Ab. Oh, I'm so frighted-and so glad

Sir Geo. Where's lady, I ask you? your Ab. Marry, I don't know where I am myself -1 cann't forbear weeping for joy.

Sir Geo. Your lady? I say, your lady?—I must bring you to yourself with one pinch more.

Ab. Oh!-she has been talking a good while with the steward.

Sir Geo. Then he has opened the whole story to her. I'm glad he has prepared her.-Oh, here she comes.

Enter Lady TRUMAN, followed by VELLUM. L. Tru. Where is he? Let me fly into his arms! My life! my soul! my husband!

Sir Geo. Oh, let me catch thee to my heart, dearest of women!

L. Tru. Are you then still alive, and are you here? I can scarce believe my senses! Now am I happy indeed!

Sir Geo. My heart is too full to answer thee. L. Tru. How could you be so cruel to defer giving me that joy which you knew I must receive from your presence? You have robbed my life of some hours of happiness that ought to have been in it.

Sir Geo. It was to make our happiness the more sincere and unmixed: there will be now no doubts to dash it. What has been the affliction of our lives has given a variety to them, and will hereafter supply us with a thousand materials to talk of.

L. Tru. I am now satisfied that it is not in the power of absence to lessen your love towards me

Sir Geo. And I am satisfied that it is not in the power of death to destroy that love which makes me the happiest of men.

L. Tru. Was ever woman so blessed! to find again the darling of her soul, when she thought him lost for ever! to enter into a kind of second marriage with the only man whom she was ever capable of loving!

Sir Geo. May it be as happy as our first; I desire no more! Believe me, my dear, I want words to express those transports of joy and tenderness which are every moment rising in my heart whilst I speak to thee,

Enter Servants.

But. Just as the steward told us, lads!-Look you there, if he ben't with my lady already? Gard. He, he, he! what a joyful night will this be for madam.

Coach. As I was coming in at the gate, a strange gentleman whisked by me, but he took to his heels, and made away to the George. If I did not see master before me, I should have sworn it had been his honour!

Gurd. Hast thou given orders for the bells to be set a-ringing?

Coach. Never trouble thy head about that; it is done.

Sir Geo. [To Lady TRU.] My dear, I long as much to tell you my whole story as you do to hear it. In the mean while, I am to look upon this as my wedding-day. I'll have nothing but the voice of mirth and feasting in my house. My poor neighbours and my servants shall rejoice with me: My hall shall be free to every one; and let my cellars be thrown open.

But. Ah, bless your honour, may you never die again!

Coach. The same good man that ever he was!
Gurd. Whurra!

Sir Geo. Vellum, thou hast done me much service to-day. I know thou lovest Abigail; but she's disappointed in a fortune. I'll make it up to both of you: I'll give thee a thousand pounds with her. It is not fit there should be one sad heart in my house to-night.

L. Tru. What you do for Abigail, I know is meant as a compliment to me. This is a new instance of your love..

Ab. Mr Vellum, you are a well-spoken man: Pray do you thank my master and my lady.

Sir Geo. Vellum, I hope you are not displeased with the gift I make you?

Vel. The gift is two-fold:-I receive from you
A virtuous partner, and a portion too,
For which, in humble wise, I thank the donors;
And so we bid good-night to both your ho-
[Exeunt omnes.

nours.

TO-NIGHT the poet's advocate I stand;
And he deserves the favour at my hand,
Who in my equipage, their cause debating,
Has plac'd two lovers, and a third in waiting:

If both the first should from their duty swerve,
There's one behind the wainscot in reserve.
In his next play, if I would take this trouble,
He promised me to make the number double.

In troth, 'twas spoke like an obliging creature,
For though 'tis simple, yet it shews good nature.
My help thus ask'd, I could not choose but grant
it,

And really I thought the play would want it,
Void, as it is, of all the usual arts

To warm your fancies, and to steal your hearts:
No court-intrigue, nor city cuckoldom;
No song, no dance, no music-but a drum;
No smutty thought, in doubtful phrase express'd;
And, gentlemen, if so, pray where's the jest?
When we would raise your mirth, you hardly
know

Whether, in strictness, you should laugh or no,
But turn upon the ladies in the pit,
And if they redden, you are sure 'tis wit.
Protect him then, ye fair ones; for the fair
Of all conditions are his equal care.

