then:—I saw a
pink Domino trimm'd with blue at the shop where I
bought my Habit.—Would you like it?</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> Any thing, any thing.</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> Then go about it directly, Gibson.<span class="nowrap">——</span>A
pink Domino trimm'd with blue, and a Hat of the same—Come,
you have not seen my Dress yet—it is most beautiful;
I long to have it on.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exeunt</i> Sir George <i>and</i> Lady Frances.</p>
<p><i>Gib.</i> A pink Domino trimm'd with blue, and a Hat of
the same<span class="nowrap">——</span>What the devil can it signify to Sally now
what his Dress is to be?—Surely the Slut has not made an
assignation to meet her Master!</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit</i> Gibson.</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><span class="wsc">END of the THIRD ACT.</span></p>
</div>
<p> </p>
<hr class="narrow" />
<p> </p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent">A C T I V.<br />
<br />
<span class="wide">SCENE</span> <span class="nowrap">——</span><i>A Masquerade.<br />
<br />
A Party dancing Cotillons in front—a variety of Characters
pass and repass.<br />
<br />
Enter</i> Folly <i>on a Hobby-Horse, with Cap and Bells.<br />
<br />
Mask.</i>
</p>
</div>
<p class="noindent">Hey! Tom Fool! what business have you here?</p>
<p><i>Foll.</i> What, Sir! Affront a Prince in his own
Dominions!</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Struts off.</i></p>
<p><i>Mountebank.</i> Who'll buy my Nostrums? Who'll buy my
Nostrums?</p>
<p><i>Mask.</i> What are they? (<i>They all come round him.</i>)</p>
<p><i>Mount.</i> Different sorts, and for different customers.
Here's a Liquor for Ladies—it expels the rage of Gaming
and Gallantry; Here's a Pill for Members of Parliament—good
to settle Consciences. Here's an Eye-Water for
Jealous Husbands—it thickens the Visual Membrane,
through which they see too clearly. Here's a Decoction for
the Clergy—it never sits easy, if the patient has more
than One Living. Here's a Draught for Lawyers—a
great promoter of Modesty. Here's a Powder for Projectors—'twill
rectify the fumes of an Empty Stomach,
and dissipate their airy castles.</p>
<p><i>Mask.</i> Have you a Nostrum that can give patience to
Young Heirs, whose Uncles and Fathers are stout and
healthy?</p>
<p><i>Mount.</i> Yes; and I have an Infusion for Creditors—it
gives resignation and humility, when Fine Gentlemen
break their promises, or plead their privilege.</p>
<p><i>Mask.</i> Come along:—I'll find you customers for your
whole cargo.</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter</i> Hardy, <i>in the Dress of</i> Isaac Mendoza.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Hardy.</i> Why, isn't it a shame to see so many stout,
well-built Young Fellows, masquerading, and cutting
<i>Couranta's</i> here at home—instead of making the French
cut capers to the tune of your Cannon—or sweating the
Spaniards with an English <i>Fandango</i>?—I foresee the end
of all this.</p>
<p><i>Mask.</i> Why, thou little testy Israelite! back to Duke's
Place; and preach your tribe into a subscription for the
good of the land on whose milk and honey ye fatten.—Where
are your Joshuas and your Gideons, aye? What!
all dwindled into Stockbrokers, Pedlars, and Rag-Men?</p>
<p><i>Har.</i> No, not all. Some of us turn Christians, and
by degrees grow into all the privileges of Englishmen!
In the second generation we are Patriots, Rebels, Courtiers,
and Husbands. [<i>Puts his fingers to his forehead.</i>]</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Two other Masks advance.</i>
</p>
</div>
<p><i>3d Mask.</i> What, my little Isaac!<span class="nowrap">——</span>How the Devil
came you here? Where's your old Margaret?</p>
<p><i>Har.</i> Oh, I have got rid of her.</p>
<p><i>3d Mask.</i> How?</p>
<p><i>Har.</i> Why, I persuaded a young Irishman that she was
a blooming plump Beauty of eighteen; so they made an
Elopement, ha! ha! ha! and she is now the Toast of
Tipperary. Ha! there's Cousin Racket and her Party;
they sha'n't know me.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Puts on his Mask.</i></p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter Mrs.</i> Racket, <i>Lady</i> Frances, <i>Sir</i> George, <i>and</i> Flutter.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Look at this dumpling Jew; he must be a
Levïte by his figure. You have surely practised the
flesh-hook a long time, friend, to have raised that goodly
presence.</p>
<p><i>Har.</i> About as long, my brisk Widow, as you have
been angling for a second Husband; but my hook has
been better baited than your's.—You have only caught
Gudgeons, I see. </p>
<p class="right">[<i>Pointing to</i> Flutter.</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Oh! this is one of the Geniuses they hire to entertain
the Company with their <i>accidental</i> sallies.<span class="nowrap">——</span>Let
me look at your Common-Place Book, friend.—I want
a few good things.</p>
<p><i>Har.</i> I'd oblige you, with all my heart; but you'll
spoil them in repeating—or, if you shou'd not, they'll
gain you no reputation—for no body will believe they
are your own.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> He knows ye, Flutter;—the little Gentleman
fancies himself a Wit, I see.</p>
<p><i>Har.</i> There's no depending on what <i>you</i> see—the eyes
of the jealous are not to be trusted.—Look to your Lady.</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> He knows ye, Sir George.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> What! am I the Town-talk? [<i>Aside</i>]</p>
<p><i>Har.</i> I can neither see Doricourt nor Letty.—I must
find them out.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit</i> Hardy.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Well, Lady Frances, is not all this charming?
Could you have conceived such a brilliant assemblage
of objects?</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> Delightful! The days of enchantment are
restor'd; the columns glow with Sapphires and Rubies.
Emperors and Fairies, Beauties and Dwarfs, meet me at
every step.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> How lively are first impressions on sensible
minds! In four hours, vapidity and languor will take
place of that exquisite sense of joy, which flutters your
little heart.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> What an inhuman creature! Fate has
not allow'd us these sensations above ten times in our
lives; and would you have us shorten them by anticipation?</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> O Lord! your Wise Men are the greatest Fools
upon earth:—they reason about their enjoyments, and
analyse their pleasures, whilst the essence escapes. Look,
Lady Frances: D'ye see that Figure strutting in the dress
of an Emperor? His Father retails Oranges in Botolph
Lane. That Gypsey is a Maid of Honour, and that
Rag-man a Physician.</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> Why, you know every body.</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> <ins title="original has On">Oh</ins>, every creature.—A Mask is nothing at all
to me.—I can give you the history of half the people
here. In the next apartment there's a whole family, who,
to my knowledge, have lived on Water-Cresses this
month, to make a figure here to-night;—but, to make up
for that, they'll cram their pockets with cold Ducks and
Chickens, for a Carnival to-morrow.</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> Oh, I should like to see this provident
Family.</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Honour me with your arm.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exeunt</i> Flutter <i>and Lady</i> Frances.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Come, Sir George, you shall be <i>my</i> Beau.—We'll
make the <i>tour</i> of the rooms, and meet them. Oh!
your pardon, you must follow Lady Frances; or the wit
and fine parts of Mr. Flutter may drive you out of her
head. Ha! ha! ha!</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit Mrs.</i> Racket.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> I was going to follow her, and now I dare not.
How can I be such a fool as to be govern'd by the <i>fear</i>
of that ridicule which I despise!</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit Sir</i> George.</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter</i> Doricourt, <i>meeting a Mask</i>.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Ha! my Lord!—I thought you had been engaged
at Westminster on this important night.</p>
<p><i>Mask.</i> So I am—I slipt out as soon as Lord Trope got
upon his legs; I can <i>badinage</i> here an hour or two, and
be back again before he is down.<span class="nowrap">——</span>There's a fine Figure!
I'll address her.</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter</i> Letitia.
