Belin. Who, I-Not I, truly; I—

Clar. My dear Belinda, I know you. Come, we will do the good natured thing by you, and leave you to yourselves. Success attend you.-Come, Mr. Bellmont. [Exeunt.

Belin. Thyrsis, a youth of the inspired train,

Fair Sacharissa lov'd, but lov'd in vain.

Bev. Poh! poh!

Belin. Won't you know me, sir?

Bev. Yes, madam, I know you:-it is but too true, that I know you.

Belin. Still gloomy and discontented! Come, come, under pain of my displeasure, brighten up this mo

ment.

Bev. Silly, idle, ridiculous!

Belin. Take care of what you are about. When I proclaim a pardon, you had better embrace it, than reduce yourself to the necessity of sighing, vowing, protesting, writing to me, following me up and down, kneeling at my feet, imploring forgiveness

Bev. Madam, you will never again see me humbled. to that low degree.

Belin. Upon my word!-ha, ha, ha!

Bev. O, you may laugh, ma'am ;-you have too long imposed upon my fond, easy, credulity. But the witchery of your charms is over.

Belin. Very well, sir!-and you are your own man again?

Bev. I am, madam, and you may be your own woman again, or any body's woman, or every body's. Belin. You grow rude, sir!

Bev. It is time to wave all ceremony, and to tell you plainly, that your falsehood

Belin. My falsehood, sir!

Bev. Your falsehood!-I know the whole story. I loved you once, Belinda, tenderly loved you; and, by heaven, I swear, it is with sorrow that I can no longer

adore you. It is with anguish that I now bid you an everlasting farewell.

Belin. Explain, sir: what action of my life?

Bev. Your prudence forsook you at last. It was too glaring; too manifest in open day!

Belin. Too manifest in open day!-Mr. Beverley, I shall hate you.

Bev. All circumstances inform against you: my picture given away!

Belin. Insolent! provoking! wrong-headed man! I'll confirm him in his error, to torment him as he deserves. [Aside.] Well, sir, what if I chose to give it away? I am mistress of my own actions, am I not?

Bev. I know that, ma'am: I know that; and I am not uneasy, maʼam.

Belin. So it seems-ha! ha!-why do you sigh, poor

man?

Bev. Sigh, madam! I disdain it,

Belin. I am glad of it; now that is so manly! but pray watch yourself well, hold a guard upon all your passions, otherwise they will make a fool of you again.

Bev. And do you take care you don't expose yourself again. Lolling familiarly in a gentleman's arms. Belin. How!

Bev. Here, in the Park! in open day!

Belin. What can this mean?

Bev. He inviting you to his house!

Belin. Oh! I understand him now; when I fainted, all this was. I'll encourage his notion, to be revenged of his waspish temper. [Aside.] Well, sir, and what then? Bev. What then?

Belin. Ha! ha! poor Mr. Beverley !-why should you be in a piteous taking, because I, in the gaiety of my heart, give away a picture I set no value on, or walk with a gentleman I do set a value on, or lean on his arm, or make the man happy by letting him draw on my glove?

Bev. Or draw off your glove, madam.

Belin. Ay! or draw it off!

Bev. Yes, or-or-or take any other liberties.
Belin. Very true.

Bev. You may make light of it, madam, but

Belin. Why yes, a generous temper always makes light of the favours it confers.

Bev. And some generous tempers will make light of any thing to gratify their inclinations. Madam, I have done: I abjure you; eternally abjure you. [Going. Belin. Bon voyage!

Bev. Don't imagine that you will see me again. Belin. Adieu!Well, what coming again? Why do you linger so? [Repeats affectedly. Thus o'er the dying lamp, the unsteady flame Hangs quivering to a point!

Bev. With what an air she carries it! I have but this one thing more to tell you: by heaven I loved you, to excess I loved you: such is my weakness, I shall never quite forget you. I shall be glad, if hereafter I hear of your happiness, and if I can, no dishonour shall befal you.

Belin. Ho! ho!-well! my obliging, generous Don Quixote, go and fight windmills, and castles in the air, and a thousand phantoms of your own creation, for your Dulcinea's sake! ho! ho! ho!

Bev. Confusion! Take notice, madam, that this is the last time of my troubling you.

Belin. I shall expect you to-morrow morning.

Bev. No, never; by heaven, never!

Belin. Exactly at ten; your usual hour.

Bev. May I perish at your feet, if ever againBelin. Oh! brave! but remember ten; kneeling, beseeching, imploring, your hand upon your heart, "Belinda, won't you forgive me?"

Bev. D-nation!I have done: I here bid you an eternal adieu !-farewell for ever!

[Exeunt.

ACT IV.

Scene I.-An Apartment in Beverley's House.
Enter BEVERLEY.

Bev. So! Belinda, I have escaped your snares: I have recovered my freedom. And yet, if she had not proved false, what a treasure of love and happiness had I in store! her beauty-poh! no more of her beauty: it is external, superficial, the mere result of features and complexion. A deceitful Syren, to draw the unwary into a dream of happiness, and then wake him into wonder at the storms and tempests that gather round him. I have done with her; I'll think no more of her. Oh! Belinda! Belinda!

Enter BRUSH.

Brush. Please your honour

Bev. She, that in every part of life seemed so amiable!

Brush. Sir !

Bev. Under so fair a mask, to wear such loose designs!

Brush. What is he musing upon ?—Sir

Bev. I have done with her for ever; ay, for ever. [Hums a tune.] I swear for ever. [Sings.] Are Brush ?

Brush. Yes, your honor : here is a letter.

you there,

Bev. So unforeseen, so unexpected, a discovery! Well! well! well! what did you say, Brush?

Brush. A letter for your honour, sir.

Bev. Give it to me another time. [Walks about.] I'll not make myself uneasy about her.

Brush. I fancy your honour will be glad to have it

Brush. It is a letter from Madam Belinda, sir.

Bev. Belinda! I won't read it: take it away. Brush. Hey! which way is the wind now? Some quarrel, I suppose: but the falling out of lovers-Must I take it away, sir?

Bev. I have done with her for ever.

Brush. Have done with Madam Belinda, sir?

Bev. Oh! Brush, she is-but I will not proclaim her shame. No, let me still be tender of her. I will see her no more, Brush, that is all; hear from her no more she shall not wind herself about my heart again. I'll go out of town directly order my chaise to the door.

Brush. Had not you better defer it till to-morrow morning, sir? perhaps then

Bev. No, no; directly; do as I bid you.

Brush. Consider, sir, if your mind should change, the trouble of coming back post haste

Bev. No, never; I say, never: what! to her, who could smile on me, on him, on a thousand? No; she shall know that I am a man; and no longer the dupe of her artifice.

Brush. But, sir, you know that one solitary tear, which, after miserably chafing for it half an hour together, she will painfully distil from the corner of her eye, will extinguish all her rage, and then

Bev. Poh! poh! you know nothing of the matter. Go, and order the chaise directly.

Brush. Yes, sir. I suppose a couple of shirts will be sufficient, sir?--you will hardly stay them out. Bev. Pack up all, sir. I shall stay in the country a whole month, if it be necessary.

Brush. An entire month, sir!

Bev. I am resolved, fixed, determined; and so, do as I have ordered you. [Exit BRUSH.]-So shall I disentangle myself from her entirely, so shall I forget the fondness my foolish heart had conceived for her.

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