He draws a widow, who, of blameless carriage,
True to her jointure, hates a second marriage;

And, to improve a virtuous wife's delights,
Out of one man contrives two wedding-nights:
Nay, to oblige the sex in ev'ry state,
A nymph of five-and-forty finds her mate.
Too long has marriage, in this tasteless age,
With ill-bred raillery supply'd the stage:
No little scribbler is of wit so bare,
But has his fling at the poor wedded pair.
Our author deals not in conceits so stale;
For should th' examples of his play prevail,
No man need blush, though true to marriage-

Too long the slighted Comic Muse has mourn'd,
Her face quite alter'd and her art o'erturn'd;
That force of nature now no more she sees,
With which so well her Jonson knew to please;
No characters from nature now we trace;
All serve to empty books of common-place:
Our modern bards, who to assemblies stray,
Frequent the Park, the visit, or the play,
Regard not what fools do, but what wits say:
Just they retail each quibble to the town,
That surely must admire what is its own.
Thus, without characters from nature got,
Without a moral, or without a plot,

A dull collection of insipid jokes,
Some stole from conversation, some from books,
Provided lords and ladies give 'em vent,
We call high comedy, and seem content.
But, to regale with other sort of fare,
To-night the author treats you with Moliere;
Moliere! who Nature's inmost secrets knew,
Whose justest pen like Kneller's pencil drew;
In whose strong scenes all characters are shewn,
Not by low jests, but actions of their own.
Happy our English bard, if your applause
Grant he's not injured the French author's cause:
From that alone arises all his fear :-

He must be safe if he has saved Moliere.

SCENE I.-LOVEGOLD'S House.

Enter LAPPET and RAMILIE. Lap. I'll hear no more. Perfidious fellow ! Have I for thee slighted so many good matches; have I for thee turn'd off Sir Oliver's steward and my lord Landy's butler, and several others, thy betters, and all to be affronted in so public a manner?

Ram. Do but hear me, madam.

Lap. If thou wouldst have neglected me, was there nobody else to dance a minuet with but Mrs Susan Cross-stitch, whom you know to be my utter aversion?

Ram. Curse on all balls! Henceforth I shall hate the sound of a violin.

Lap. I have more reason, I am sure, after having been the jest of the whole company: What must they think of me, when they see you, after having countenanced your addresses in the eye of the world, take out another lady before me?

Ram. I'm sure the world must think worse of me, did they imagine, madam, I could prefer any other to you.

Lap. None of your wheedling, sir; that won't do. If ever you hope to speak to me more, let me see you affront the little minx in the next assembly you meet her.

Ram. I'll do it; and luckily, you know, we are to have a ball at my lord Landy's the first night he lies out of town, where I'll give your revenge ample satisfaction.

Lap. On that condition I pardon you this time; but if ever you do the like again

Ram. May I be banish'd for ever from those dear eyes, and be turn'd out of the family while you live in it.

Enter WHEEDLE.

Wheed. Dear Mrs Lappet!

Lap. My dear! this is extremely kind. Wheed. It is what all your acquaintance must do that expect to see you. It is in vain to hope for the favour of a visit.

Lap. Nay, dear creature! now you are barbarous. My young lady has staid at home so much, I have not had one moment to myself: The first time I had gone out, I am sure, madam, would have been to wait on Mrs Wheedle.

Wheed. My lady has staid at home too pretty much lately.-Oh, Mr Ramilie! are you confin'd too? Your master does not stay at home, I am sure: He can find the way to our house, tho' you cann't.

ings at quadrille, the deuce take me if I have seen one opera since I came to town. Oh! now I mention operas, if you have a mind to see Cato, I believe I can steal my master's silver ticket; for I know he is engag'd to-morrow with some gentlemen, who never leave their bottle for music. Lap. Ah, the savages!

Wheed. No one can say that of you, Mr Ramilie; you prefer music to every thing

Ram. But the ladies. [Bell rings.] So, there's my summons.

Lap. Well, but shall we never have a party o quadrille more?

Wheed. Oh, don't name it! I have work'd my eyes out since I saw you; for my lady has taken a whim of flourishing all her old cambric pinners and handkerchiefs: in short, my dear! no journeywoman sempstress is half so much a slave as I am.

Lap. Why do you stay with her?

Wheed. La, child! where can one better one's self? All the ladies of our acquaintance are just the same. Besides, there are some little things that make amends:-My lady has a noble train of admirers.

Ram. That, madam, is the only circumstance wherein she has the honour of resembling you. [Bell rings louder.] You hear, madam, I am obliged to leave you-[Bell rings.] So, so, so; Would the bell were in your guts. [Exit RAMILIE.

Lap. Oh, Wheedle! I am quite sick of this family: the old gentleman grows more covetous every day he lives. Every thing is under lock and key: I can scarce ask you to eat or drink.

Wheed. Thank you, my dear! but I have drank half-a-dozen dishes of chocolate already this morning.

Lap. Well, but, my dear, I have a whole budget of news to tell you: I have made some notable discoveries.

Wheed. Pray let us hear 'em. I have some secrets of our family too, which you shall know by and by.-What a pleasure there is in having a friend to tell these things to!