</p>
</div>
<p class="noindent">Charity, fair Lady! Charity for a poor Pilgrim.</p>
<p><i>Letit.</i> Charity! If you mean my prayers, Heaven
grant thee Wit, Pilgrim.</p>
<p><i>Mask.</i> That blessing would do from a Devotee: from
you I ask other charities;—such charities as Beauty
should bestow—soft Looks—sweet Words—and kind
Wishes.</p>
<p><i>Letit.</i> Alas! I am bankrupt of these, and forced to
turn Beggar myself.<span class="nowrap">——</span>There he is!—how shall I catch
his attention?</p>
<p><i>Mask.</i> Will you grant me no favour?</p>
<p><i>Letit.</i> Yes, one—I'll make you my Partner—not for
life, but through the soft mazes of a minuet.—Dare
you dance?</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Some spirit in that.</p>
<p><i>Mask.</i> I dare do any thing you command.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Do you know her, my Lord?</p>
<p><i>Mask.</i> No: Such a woman as that, would formerly
have been known in any disguise; but Beauty is now
common—Venus seems to have given her <i>Cestus</i> to the
whole sex.</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>A Minuet.</i>
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Doric.</i> (<i>during the Minuet</i>) She dances divinely.—(<i>When
ended</i>) Somebody must know her! Let us enquire
who she is.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit.</i></p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter</i> Saville <i>and</i> Kitty Willis, <i>habited like Lady</i> Frances.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Sav.</i> I have seen Courtall in Sir George's habit, though
he endeavoured to keep himself conceal'd. Go, and seat
yourself in the tea-room, and on no account discover your
face:—remember too, Kitty, that the Woman you are to
personate is a Woman of Virtue.</p>
<p><i>Kitty.</i> I am afraid I shall find that a difficult character:
indeed I believe it is seldom kept up through a whole Masquerade.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Of that <i>you</i> can be no judge<span class="nowrap">——</span>Follow my directions,
and you shall be rewarded.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit</i> Kitty.</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter</i> Doricourt.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Dor.</i> Ha! Saville! Did you see a Lady dance just
now?</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> No.</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> Very odd. No body knows her.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Where is Miss Hardy?</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> Cutting Watch-papers, and making Conundrums,
I suppose.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> What do you mean?</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> Faith, I hardly know. She's not here, however,
Mrs. Racket tells me.—I ask'd no further.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Your indifference seems increas'd.</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> Quite the reverse; 'tis advanced thirty-two degrees
towards hatred.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> You are jesting?</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> Then it must be with a very ill grace, my dear
Saville; for I never felt so seriously: Do you know the
creature's almost an Ideot?</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> What!</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> An Ideot. What the devil shall I do with her?
Egad! I think I'll feign myself mad—and then Hardy
will propose to cancel the engagements.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> An excellent expedient. I must leave you; you
are mysterious, and I can't stay to unravel ye.—I came
here to watch over Innocence and Beauty.</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> The Guardian of Innocence and Beauty at three
and twenty! Is there not a cloven foot under that black
gown, Saville?</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> No, faith. Courtall is here on a most detestable
design.—I found means to get a knowledge of the Lady's
dress, and have brought a girl to personate her, whose
reputation cannot be hurt.—You shall know the result
to-morrow. Adieu.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit</i> Saville.</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> (<i>musing</i>) Yes, I think that will do.—I'll feign
myself mad, see the Doctor to pronounce me incurable,
and when the parchments are destroyed<span class="nowrap">——</span></p>
<p class="revind">[<i>As he stands in a musing posture</i>, Letitia <i>enters, and sings</i>.]</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><span class="wide">SONG</span>.</p>
<table class="i" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="poem">
<tr><td align="left">Wake! thou Son of Dullness, wake!<br />
<span class="ind1">From thy drowsy senses shake</span><br />
All the spells that Care employs,<br />
<span class="ind1">Cheating Mortals of their joys.</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="center"><span class="norm">II.</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">Light-wing'd Spirits, hither haste!<br />
<span class="ind1">Who prepare for mortal taste</span><br />
All the gifts that Pleasure sends,<br />
<span class="ind1">Every bliss that youth attends.</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="center"><span class="norm">III.</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">Touch his feelings, rouze his soul,<br />
<span class="ind1">Whilst the sparkling moments roll;</span><br />
Bid them wake to new delight,<br />
<span class="ind1">Crown the magic of the night.</span></td></tr>
</table>
</div>
<p><i>Dor.</i> By Heaven, the same sweet creature!</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> You have chosen an odd situation for study.
Fashion and Taste preside in this spot:—they throw their
spells around you:—ten thousand delights spring up at
their command;—and you, a Stoic—a being without senses,
are wrapt in reflection.</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> And you, the most charming being in the
world, awake me to admiration. Did you come from
the Stars?</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> Yes, and I shall reascend in a moment.</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> Pray shew me your face before you go.</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> Beware of imprudent curiosity; it lost Paradise.</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> Eve's curiosity was rais'd by the Devil;—'tis an
Angel tempts mine.—So your allusion is not in point.</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> But <i>why</i> would you see my face?</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> To fall in love with it.</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> And what then?</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> Why, then—Aye, curse it! there's the rub. [<i>Aside.</i>]</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> Your Mistress will be angry;—but, perhaps, you
have no Mistress?</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> Yes, yes; and a sweet one it is!</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> What! is she old?</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> No.</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> Ugly?</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> No.</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> What then?</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> Pho! don't talk about <i>her</i>; but shew me your
face.</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> My vanity forbids it;—'twould frighten you.</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> Impossible! Your Shape is graceful, your Air
bewitching, your Bosom transparent, and your Chin
would tempt me to kiss it, if I did not see a pouting red
Lip above it, that demands<span class="nowrap">——</span></p>
<p><i>Let.</i> You grow too free.</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> Shew me your face then—only half a glance.</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> Not for worlds.</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> What! you will have a little gentle force? [<i>Attempts
to seize her Mask.</i></p>
<p><i>Let.</i> I am gone for ever!</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit.</i></p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> 'Tis false;—I'll follow to the end.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit.</i></p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent">Flutter, <i>Lady</i> Frances, <i>and</i> Saville <i>advance</i>.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> How can you be thus interested for a
stranger?</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Goodness will ever interest; its home is Heaven:
on earth 'tis but a Wanderer. Imprudent Lady! why
have you left the side of your Protector? Where is your
Husband?</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Why, what's that to him?</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> Surely it can't be merely his habit;<span class="nowrap">——</span>there's
something in him that awes me.</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Pho! 'tis only his grey beard.—I know him; he
keeps a Lottery-office on Cornhill.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> My province, as an Enchanter, lays open every
secret to me. Lady! there are dangers abroad—Beware!</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit.</i></p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> 'Tis very odd; his manner has made me
tremble. Let us seek Sir George.</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> He is coming towards us.</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent">Courtall <i>comes forward, habited like Sir</i> George.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Court.</i> There she is! If I can but disengage her from
that fool Flutter—crown me, ye Schemers, with immortal
wreaths.</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> O my dear Sir George! I rejoice to meet
you—an old Conjuror has been frightening me with his
Prophecies.—Where's Mrs. Racket?</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> In the dancing-room.—I promis'd to send you
to her, Mr. Flutter.</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Ah! she wants me to dance. With all my heart.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit.</i></p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> Why do you keep on your mask?—'tis too
