with a song?-I don't question but you have sung the same to Mrs Judy, too.

Tom. Don't disparage your charms, good Phillis, with jealousy of so worthless an object; besides, she is a poor hussy; and if you doubt the sincerity of my love, you will allow me true to my interest. You are a fortune, Phillis

Phil. What would the fop be at now? In good time, indeed, you shall be setting up for a fortune!

Tom. Dear Mrs Phillis! you have such a spirit that we shall never be dull in marriage, when we come together. But I tell you, you are a fortune, and you have an estate in my hands.

[He pulls out a purse, she eyes it. Phil. What pretence have I to what is in your hands, Mr Thomas?

Tom. As thus: there are hours, you know, when a lady is neither pleased nor displeased, neither sick nor well, when she lolls or loiters, when she is without desires, from having more of every thing than she knows what to do with. Phil. Well, what then?

Tom. When she has not life enough to keep her bright eyes quite open to look at her own dear image in the glass.

Phil. Explain thyself, and don't be so fond of thy own prating.

Tom. There are also prosperous and good natured moments, as when a knot or a patch is happily fixed, when the complexion particularly flourishes.

Phil. Well, what then? I have not patience! Tom. Why, then-or on the like occasionswe servants, who have skill to know how to time business, see, when such a pretty folded thing as this [Shews a letter.] may be presented, laid, or dropped, as best suits the present humour. And, madam, because it is a long wearisome journey to run through all the several stages of a lady's temper, my master, who is the most reasonable man in the world, presents you this to bear your charges on the road. [Gives her the purse. Phil. Now, you think me a corrupt hussy? Tom. O fy! I only think you'll take the letter. Phil. Nay, I know you do; but I know my own innocence: I take it for my mistress's sake. Tom. I know it, my pretty one! I know it. Phil. Yes, I say I do it, because I would not have my mistress deluded by one who gives no proof of his passion: but I'll talk more of this as you see me on my way home. No, Tom; I assure thee I take this trash of thy master's not for the value of the thing, but as it convinces me he has a true respect for my mistress. I remember a verse to the purpose:

They may be false who languish and complain, But they, who part with money, never feign.

Exeunt.

SCENE II.-BEVIL junior's lodgings. BEVIL, junior, reading.

Bev. These moral writers practise virtue after death. This charming vision of Mirza ! such an author, consulted in a morning, sets the spirits for the vicissitudes of the day better than the glass does a man's person. But what a day have to go through! to put on an easy look with an aching heart! If this lady, my father urges me to marry, should not refuse me, my dilemma is insupportable. But why should I fear it? Is not she in equal distress with me? Has not the letter I have sent her this morning confessed my inclination to another? Nay, have I not moral assurances of her engagements, too, to my friend Myrtle? It's impossible but she must give in to it; for sure to be denied is a favour any man may pretend to. It must be so. Well, then, with the assurance of being rejected, I think I may confidently say to my father, I am ready to marry her-then, let me resolve upon (what I am not very good at) an honest dissimulation.

Enter Toм.

Tom. Sir John Bevil, sir, is in the next room. Bev. Dunce! why did you not bring him in? Tom. I told him, sir, you were in your closet. Bev. I thought you had known, sir, it was my duty to see my father any where.

[Going himself to the door. Tom. The devil's in my master! he has always more wit than I have. [Aside.

BEVIL, junior, introducing SIR JOHN. Bev. Sir, you are the most gallant, the most complaisant of all parents. Sure 'tis not a compliment to say, these lodgings are yours. Why would you not walk in, sir?

Sir J. Bev. I was loath to interrupt you unseasonably on your wedding-day.

Bev. One to whom I am beholden for my birth-day might have used less ceremony.

Sir J. Bev. Well, son, I have intelligence you have writ to your mistress this morning. It would please my curiosity to know the contents of a wedding-day letter, for courtship must then be over.

Beo. I assure you, sir, there was no insolence in it upon the prospect of such a vast fortune's being added to our family, but much acknowledgement of the lady's great desert.

Sir J. Bev. But, dear Jack, are you in earnest in all this? and will you really marry her? Bev. Did I ever disobey any command of yours, sir? inclination that I saw you nay, any bent upon?

