time; I have fast hold of his forelock, and won't let a moment pass without enjoyment. Impatient sense, and nature dies, A bumper, Cupid, fill it up But let me Vigorous health, and young desires. "Free. Humph!---a poetical fop too. "tell you, friend, you mistake your passion; 'tis "not love, but lust. Love is a generous volunteer, "lust a mercenary slave; love is a court of honour "in the heart, but what you call love is only a scan “dalous itching, a rebellion in the blood. "Mode. I don't know what you would have by "love and desire; I think they are only different "words for the same meaning. Liking begets love, "love desire, desire rage, and rage rapture." Free. This fellow's in a blaze; his blood has set him all on fire. Mode. I love the whole sex, Sir; the beautiful I adore as angels; the ugly, as Indians do the devil, for fear; the witty persuade me, the innocent allure me, the proud raise my ambition, and the humble my charity; the coquette shews me a pleasing chase, the false virtue of the prude gives oil to my flame, and the good-natured girl quenches it. There's a pleasure in pursuing those that fly, and 'tis cowardly not to meet the fair one that advances. Say what you will, I am in love, in love, old boy, from head to H foot; I am Cupid's butt, and stand ready to receive his whole quiver. Free. I'll tell thee what thou art; thou art a romance finely bound and gilt, and thy inside is full of silly love and lies, senseless and showish.' Mode. And thou art a satire, as the title says, against vice and immorality; " but thy inside con"tains a weak indulgence only to the overflowings "of a rank gall, full of ill-nature and pride. Yet "art thou silly enough to think virtue consists in "railing against vice, like those jilts, who think "they cover their own infamy, by abusing other ❝ women. "Free. Well said! now, thou aimest at truth, I "like thee. "Mode. Good-nature only ought to be the test of "good sense, as a man proves his faith by his cha"rity. "Free. Well, then, my faith is, that thou art a "modern whoremaster, that is, a villain; and I have "charity enough to tell thee so. "Mode. You mistake your humour for your vir"tue, and fancy, because you are a cynic, you're a "philosopher too. Pr'ythee, polish thyself, my "dear rough diamond." What, I think thou art the sourest old fellow that ever I met with. You invite a man to your house here, and then deny him the only tit-bit he has a mind to. Free. You have broke every social virtue, and yet impudently imagine you are in the character of a gentleman. Mode. How, Sir! you grow scurrilous. [Going. Free. Nay, you shall hear me, or I'll recall my myrmidons; they wait my word, you know. A gentleman ought not to dare to think of doing wrong to any. His love, his friendship, his courage, his generosity, his religion, his word and his honour, should be inviolably bound to the strict laws of virtue. Mode. This may be the picture of a saint; but for the character of a fine gentleman, 'tis as unlike it, my dear Free. As you are. Your love is lust, your friend→ ship interest, your courage brutal butchery, your bounty usury, your religion hypocrisy, your word a lie, and your honour a jest. Mode. Ha, ha! very concise and smart; but I take nothing ill of thee. Thou art like a frosty morning, sharp and wholesome. Dear Sir, your most obedient servant; you see I have stood your Jobation very patiently. And so, compliments being passed on both sides, I humbly take my leave. Free. Hold, Sir, I demand satisfaction for the wrong you have done my family. Mode. With all my heart, old boy; your time, place, and weapons. Will you use seconds? Free. Ay, and thirds too, if you provoke me. Look ye, friend, according to the justest sentiments I can form of this affair, you ought to be knocked 'the head, extinguished for the good of society, as I would one o' my cattle that had got a distemper in his blood which made him run a muck at the herd. But custom, that invades the rights of nature, and makes us act by senseless example, says you are a gentleman, and have a right to justify one wrong by committing another. Mode. Pox o' your preamble! come to the point, Sir. Free. The young woman you have wronged has a servant, Sir, a young Oxonian, a lover of hers, who at present lives with his kinsman, Sir John, above; he shall meet you, and bleed you for this fever. I know the young fellow loves her, and has spirit to do himself justice. I think that is the cant you have for it. He shall meet you half an hour hence in the meadow behind the farm alone. Mode. Odso!-Your bullies about you too---Well, Sir, I'll meet him. Free. If you fail, I'll stick your name upon every tree in the parish, for a coward, a poltroon, that dares not fight in a wrong cause; and that is a greater reproach to a man of modern honour, than a thief or a murderer. [Exit Freehold. Mode. An ill-natured old puppy, to engage a man in a quarrel too-However, I think I am pretty well off; this is much better than the discipline of Towser and the ditch, or than my friend's matrimonial comfort; though 'tis very ugly, methinks, too, to fight upon an idle business here. But 'tis the fashion, the mode, and, as old Crabtree says, right or wrong we are obliged to obey it. "Thus fashionable folly makes us stake [Exit. ACT V. SCENE I. A Close behind the Farm. Enter MODELY. Modely. A FINE evening, really, for a cool thrust or twoWhere is the warrior that is to entertain me here? 'Egad, I wish 'twas over; I don't like it; it sits but qualmishly upon my stomach. Oh! yonder he comes cross the stile-No, that's a boy, I think. I suppose he has sent some formal excuse; the women have locked him up, the country is raised, or the justices have sent their warrants forth to stop all military proceedings, and make up the matter over a cup of October. Enter AURA, in Boy's Clothes. Aura. Your servant, Sir. Mode. Yours, Sir. Aura. I am invited hither, Sir, to do justice to an injured beauty, whom I have the honour to be well with and I suppose you are my man. |