warm.</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> 'Tis very warm—I want air—let us go.</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> You seem quite agitated.<span class="nowrap">——</span>Sha'n't we bid
our company adieu?</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> No, no;—there's no time for forms. I'll
just give directions to the carriage, and be with you in a
moment. (<i>Going, steps back.</i>) Put on your mask; I have
a particular reason for it.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit.</i></p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent">Saville <i>advances with</i> Kitty.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Now, Kitty, you know your lesson. Lady Frances,
(<i>takes off his mask</i>) let me lead you to your Husband.</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> Heavens! is Mr. Saville the Conjuror? Sir
George is just stept to the door to give directions.—We
are going home immediately.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> No, Madam, you are deceiv'd: Sir George is
this way.</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> This is astonishing!</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Be not alarm'd: you have escap'd a snare, and
shall be in safety in a moment.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit</i> Saville <i>and Lady</i> Frances.</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter</i> Courtall, <i>and seizes</i> Kitty's <i>Hand</i>.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Court.</i> Now!</p>
<p><i>Kitty.</i> 'Tis pity to go so soon.</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Perhaps I may bring you back, my Angel<span class="nowrap">——</span>but
go now, you must.</p>
<p class="right"><span class="nowrap">[<i>Exit.</i>] [<i>Music.</i>]</span></p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent">Doricourt <i>and</i> Letitia <i>come forward</i>.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Dor.</i> By Heavens! I never was charm'd till now.—English
beauty—French vivacity—wit—elegance. Your
name, my Angel!—tell me your name, though you
persist in concealing your face.</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> My name has a spell in it.</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> I thought so; it must be <i>Charming</i>.</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> But if reveal'd, the charm is broke.</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> I'll answer for its force.</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> Suppose it Harriet, or Charlotte, or Maria, or—</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> Hang Harriet, and Charlotte, and Maria—the
name your Father gave ye!</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> That can't be worth knowing, 'tis so transient a
thing.</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> How, transient?</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> Heav'n forbid my name should be <i>lasting</i> till I am
married.</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> Married! The chains of Matrimony are too heavy
and vulgar for such a spirit as yours.<span class="nowrap">——</span>The flowery
wreaths of Cupid are the only bands you should wear.</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> They are the lightest, I believe: but 'tis possible
to wear those of Marriage gracefully.<span class="nowrap">——</span>Throw 'em
loosely round, and twist 'em in a True-Lover's Knot for
the Bosom.</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> An Angel! But what will you be when a Wife?</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> A Woman.—If my Husband should prove a Churl,
a Fool, or a Tyrant, I'd break his heart, ruin his fortune,
elope with the first pretty Fellow that ask'd me—and
return the contempt of the world with scorn, whilst
my feelings prey'd upon my life.</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> Amazing! [<i>Aside</i>] What if you lov'd him, and
he were worthy of your love?</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> Why, then I'd be any thing—and all!—Grave,
gay, capricious—the soul of whim, the spirit of variety—live
with him in the eye of fashion, or in the
shade of retirement<span class="nowrap">——</span>change my country, my sex,—feast
with him in an Esquimaux hut, or a Persian pavilion—join
him in the victorious war-dance on the
borders of Lake Ontario, or sleep to the soft breathings
of the flute in the cinnamon groves of Ceylon—dig
with him in the mines of Golconda, or enter the dangerous
precincts of the Mogul's Seraglo<span class="nowrap">——</span>cheat him
of his wishes, and overturn his empire to restore the
Husband of my Heart to the blessings of Liberty and Love.</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> Delightful wildness! Oh, to catch thee, and hold
thee for ever in this little cage!</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Attempting to clasp her.</i></p>
<p><i>Let.</i> Hold, Sir! Though Cupid must give the bait
that tempts me to the snare, 'tis Hymen must spread the
net to catch me.</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> 'Tis in vain to assume airs of coldness<span class="nowrap">——</span>Fate
has ordain'd you mine.</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> How do you know?</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> I feel it <i>here</i>. I never met with a Woman so perfectly
to my taste; and I won't believe it form'd you so,
on purpose to tantalize me.</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> This moment is worth a whole existence. [<i>Aside.</i>]</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> Come, shew me your face, and rivet my chains.</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> To-morrow you shall be satisfied.</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> To-morrow! and not to-night?</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> No.</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> Where then shall I wait on you to-morrow?<span class="nowrap">——</span>Where
see you?</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> You shall see me in an hour when you least expect
me.</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> Why all this mystery?</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> I like to be mysterious. At present be content to
know that I am a Woman of Family and Fortune. Adieu!</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter</i> Hardy.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Har.</i> Adieu! Then I am come at the fag end. [<i>Aside.</i>]</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> Let me see you to your carriage.</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> As you value knowing me, stir not a step. If I am
follow'd, you never see me more.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit.</i></p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> Barbarous Creature! She's gone! What, and
is this really serious?—am I in love?<span class="nowrap">——</span>Pho! it can't
be<span class="nowrap">——</span>O Flutter! do you know that charming Creature?</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter</i> Flutter.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Flut.</i> What charming Creature? I pass'd a thousand.</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> She went out at that door, as you enter'd.</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Oh, yes;—I know her very well.</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> Do you, my dear Fellow? Who?</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> She's kept by Lord George Jennett.</p>
<p><i>Har.</i> Impudent Scoundrel! [<i>Aside.</i>]</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> Kept!!!</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Yes; Colonel Gorget had her first;—then Mr.
Loveill;—then—I forget exactly how many; and at last
she's Lord George's. [<i>Talks to other Masks.</i>]</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> I'll murder Gorget, poison Lord George, and
shoot myself.</p>
<p><i>Har.</i> Now's the time, I see, to clear up the whole. Mr.
Doricourt!—I say—Flutter was mistaken; I know who
you are in love with.</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> A strange <i>rencontre!</i> Who?</p>
<p><i>Har.</i> My Letty.</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> Oh! I understand your rebuke;—'tis too soon,
Sir, to assume the Father-in-law.</p>
<p><i>Har.</i> Zounds! what do you mean by that? I tell you
that the Lady you admire, is Letitia Hardy.</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> I am glad <i>you</i> are so well satisfied with the state
of my heart.—I wish <i>I</i> was.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit.</i></p>
<p><i>Har.</i> Stop a moment.—Stop, I say! What, you won't?
Very well—if I don't play you a trick for this, may I
never be a Grand-father! I'll plot <i>with</i> Letty now, and
not against her; aye, hang me if I don't. There's
something in my head, that shall tingle in his heart.—He
shall have a lecture upon impatience, that I foresee
he'll be the better for as long as he lives.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit.</i></p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent">Saville <i>comes forward with other Masks</i>.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Flutter, come with us; we're going to raise a
laugh at Courtall's.</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> With all my heart. "Live to Live," was my
Father's motto: "Live to Laugh," is mine.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit.</i></p>
<p> </p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><span class="wide">SCENE</span><span class="nowrap">——</span>Courtall's.<br />
<br />
<i>Enter</i> Kitty <i>and</i> Courtall.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Kitty.</i> Where have you brought me, Sir George? This
is not our home.</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> 'Tis <i>my</i> home, beautiful Lady Frances! [<i>Kneels,
and takes off his Mask.</i>] Oh, forgive the ardency of my
passion, which has compell'd me to deceive you.</p>
<p><i>Kitty.</i> Mr. Courtall! what will become of me?</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Oh, say but that you pardon the Wretch who
adores you. Did you but know the agonizing tortures
of my heart, since I had the felicity of conversing with