Lap. You know, my dear, last summer my young lady had the misfortune to be overset in a boat between Richmond and Twickenham, and that a certain young gentleman, plunging immediately into the water, sav'd her life, at the hazard of his own-Oh! I shall never forget the figure she made at her return home-so wet, so draggled!-Ha, ha, ha!

Wheed. Yes, my dear! I know how all your fine ladies look when they are never so little disordered-they have no need to be so vain of themselves.

Lap. You are no stranger to my master's way of rewarding people :-When the poor gentleman

brought miss home, my master meets 'em at the door, and, without asking any question, very civilly shuts it against him. Well, for a whole fortnight afterwards, I was continually entertained with the young spark's bravery, and gallantry, and generosity, and beauty.

Wheed. I can easily guess: I suppose she was rather warmed than cooled by the water. These mistresses of ours, for all their pride, are made of just the same flesh and blood as we are.

Lap. About a month ago, my young lady goes to the play in an undress, and takes me with her. We sat in Burton's box, where, as the devil would have it, whom should we meet with but this very gentleman! Her blushes soon discovered to me who he was. In short, the gentleman entertained her the whole play; and I much mistake if ever she was so agreeably entertained in her life. Well, as we were going out, a rude fellow thrusts his hand into my lady's bosom, upon which her champion fell upon him, and did so maul him--My lady fainted away in my arms; but as soon as she came to herself-had you seen how she looked on him! Ab, sir! says she, in a mighty pretty tone, sure you were born for my deliverance! He handed her into a hackney-coach, and set us down at home. From this moment letters began to fly on both sides.

Wheed. And you took care to see the post paid, I hope.

Lap. Never fear that.-And now, what do you think we have contrived amongst us? We have got this very gentleman into the house, in the quality of my master's clerk.

Wheed. Soh! here's fine billing and cooing I warrant: Miss is in a fine condition.

Lap. Her condition is pretty much as it was yet; how long it will continue so, I know not. I am making up my matters as fast as I can, for this house holds not me after the discovery.

Wheed. I think you have no great reason to lament the loss of a place where the master eps his own keys.

Lap. The devil take the first inventor of locks, say I. But come, my dear! there is one key which I keep, and that I believe will furnish us with sweet-meats; so if you will walk in with me, I'll tell you a secret which concerns your family. It is in your power, perhaps, to be serviceable to me. I hope, my dear, you will keep these secrets safe; for one would not have it known that one publishes all the affairs of a family while one stays in it. [Exeunt.

SCENE II-A Garden.

Enter CLERIMONT and HARRIET. Cler. Why are you melancholy, my dear Harriet? Do you repent that promise of yours, which has made me the happiest of mankind?

choly, it is that I have it not in my power to make you as happy as I would.

Cler. Thou art too bounteous: Every tender word from those dear lips lays obligations on me I never can repay: but if to love, to dote on you more than life itself; to watch your eyes, that I may obey your wishes before you speak them, can discharge me from any part of that vast debt I owe you, I will be punctual in the payment.

Har. It were ungenerous in me to doubt you; and when I think what you have done for me, believe me I must think the balance on your side.

Cler. Generous creature! and dost thou not for me hazard the eternal anger of your father, the reproaches of your family, the censures of the world, who always blame the conduct of the person who sacrifices interest to any consideration?

Har. As for the censures of the world, I despise them, while I do not deserve them: Folly is forwarder to censure wisdom than wisdom folly. I were weak indeed, not to embrace real happiness, because the world does not call it so.

Cler. But see, my dearest! your brother is come into the garden.

Har. Is it not safe, think you, to let him into our secret?

Cler. You know, by outwardly humouring your father, in railing against the extravagance of young men, I have brought him to look on me as his enemy: it will be first proper to set him right in that point. Besides, in managing the old gentleman I shall still be obliged to a behaviour which the impatience of his temper may not bear, therefore I think it not adviseable to trust him, at least yet.- -He will observe us. Adieu, my heart's only joy! [Exit.

Har. Honest creature! What happiness may I propose in a life with such a husband? What is there in grandeur to recompence the loss of him? Parents choose as often ill for us as we do for ourselves: they are too apt to forget how seldom true happiness lives in a palace, or rides in a coach and six.

Enter FREDERICK.

Fred. Dear Harriet! good morrow: I am glad to find you alone, for I have an affair to impart to you that I am ready to burst with.

Har. You know, brother, I am a trusty confidant.

Fred. As ever wore petticoats; but this is an affair of such consequence

Har. Or it were not worth your telling me.

Fred. Or your telling again. In short, you never could discover it; I could afford you ten years to guess it in. I am-you will laugh immoderately when you know it-I am—it is impossible to tell you:-In a word-I am in love! Har. In love!

Fred. Violently-to distraction; so much in love, that without more hopes than I at present see any possibility of obtaining, I cannot live

VOL. IV.

Y