you this morning<span class="nowrap">——</span>or the despair that now—[<i>Knock.</i>]</p>
<p><i>Kitty.</i> Oh! I'm undone!</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Zounds! my dear Lady Frances. I am not at
home. Rascal! do you hear?<span class="nowrap">——</span>Let no body in; I am
not at home.</p>
<p><i>Serv.</i> [<i>Without</i>] Sir, I told the Gentlemen so.</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Eternal curses! they are coming up. Step
into this room, adorable Creature! <i>one</i> moment; I'll
throw them out of the window if they stay three.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit</i> Kitty; <i>through the back scene</i>.</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter</i> Saville, Flutter, <i>and Masks</i>.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Flut.</i> O Gemini! beg the Petticoat's pardon.—Just
saw a corner of it.</p>
<p><i>1st Mask.</i> No wonder admittance was so difficult. I
thought you took us for Bailiffs.</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Upon my soul, I am devilish glad to see you—but
you perceive how I am circumstanc'd. Excuse me at
this moment.</p>
<p><i>2d Mask.</i> Tell us who 'tis then.</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Oh, fie!</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> We won't blab.</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> I can't, upon honour.—Thus far—She's a Woman
of the first Character and Rank. Saville, [<i>takes him
aside</i>] have I influence, or have I not?</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Why, sure, you do not insinuate—</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> No, not insinuate, but swear, that she's now in
my bed-chamber:—by gad, I don't deceive you.—There's
Generalship, you Rogue! Such an humble, distant,
sighing Fellow as thou art, at the end of a six-months
siege, would have <i>boasted</i> of a kiss from her glove.<span class="nowrap">——</span>I
only give the signal, and—pop!—she's in my arms.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> What, Lady Fran<span class="nowrap">——</span></p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Hush! You shall see her name to-morrow morning
in red letters at the end of my list. Gentlemen, you
must excuse me now. Come and drink chocolate at
twelve, but—</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Aye, let us go, out of respect to the Lady:—'tis
a Person of Rank.</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Is it?—Then I'll have a peep at her. (<i>Runs to the
door in the back Scene.</i>)</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> This is too much, Sir. (<i>Trying to prevent him.</i>)</p>
<p><i>1st Mask.</i> By Jupiter, we'll all have a peep.</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Gentlemen, consider—for Heaven's sake<span class="nowrap">——</span>a
Lady of Quality. What will be the consequences?</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> The consequences!—Why, you'll have your
throat cut, that's all—but I'll write your Elegy. So,
now for the door! [<i>Part open the door, whilst the rest
hold</i> Courtall.]<span class="nowrap">——</span>Beg your Ladyship's pardon, whoever
you are: [<i>Leads her out.</i>] Emerge from darkness like
the glorious Sun, and bless the wond'ring circle with
your charms. [<i>Takes off her Mask.</i>]</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Kitty Willis! ha! ha! ha!</p>
<p><i>Omnes.</i> Kitty Willis! ha! ha! ha! Kitty Willis!</p>
<p><i>1st Mask.</i> Why, what a Fellow you are, Courtall, to
attempt imposing on your friends in this manner! A
Lady of Quality—an Earl's Daughter—Your Ladyship's
most obedient.<span class="nowrap">——</span>Ha! ha! ha!</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Courtall, have you influence, or have you not?</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> The Man's moon-struck.</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Hell, and ten thousand Furies, seize you all together!</p>
<p><i>Kitty.</i> What! me, too, Mr. Courtall? me, whom you
have knelt to, prayed to, and adored?</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> That's right, Kitty; give him a little more.</p>
<p><i>Court.</i> Disappointed and laugh'd at!<span class="nowrap">——</span></p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Laugh'd at and despis'd. I have fullfilled my
design, which was to expose your villainy, and laugh at
your presumption. Adieu, Sir! Remember how you
again boast of your influence with Women of Rank; and,
when you next want amusement, dare not to look up to
the virtuous and to the noble for a Companion.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit, leading</i> Kitty.</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> And, Courtall, before you carry a Lady into your
bed-chamber again, look under her mask, d'ye hear?</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit.</i></p>
<p><i>Court.</i> There's no bearing this! I'll set off for Paris
directly.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit.</i></p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><span class="wsc">END of the FOURTH ACT.</span></p>
</div>
<p> </p>
<hr class="narrow" />
<p> </p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent">A C T V.<br />
<br />
<span class="wide">SCENE I</span><span class="nowrap">——</span><i>Hardy</i>'s.<br />
<br />
<i>Enter</i> Hardy <i>and</i> Villers.<br />
<br />
<i>Villers.</i>
</p>
</div>
<p class="noindent">Whimsical enough! Dying for her, and
hates her; believes her a Fool, and a Woman of brilliant
Understanding!</p>
<p><i>Har.</i> As true as you are alive;—but when I went up
to him last night, at the Pantheon, out of downright
good-nature to explain things<span class="nowrap">——</span>my Gentleman whips
round upon his heel, and snapt me as short as if I had been
a beggar-woman with six children, and he Overseer of
the Parish.</p>
<p><i>Vill.</i> Here comes the Wonder-worker—[<i>Enter</i> Letitia.]
Here comes the Enchantress, who can go to Masquerades,
and sing and dance, and talk a Man out of his wits!<span class="nowrap">——</span>But
pray, have we Morning Masquerades?</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> Oh, no—but I am so enamour'd of this all-conquering
Habit, that I could not resist putting it on, the
moment I had breakfasted. I shall wear it on the day I
am married, and then lay it by in spices—like the miraculous
Robes of St. Bridget.</p>
<p><i>Vill.</i> That's as most Brides do. The charms that helped
to catch the Husband, are generally <i>laid by</i>, one after
another, 'till the Lady grows a downright Wife, and
then runs crying to her Mother, because she has transform'd
her <i>Lover</i> into a downright Husband.</p>
<p><i>Har.</i> Listen to me.—I ha'n't slept to-night, for thinking
of plots to plague Doricourt;—and they drove one
another out of my head so quick, that I was as giddy as a
goose, and could make nothing of 'em.<span class="nowrap">——</span>I wish to
goodness you could contrive something.</p>
<p><i>Vill.</i> Contrive to plague him! Nothing so easy. Don't
undeceive him, Madam, 'till he is your Husband. Marry
him whilst he possesses the sentiments you labour'd to give
him of Miss Hardy—and when you are his Wife<span class="nowrap">——</span></p>
<p><i>Let.</i> Oh, Heavens! I see the whole—that's the very
thing. My dear Mr. Villers, you are the divinest Man.</p>
<p><i>Vill.</i> Don't make love to me, Hussey.</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter Mrs.</i> Racket.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> No, pray don't—for I design to have Villers
myself in about six years.—There's an oddity in him
that pleases me.—He holds Women in contempt; and I
should like to have an opportunity of breaking his heart
for that.</p>
<p><i>Vill.</i> And when I am heartily tired of life, I know no
Woman whom I would with more pleasure make my
Executioner.</p>
<p><i>Har.</i> It cannot be<span class="nowrap">——</span>I foresee it will be impossible to
bring it about. You know the wedding wasn't to take
place this week or more—and Letty will never be able to
play the Fool so long.</p>
<p><i>Vill.</i> The knot shall be tied to-night.<span class="nowrap">——</span>I have it all
here, (<i>pointing to his forehead:</i>) the licence is ready. Feign
yourself ill, send for Doricourt, and tell him you can't
go out of the world in peace, except you see the ceremony
performed.</p>
<p><i>Har.</i> I feign myself ill! I could as soon feign myself
a Roman Ambassador.<span class="nowrap">——</span>I was never ill in my life, but
with the tooth-ach—when Letty's Mother was a breeding
I had all the qualms.</p>
<p><i>Vill.</i> Oh, I have no fears for <i>you</i>.—But what says Miss
Hardy? Are you willing to make the irrevocable vow
before night?</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> Oh, Heavens!—I—I—'Tis so exceeding sudden,
that really<span class="nowrap">——</span></p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> That really she is frighten'd out of her
wits—lest it should be impossible to bring matters about.
But <i>I</i> have taken the scheme into my protection, and you
shall be Mrs. Doricourt before night. Come, [<i>to Mr.</i>
Hardy] to bed directly: your room shall be cramm'd with
phials, and all the apparatus of Death;<span class="nowrap">——</span>then heigh
presto! for Doricourt.</p>
<p><i>Vill.</i> You go and put off your conquering dress, [<i>to</i> Letty]
and get all your aukward airs ready—And you practise
a few groans [<i>to</i> Hardy.]—And you—if possible—an air of
gravity [<i>to Mrs.</i> Racket]. I'll answer for the plot.</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> Married in jest! 'Tis an odd idea! Well, I'll
venture it.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit</i> Letitia <i>and Mrs.</i> Racket.</p>
<p><i>Vill.</i> Aye, I'll be sworn! [<i>looks at his watch</i>] 'tis past
three. The Budget's to be open'd this morning. I'll just
step down to the House.<span class="nowrap">——</span>Will you go?</p>
<p><i>Har.</i> What! with a mortal sickness?</p>
<p><i>Vill.</i> What a Blockhead! I believe, if half of us
were to stay away with mortal sicknesses, it would be
for the health of the Nation. Good-morning.—I'll call
and feel your pulse as I come back.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit.</i></p>
<p><i>Har.</i> You won't find 'em over brisk, I fancy. I foresee
some ill happening from this making believe to die before
one's time. But hang it—a-hem!—I am a stout man yet;
only fifty-six—What's that? In the last Yearly Bill there
were three lived to above an hundred. Fifty-six!<span class="nowrap">——</span>Fiddle-de-dee!
I am not afraid, not I.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit.</i></p>
<p> </p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><span class="wide">SCENE II</span>.<span class="nowrap">——</span><i>Doricourt</i>'s.<br />
<br />
Doricourt <i>in his Robe-de-Chambre.<br />
<br />
Enter</i> Saville.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Undress'd so late?</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> I didn't go to bed 'till late—'twas late before
I slept—late when I rose. Do you know Lord George
Jennett?</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Yes.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Has he a Mistress?</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Yes.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> What sort of a creature is she?</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Why, she spends him three thousand a year with
the ease of a Duchess, and entertains his friends with the
grace of a <i>Ninon</i>. <i>Ergo</i>, she is handsome, spirited, and
clever. [Doricourt <i>walks about disordered</i>.] In the name
of Caprice, what ails you?</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> You have hit it—<i>Elle est mon Caprice</i>—The Mistress
of Lord George Jennett is my caprice—Oh, insufferable!</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> What, you saw her at the Masquerade?</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> <i>Saw</i> her, <i>lov'd</i> her, <i>died</i> for her—without knowing
her—And now the curse is, I can't hate her.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Ridiculous enough! All this distress about a Kept
Woman, whom any man may have, I dare swear, in a
fortnight—They've been jarring some time.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Have her! The sentiment I have conceived for
the Witch is so unaccountable, that, in that line, I cannot
bear her idea. Was she a Woman of Honour, for
a Wife, I cou'd adore her—but, I really believe, if she
should send me an assignation, I should hate her.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Hey-day! This sounds like Love. What becomes
of poor Miss Hardy?</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Her name has given me an ague. Dear Saville,
how shall I contrive to make old Hardy cancel the engagements!
The moiety of the estate which he will forfeit,
shall be his the next moment, by deed of gift.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Let me see—Can't you get it insinuated that you
are a dev'lish wild fellow; that you are an Infidel, and
attached to wenching, gaming, and so forth?</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Aye, such a character might have done some
good two centuries back.<span class="nowrap">——</span>But who the devil can it
frighten now? I believe it must be the mad scheme, at
last.—There, will that do for the grin?</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Ridiculous!—But, how are you certain that the
Woman who has so bewildered you, belongs to Lord
George?</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Flutter told me so.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Then fifty to one against the intelligence.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> It must be so. There was a mystery in her
manner, for which nothing else can account. [<i>A violent
rap.</i>] Who can this be? [Saville <i>looks out</i>.]</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> The proverb is your answer—'tis Flutter himself.
Tip him a scene of the Mad-man, and see how it takes.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> I will—a good way to send it about town. Shall
it be of the melancholy kind, or the raving?</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Rant!—rant!—Here he comes.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Talk not to me who can pull comets by the
beard, and overset an island!</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter</i> Flutter.
</p>
</div>
<p class="noindent">There! This is he!—this is he who hath sent my poor
soul, without coat or breeches, to be tossed about in ether
like a duck-feather! Villain, give me my soul again!</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Upon my soul I hav'n't got it. [<i>Exceedingly
frightened.</i>]</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Oh, Mr. Flutter, what a melancholy sight!<span class="nowrap">——</span>I
little thought to have seen my poor friend reduced to this.</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Mercy defend me! What's he mad?</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> You see how it is. A cursed Italian Lady—Jealousy—gave
him a drug; and every full of the moon<span class="nowrap">——</span></p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Moon! Who dares talk of the Moon? The
patroness of genius—the rectifier of wits—the<span class="nowrap">——</span>Oh!
here she is!—I feel her—she tugs at my brain—she has
it—she has it<span class="nowrap">——</span>Oh!</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit.</i></p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Well! this is dreadful! exceeding dreadful, I
protest. Have you had Monro?</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Not yet. The worthy Miss Hardy—what a
misfortune!</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Aye, very true.—Do they know it?</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Oh, no; the paroxysm seized him but this morning.</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Adieu! I can't stay. [<i>Going in great haste.</i>]</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> But you must. (<i>holding him</i>) Stay, and assist me:—perhaps
he'll return again in a moment; and, when he
is in this way, his strength is prodigious.</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Can't indeed—can't upon my soul.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit.</i></p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Flutter—Don't make a mistake, now;—remember
'tis Doricourt that's mad.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit.</i></p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Yes—you mad.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> No, no; Doricourt.</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Egad, I'll say you are both mad, and then I
can't mistake.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exeunt severally.</i></p>
<p> </p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><span class="wide">SCENE III</span>.<span class="nowrap">——</span><i>Sir George Touchwood</i>'s.<br />
<br />
<i>Enter Sir</i> George, <i>and Lady</i> Frances.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> The bird is escaped—Courtall is gone to
France.</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> Heaven and earth! Have ye been to seek
him?</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> Seek him! Aye.</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> How did you get his name? I should never
have told it you.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> I learnt it in the first Coffee-house I entered.—Every
body is full of the story.</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> Thank Heaven! he's gone!—But I have a
story for you—The Hardy family are forming a plot upon
your Friend Doricourt, and we are expected in the evening
to assist.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> With all my heart, my Angel; but I can't
stay to hear it unfolded. They told me Mr. Saville would
be at home in half an hour, and I am impatient to see
him. The adventure of last night<span class="nowrap">——</span></p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> Think of it only with gratitude. The
danger I was in has overset a new system of conduct, that,
perhaps, I was too much inclined to adopt. But henceforward,
my dear Sir George, you shall be my constant
Companion, and Protector. And, when they ridicule
the unfashionable Monsters, the felicity of our hearts
shall make their satire pointless.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> Charming Angel! You almost reconcile me
to Courtall. Hark! here's company (<i>stepping to the door.</i>)
'Tis your lively Widow—I'll step down the back stairs,
to escape her.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit Sir</i> George.</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter Mrs.</i> Racket.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Oh, Lady Frances! I am shock'd to death.—Have
you received a card from us?</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> Yes; within these twenty minutes.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Aye, 'tis of no consequence.<span class="nowrap">——</span>'Tis all
over—Doricourt is mad.</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> Mad!</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> My poor Letitia!—Just as we were enjoying
ourselves with the prospect of a scheme that was
planned for their mutual happiness, in came Flutter,
breathless, with the intelligence:—I flew here to know
if you had heard it.</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> No, indeed—and I hope it is one of Mr.
Flutter's dreams.</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter</i> Saville.
</p>
</div>
<p class="noindent">A-propos; now we shall be informed. Mr. Saville, I rejoice
to see you, though Sir George will be disappointed:
he's gone to your lodgings.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> I should have been happy to have prevented Sir
George. I hope your Ladyship's adventure last night
did not disturb your dreams?</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> Not at all; for I never slept a moment.
My escape, and the importance of my obligations to you,
employed my thoughts. But we have just had shocking
intelligence—Is <ins title="original has is">it</ins> true that Doricourt is mad?</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> So; the business is done. (<i>Aside.</i>) Madam, I am
sorry to say, that I have just been a melancholy witness
of his ravings: he was in the height of a paroxysm.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Oh, there can be no doubt of it. Flutter
told us the whole history. Some Italian Princess gave
him a drug, in a box of sweetmeats, sent to him by her
own page; and it renders him lunatic every month.
Poor Miss Hardy! I never felt so much on any occasion
in my life.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> To soften your concern, I will inform you,
Madam, that Miss Hardy is less to be pitied than you
imagine.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Why so, Sir?</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> 'Tis rather a delicate subject—but he did not love
Miss Hardy.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> He did love Miss Hardy, Sir, and would
have been the happiest of men.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Pardon me, Madam; his heart was not only free
from that Lady's chains, but absolutely captivated by
another.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> No, Sir—no. It was Miss Hardy who
captivated him. She met him last night at the Masquerade,
and charmed him in disguise—He professed the most
violent passion for her; and a plan was laid, this evening,
to cheat him into happiness.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Ha! ha! ha!—Upon my soul, I must beg your
pardon; I have not eaten of the Italian Princess's box of
sweetmeats, sent by her own page; and yet I am as mad
as Doricourt, ha! ha! ha!</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> So it appears—What can all this mean?</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Why, Madam, he is at present in his perfect
senses; but he'll lose 'em in ten minutes, through joy.—The
madness was only a feint, to avoid marrying Miss
Hardy, ha! ha! ha!—I'll carry him the intelligence
directly. (<i>Going.</i>)</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Not for worlds. I owe him revenge, now,
for what he has made us suffer. You must promise not
to divulge a syllable I have told you; and when Doricourt
is summoned to Mr. Hardy's, prevail on him to
come—madness, and all.</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> Pray do. I should like to see him shewing
off, now I am in the secret.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> You must be obeyed; though 'tis inhuman to
conceal his happiness.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> I am going home; so I'll set you down at
his lodgings, and acquaint you, by the way, with our
whole scheme. <i>Allons!</i></p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> I attend you (<i>leading her out.</i>)</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> You won't fail us?</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit</i> Saville, <i>and Mrs.</i> Racket.</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> No; depend on us.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit.</i></p>
<p> </p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><span class="wide">SCENE IV</span>.<span class="nowrap">——</span><i>Doricourt</i>'s.<br />
<br />
Doricourt <i>seated, reading</i>.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Doric.</i> (<i>flings away the book</i>) What effect can the morals
of Fourscore have on a mind torn with passion?
(<i>musing</i>) Is it possible such a soul as her's, can support itself
in so humiliating a situation? A kept Woman! (<i>rising</i>)
Well, well—I am glad it is so—I am glad it is so!</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter</i> Saville.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Sav.</i> What a happy dog you are, Doricourt! I might
have been mad, or beggar'd, or pistol'd myself, without
its being mentioned—But you, forsooth! the whole Female
World is concerned for. I reported the state of your
brain to five different women—The lip of the first trembled;
the white bosom of the second heaved a sigh; the
third ejaculated, and turned her eye—to the glass; the
fourth blessed herself; and the fifth said, whilst she pinned
a curl, "Well, now, perhaps, he'll be an amusing Companion;
his native dullness was intolerable."</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Envy! sheer envy, by the smiles of Hebe!<span class="nowrap">——</span>There
are not less than forty pair of the brightest eyes
in town will drop crystals, when they hear of my misfortune.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Well, but I have news for you:—Poor Hardy is
confined to his bed; they say he is going out of the
world by the first post, and he wants to give you his blessing.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Ill! so ill! I am sorry from my soul. He's a
worthy little Fellow—if he had not the gift of foreseeing
so strongly.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Well; you must go and take leave.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> What! to act the Lunatic in the dying Man's
chamber?</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Exactly the thing; and will bring your business
to a short issue: for his last commands must be, That
you are not to marry his Daughter.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> That's true, by Jupiter!—and yet, hang it,
impose upon a poor fellow at so serious a moment!—I
can't do it.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> You must, 'faith. I am answerable for your appearance,
though it should be in a strait waistcoat. He
knows your situation, and seems the more desirous of an
interview.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> I don't like encountering Racket.—She's an
arch little devil, and will discover the cheat.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> There's a fellow!—Cheated Ninety-nine Women,
and now afraid of the Hundredth.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> And with reason—for that hundredth is a Widow.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exeunt.</i></p>
<p> </p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><span class="wide">SCENE V</span>.<span class="nowrap">——</span><i>Hardy</i>'s.<br />
<br />
<i>Enter Mrs.</i> Racket, <i>and Miss</i> Ogle.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Miss Ogle.</i> And so Miss Hardy is actually to be married
to-night?</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> If her Fate does not deceive her. You are
apprised of the scheme, and we hope it will succeed.</p>
<p><i>Miss Ogle.</i> Deuce, take her! she's six years younger
than I am. (<i>Aside</i>)—Is Mr. Doricourt handsome?</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Handsome, generous, young, and rich.<span class="nowrap">——</span>There's
a Husband for ye! Isn't he worth pulling caps
for?</p>
<p><i>Miss Ogle.</i> I' my conscience, the Widow speaks as
though she'd give cap, ears, and all for him. (<i>Aside.</i>) I
wonder you didn't try to catch this wonderful Man, Mrs.
Racket?</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Really, Miss Ogle, I had not time. Besides,
when I marry, so many stout young fellows will
hang themselves, that, out of regard to society, in these
sad times, I shall postpone it for a few years. This will
cost her a new lace—I heard it crack. (<i>Aside.</i>)</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter Sir</i> George, <i>and Lady</i> Frances.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> Well, here we are.—But where's the Knight
of the Woeful Countenance?</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Here soon, I hope—for a woeful Night
it will be without him.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> Oh, fie! do you condescend to pun?</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Why not? It requires genius to make a
good pun—some men of bright parts can't reach it. I
know a Lawyer who writes them on the back of his
briefs; and says they are of great use—in a dry cause.</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter</i> Flutter.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Here they come!—Here they come!<span class="nowrap">——</span>Their
coach stopped, as mine drove off.</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> Then Miss Hardy's fate is at a crisis.—She
plays a hazardous game, and I tremble for her.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> (<i>without</i>) Come, let me guide you!—This way,
my poor Friend! Why are you so furious?</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> (<i>without</i>) The House of Death—to the House
of Death!</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter</i> Doricourt, <i>and</i> Saville.
</p>
</div>
<p class="noindent">Ah! this is the spot!</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> How wild and fiery he looks!</p>
<p><i>Miss Ogle.</i> Now, I think, he looks terrified.</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Poor creature, how his eyes work!</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> I never saw a Madman before—Let me
examine him—Will he bite?</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Pray keep out of his reach, Ladies—You don't
know your danger. He's like a Wild Cat, if a sudden
thought seises him.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> You talk like a Keeper of Wild Cats—How
much do you demand for shewing the Monster?</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> I don't like this—I must rouse their sensibility.
There! there she darts through the air in liquid flames!
Down again! Now I have her<span class="nowrap">——</span>Oh, she burns, she
scorches!—Oh! she eats into my very heart!</p>
<p><i>Omnes.</i> Ha! ha! ha!</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> He sees the Apparition of the wicked Italian
Princess.</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Keep her Highness fast, Doricourt.</p>
<p><i>Miss Ogle.</i> Give her a pinch, before you let her go.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> I am laughed at!</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Laughed at—aye, to be sure; why, I could
play the Madman better than you.—There! there she is!
Now I have her! Ha! ha! ha!</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> I knew that Devil would discover me. (<i>Aside</i>)
I'll leave the house:<span class="nowrap">——</span>I'm covered with confusion.
(<i>Going.</i>)</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> Stay, Sir—You must not go. 'Twas poorly
done, Mr. Doricourt, to affect madness, rather than fulfil
your engagements.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Affect madness!—Saville, what can I do?</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Since you are discovered, confess the whole.</p>
<p><i>Miss Ogle.</i> Aye, turn Evidence, and save Yourself.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Yes; since my designs have been so unaccountably
discovered, I will avow the whole. I cannot love
Miss Hardy—and I will never<span class="nowrap">——</span></p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Hold, my dear Doricourt! be not so rash. What
will the world say to such<span class="nowrap">——</span></p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Damn the world! What will the world give
me for the loss of happiness? Must I sacrifice my peace,
to please the world?</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> Yes, every thing, rather than be branded with
dishonour.</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> Though <i>our</i> arguments should fail, there <i>is</i>
a Pleader, whom you surely cannot withstand—the dying
Mr. Hardy supplicates you not to forsake his Child.</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter</i> Villers.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Vill.</i> Mr. Hardy requests you to grant him a moment's
conversation, Mr. Doricourt, though you should persist
to send him miserable to the grave. Let me conduct you
to his chamber.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Oh, aye, any where; to the Antipodes—to the
Moon—Carry me—Do with me what you will.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Mortification and disappointment, then,
are specifics in a case of stubbornness.—I'll follow, and
let you know what passes.</p>
<blockquote>
<p class="right">[<i>Exeunt</i> Villers, Doricourt, <i>Mrs.</i> Racket,
<i>and Miss</i> Ogle.</p>
</blockquote>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Ladies, Ladies, have the charity to take me
with you, that I may make no blunder in repeating the
story.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit</i> Flutter.</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> Sir George, you don't know Mr. Saville.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Exit Lady</i> Frances.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> Ten thousand pardons—but I will not pardon
myself, for not observing you. I have been with the utmost
impatience at your door twice to-day.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> I am concerned you had so much trouble, Sir
George.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> Trouble! what a word!—I hardly know
how to address you; I am distressed beyond measure;
and it is the highest proof of my opinion of your
honour, and the delicacy of your mind, that I open my
heart to you.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> What has disturbed you, Sir George?</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> Your having preserved Lady Frances, in so
imminent a danger. Start not, Saville; to protect Lady
Frances, was my right. You have wrested from me my
dearest privilege.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> I hardly know how to answer such a reproach.
I cannot apologize for what I have done.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> I do not mean to reproach you; I hardly
know what I mean. There is one method by which you
may restore peace to me; I cannot endure that my Wife
should be so infinitely indebted to any man who is less
than my Brother.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Pray explain yourself.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> I have a Sister, Saville, who is amiable; and
you are worthy of her. I shail give her a commission to
steal your heart, out of revenge for what you have done.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> I am infinitely honoured, Sir George; but<span class="nowrap">——</span></p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> I cannot listen to a sentence which begins
with so unpromising a word. You must go with us into
Hampshire; and, if you see each other with the eyes I
do, your felicity will be complete. I know no one, to
whose heart I would so readily commit the care of my
Sister's happiness.</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> I will attend you to Hampshire, with pleasure;
but not on the plan of retirement. Society has claims on
Lady Frances, that forbid it.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> Claims, Saville!</p>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Yes, claims; Lady Frances was born to be the
ornament of Courts. She is sufficiently alarmed, not to
wander beyond the reach of her Protector;—and, from the
British Court, the most tenderly-anxious Husband could
not wish to banish his Wife. Bid her keep in her eye the
bright Example who presides there; the splendour of
whose rank yields to the superior lustre of her Virtue.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> I allow the force of your argument. Now for
intelligence!</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter Mrs.</i> Racket, <i>Lady</i> Frances, <i>and</i> Flutter.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Oh! Heav'ns! do you know<span class="nowrap">——</span></p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Let me tell the story<span class="nowrap">——</span>As soon as Doricourt—</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> I protest you sha'n't—said Mr. Hardy<span class="nowrap">——</span></p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> No, 'twas Doricourt spoke first—says he—No,
'twas the Parson—says he<span class="nowrap">——</span></p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Stop his mouth, Sir George—he'll spoil
the tale.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> Never heed circumstances—the result—the
result.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> No, no; you shall have it in form.—Mr.
Hardy performed the Sick Man like an Angel—He sat
up in his bed, and talked so pathetically, that the tears
stood in Doricourt's eyes.</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Aye, stood—they did not drop, but stood.—I
shall, in future, be very exact. The Parson seized the
moment; you know, they never miss an opportunity.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Make haste, said Doricourt; if I have
time to reflect, poor Hardy will die unhappy.</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> They were got as far as the Day of Judgement,
when we slipt out of the room.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> Then, by this time, they must have reached
<i>Amazement</i>, which, every body knows, is the end of Matrimony.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Aye, the Reverend Fathers ended the service
with that word, Prophetically<span class="nowrap">——</span>to teach the Bride
what a capricious Monster a Husband is.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> I rather think it was Sarcastically—to prepare
the Bridegroom for the unreasonable humours and vagaries
of his Help-mate.</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> Here comes the Bridegroom of to-night.</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter</i> Doricourt <i>and</i> Villers.—Villers <i>whispers</i> Saville,
<i>who goes out</i>.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Omnes.</i> Joy! joy! joy!</p>
<p><i>Miss Ogle.</i> If <i>he</i>'s a sample of Bridegrooms, keep me
single!—A younger Brother, from the Funeral of his Father,
could not carry a more fretful countenance.</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Oh!—Now, he's melancholy mad, I suppose.</p>
<p><i>Lady Fran.</i> You do not consider the importance of the
occasion.</p>
<p><i>Vill.</i> No; nor how shocking a thing it is for a Man
to be forced to marry one Woman, whilst his heart is devoted
to another.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Well, now 'tis over, I confess to you,
Mr. Doricourt, I think 'twas a most ridiculous piece of
Quixotism, to give up the happiness of a whole life to a
Man who perhaps has but a few moments to be sensible
of the sacrifice.</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> So it appeared to me.—But, thought I, Mr.
Doricourt has travelled—he knows best.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Zounds! Confusion!—Did ye not all set upon
me?—Didn't ye talk to me of Honour—Compassion—Justice?</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> Very true—You have acted according to their
dictates, and I hope the utmost felicity of the Married
State will reward you.</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Never, Sir George! To Felicity I bid adieu—but
I will endeavour to be content. Where is my—I
must speak it—where is my <i>Wife</i>?</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><i>Enter</i> Letitia, <i>masked, led by</i> Saville.
</p>
</div>
<p><i>Sav.</i> Mr. Doricourt, this Lady was pressing to be introduced
to you.</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> Oh! (<i>Starting</i>).</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> I told you last night, you shou'd see me at a time
when you least expected me—and I have kept my promise.</p>
<p><i>Vill.</i> Whoever you are, Madam, you could not have
arrived at a happier moment.—Mr. Doricourt is just married.</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> Married! Impossible! 'Tis but a few hours since
he swore to me eternal Love: I believ'd him, gave him
up my Virgin heart—and now!—Ungrateful Sex!</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> Your Virgin heart! No, Lady<span class="nowrap">——</span>my fate,
thank Heaven! yet wants that torture. Nothing but
the conviction that you was another's, could have made
me think one moment of Marriage, to have saved the lives
of half Mankind. But this visit, Madam, is as barbarous
as unexpected. It is now my duty to forget you, which,
spite of your situation, I found difficult enough.</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> My situation!—What situation?</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> I must apologise for explaining it in this company—but,
Madam, I am not ignorant, that you are the companion
of Lord George Jennet—and this is the only circumstance
that can give me peace.</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> I—a Companion! Ridiculous pretence! No, Sir,
know, to your confusion, that my heart, my honour, my
name is unspotted as her's you have married; my birth
equal to your own, my fortune large—That, and my person,
might have been your's.—But, Sir, farewell! (<i>Going.</i>)</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> Oh, stay a moment<span class="nowrap">——</span>Rascal! is she not<span class="nowrap">——</span></p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Who, she? O Lard! no—'Twas quite a different
person that I meant.—I never saw that Lady before.</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> Then, never shalt thou see her more. [<i>Shakes</i>
Flutter.]</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> Have mercy upon the poor Man!—Heavens!
He'll murder him.</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> Murder him! Yes, you, myself, and all Mankind.
Sir George—Saville—Villers—'twas you who
push'd me on this precipice;—'tis you who have snatch'd
from me joy, felicity, and life.</p>
<p><i>Mrs. Rack.</i> There! Now, how well he acts the Madman!—This
is something like! I knew he would do it
well enough, when the time came.</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> Hard-hearted Woman! enjoy my ruin—riot in
my wretchedness. [Hardy <i>bursts in</i>.]</p>
<p><i>Har.</i> This is too much. You are now the Husband of
my Daughter; and how dare you shew all this passion
about another Woman?</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> Alive again!</p>
<p><i>Har.</i> Alive! aye, and merry. Here, wipe off the flour
from my face. I was never in better health and spirits in
my life.—I foresaw t'would do—. Why, my illness was
only a fetch, Man! to make you marry Letty.</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> It was! Base and ungenerous! Well, Sir, you
shall be gratified. The possession of my heart was no object
either with You, or your Daughter. My fortune and
name was all you desired, and these—I leave ye. My
native England I shall quit, nor ever behold you more.
But, Lady, that in my exile I may have one consolation,
grant me the favour you denied last night;—let me behold
all that mask conceals, that your whole image may be impress'd
on my heart, and chear my distant solitary hours.</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> This is the most awful moment of my life. Oh,
Doricourt, the slight action of taking off my Mask, stamps
me the most blest or miserable of Women!</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> What can this mean? Reveal your face, I conjure
you.</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> Behold it.</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> Rapture! Transport! Heaven!</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> Now for a touch of the happy Madman.</p>
<p><i>Vill.</i> This scheme was mine.</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> I will not allow that. This little stratagem arose
from my disappointment, in not having made the impression
on you I wish'd. The timidity of the English character
threw a veil over me, you could not penetrate.
You have forced me to emerge in some measure from my
natural reserve, and to throw off the veil that hid me.</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> I am yet in a state of intoxication—I cannot answer
you.—Speak on, sweet Angel!</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> You see I <i>can</i> be any thing; chuse then my character—your
Taste shall fix it. Shall I be an <i>English</i>
Wife?—or, breaking from the bonds of Nature and Education,
step forth to the world in all the captivating
glare of Foreign Manners?</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> You shall be nothing but yourself—nothing can
be captivating that you are not. I will not wrong your
penetration, by pretending that you won my heart at the
first interview; but you have now my whole soul—your
person, your face, your mind, I would not exchange for
those of any other Woman breathing.</p>
<p><i>Har.</i> A Dog! how well he makes up for past slights!
Cousin Racket, I wish you a good Husband with all
my heart. Mr. Flutter, I'll believe every word you say
this fortnight. Mr. Villers, you and I have manag'd
this to a T. I never was so merry in my life—'Gad,
I believe I can dance. (<i>Footing.</i>)</p>
<p><i>Doric.</i> Charming, charming creature!</p>
<p><i>Let.</i> Congratulate me, my dear friends! Can you
conceive my happiness?</p>
<p><i>Har.</i> No, congratulate me; for mine is the greatest.</p>
<p><i>Flut.</i> No, congratulate me, that I have escaped with life,
and give me some sticking plaster—this wild cat has torn
the skin from my throat.</p>
<p><i>Sir Geo.</i> I expect to be among the first who are congratulated—for
I have recovered one Angel, while Doricourt
has gained another.</p>
<p><i>Har.</i> Pho! pho! Don't talk of Angels, we shall be
happier by half as Mortals. Come into the next room;
I have order'd out every drop of my Forty-eight, and I'll
invite the whole parish of St. George's, but what we'll
drink it out—except one dozen, which I shall keep under
three double locks, for a certain Christening, that I foresee
will happen within this twelvemonth.</p>
<p><i>Dor.</i> My charming Bride! It was a strange perversion
of Taste, that led me to consider the delicate timidity
of your deportment, as the mark of an uninform'd mind,
or inelegant manners. I feel now it is to that innate
modesty, <i>English</i> Husbands owe a felicity the Married Men
of other nations are strangers to: it is a sacred veil to your
own charms; it is the surest bulwark to your Husband's
honour; and cursed be the hour—should it ever arrive—in
which <i>British</i> Ladies shall sacrifice to <i>foreign Graces</i>
the Grace of Modesty!</p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><span class="wide"><i>FINIS.</i></span></p>
</div>
<p> </p>
<hr class="narrow" />
<p> </p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent">
<span class="widebb">EPILOGUE.</span></p>
<table class="i" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="poem">
<tr><td align="left" colspan="2">Nay, cease, and hear me—I am come to scold—<br />
Whence this night's plaudits, to a thought so old?<br />
To gain a Lover, hid behind a Mask!<br />
What's new in that? or where's the mighty task?<br />
For instance, now—What Lady Bab, or Grace,<br />
E'er won a Lover—in her natural Face?<br />
Mistake me not—French red, or blanching creams,<br />
I stoop not to—for those are hackney'd themes;<br />
The arts I mean, are harder to detect,<br />
Easier put on, and worn to more effect;—<br />
As thus<span class="nowrap">——</span><br />
Do Pride and Envy, with their horrid lines,<br />
Destroy th' effect of Nature's sweet designs?<br />
The Mask of Softness is at once applied,<br />
And gentlest manners ornament the Bride.<br />
<span class="ind1">Do thoughts too free inform the Vestal's eye,</span><br />
Or point the glance, or warm the struggling sigh?<br />
Not Dian's brows more rigid looks disclose;<br />
And Virtue's blush appears, where Passion glows.<br /></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind1">And you, my gentle Sirs, wear Vizors too;</span><br />
But here I'll strip you, and expose to view<br />
Your hidden features<span class="nowrap">——</span>First I point at you.</td><td align="left" valign="top"><span class="bmouchn">}</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left" colspan="2">That well-stuff'd waistcoat, and that ruddy cheek;<br />
That ample forehead, and that skin so sleek,<br />
Point out good-nature, and a gen'rous heart<span class="nowrap">——</span><br />
Tyrant! stand forth, and, conscious, own thy part:<br />
Thy Wife, thy Children, tremble in thy eye;<br />
And Peace is banish'd—when the Father's nigh.<br />
<span class="ind1">Sure 'tis enchantment! See, from ev'ry side</span><br />
The Masks fall off!—In charity I hide<br />
The monstrous features rushing to my view<span class="nowrap">——</span><br />
Fear not, there, Grand-Papa—nor you—nor you:<br />
For should I shew your features to each other,<br />
Not one amongst ye'd know his Friend, or Brother.<br />
'Tis plain, then, all the world, from Youth to Age,<br />
Appear in Masks—Here, only, on the Stage,<br />
You see us as we are: Here trust your eyes;<br />
Our wish to please, admits of no disguise.</td></tr>
</table>
</div>
<p> </p>
<hr class="narrow" />
<p> </p>
<div class="center">
<p class="noindent"><span class="big"><i>Of the Publisher may be had</i></span>,<br />
<br />
<i>By the same</i> <span class="smallcaps">Author</span>,</p>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="advertising">
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smallcaps">The Runaway</span>, a Comedy.<br />
<span class="smallcaps">Albina</span>, a Tragedy.<br />
<span class="smallcaps">Who's the Dupe?</span> a Farce.<br />
<span class="smallcaps">The Maid of Arragon</span>, a Poem, Part I.</td></tr>
</table>
</div>
<p> </p>
<hr class="minimal" />
<p> </p>
<table class="sm" border="0" style="background-color: #E6F6FA; margin: 0 auto" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="4" summary="NOTES">
<tr>
<td colspan="2">
<div class="center">TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE</div>
<p class="noindent" style="background-color: #E6F6FA">
The book cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed
in the public domain.</p>
<p class="noindent" style="background-color: #E6F6FA">
Hyphenation in inconsistent throughout; missing punctuation and
occasional missing spaces have been added. The errata have been
incorporated. The spelling of character names has been harmonised.
Overall, contemporary spellings have been retained; however, a small
number of words have been modernised to prevent misunderstanding.
One instance of "genus" was left unchanged, since it may well
serve a purpose in furthering the characterisation. A
section of publisher's advertising at the end was illegible and has been
omitted. One instance of double typesetting (same word at end of one
line and the beginning of the next) was corrected.<br />
<br />
Although there is occasional reference in the stage directions to "(the)
Miss Ogles" it is clear from the context that the name is "Ogle" and
only one character of that name is present, so the name was changed
accordingly.<br />
<br />
At the end of the scene at Sir George's in Act 2, Mrs Racket
exits twice in short order; this reflects the original.
Three substantive changes were made and can be
identified in the text by a grey dotted underline:</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="w50" align="left" valign="top">Mr. Doricourt, may be you
take my Daughter for a Fool; but <b>your</b> are mistaken: she's a
sensible Girl, as any in England.</td>
<td align="left" valign="top">Mr. Doricourt, may be you
take my Daughter for a Fool; but <b>you</b> are mistaken: she's a
sensible Girl, as any in England.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td align="left" valign="top"> <i>Flut.</i> <b>On</b>, every creature.—A Mask is nothing at all to
me.</td>
<td align="left" valign="top"> <i>Flut.</i> <b>Oh</b>, every creature.—A Mask is nothing at all to
me.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td align="left" valign="top">Is <b>is</b> true that Doricourt is mad?</td>
<td align="left" valign="top">Is <b>it</b> true that Doricourt is mad?</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 47604 ***</div>
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