Sir J. Bev. Why, I can't say you have, son: but, methinks, in this whole business you have not been so warm as I could have wished you;

you have visited her, it is true; but you have not been particular. Every one knows you can say and do as handsome things as any man; but you have done nothing but lived in the general, being complaisant only.

you

Bev. As I am ever prepared to marry if bid me, so I am ready to let it alone if you will have me.

HUMPHREY enters, unobserved.

Sir J. Bev. Look you there now? Why, what am I to think of this so absolute and so indifferent a resignation?

Bev. Think that I am still your son, sir. Sir, you have been married, and I have not; and you have, sir, found the inconvenience there is when a man weds with too much love in his head. I have been told, sir, that at the time you married, you made a mighty bustle on the occasion-there was challenging and fighting, scaling walls-locking up the lady-and the gallant under an arrest, for fear of killing all his rivals. Now, sir, I suppose, you having found the ill consequence of these strong passions and prejudices in preference of one woman to another, in case of a man's becoming a widower

Sir J. Bev. How is this?

Bev. I say, sir, experience has made you wiser in your care of me; for, sir, since you lost my dear mother, your time has been so heavy, so lonely, and so tasteless, that you are so good as to guard me against the like unhappiness, by marrying me prudentially, by way of bargain and sale; for, as you well judge, a woman, that is espoused for a fortune, is yet a better bargain if she dies; for then a man well enjoys what he did marry, the money, and is disencumbered of what he did not marry, the woman.

Sir J. Bev. But, pray, sir, do you think Lucinda, then, a woman of such little merit?

Bev. Pardon me, sir; I don't carry it so far, neither; I am rather afraid I shall like her too well; she has, for one of her fortune, a great many needless, and superfluous good qualities.

Sir J. Bev. I am afraid, son, there's something I don't see yet-something that's smothered under all this raillery.

Bev. Not in the least, sir. If the lady is dressed and ready, you see I am. I suppose the lawyers are ready, too?

Enter HUMPHREY.

Humph. Sir, Mr Sealand is at the coffee-house, and has sent to speak with you.

Sir J. Bev. Oh! that's well! then I warrant the lawyers are ready. Son, you'll be in the way, you say

Bev. If you please, sir, I'll take a chair, and go to Mr Sealand's, where the young lady and 1 will wait your leisure.

Sir J. Bev. By no means-the old fellow will be so vain if he sees

[Looking on his watch.

Bev. You'll allow me, sir, to think it too late to visit a beautiful, virtuous, young woman, in the pride and bloom of life, ready to give herself to my arms, and to place her happiness or misery for the future, in being agreeable or displeasing to me.- -Call a chair.

Sir J. Bev. No, no, no, dear Jack! Besides, this Sealand is a moody old fellow. There's no dealing with some people, but by managing with indifference. We must leave to him the conduct of this day; it is the last of his commanding his daughter.

Bev. Sir, he cannot take it ill, that I am impatient to be hers.

[Aside.

Humph. Pray, sir, let me beg you to let Mr Bevil go. See whether he will not.-[Aside to SIR JOHN.]-[Then to BEVIL.]-Pray, sir, command yourself; since you see my master is positive, it is better you should not go.

Bev. My father commands me as to the object of my affections, but I hope he will not as to the warmth and height of them.

Sir J. Bev. So, I must even leave things as I found them, and, in the mean time, at least keep old Sealand out of his sight. Well, son, I'll go myself, and take orders in your affair-You'll be in the way, I suppose, if I send to you-I'll leave your old friend with you-Humphrey, don't let him stir, d'ye hear. Your servant, your servant.

[Exit SIR JOHN,

Humph. I have a sad time on't, sir, between you and my master-I see you are unwilling, and I know his violent inclinations for the match. I must betray neither, and yet deceive you both, for your common good. Heaven grant a good end of this matter! but there is a lady, sir, that gives your father much trouble and sorrow You'll pardon me.

Bev. Humphrey, I know thou art a friend to both, and in that confidence I dare tell thee▬▬ That lady-is a woman of honour and virtue.You may assure yourself I never will marry without my father's consent; but, give me leave to

say, too, this declaration does not come up to a promise that I will take whomsoever he pleases. Humph. Come, sir; I wholly understand you : you would engage my services to free you from this woman whom my master intends you, to make way in time for the woman you have really a mind to.

Bev. Honest Humphrey! You have always been an useful friend to my father and myself; I beg you to continue your good offices, and don't let us come to the necessity of a dispute; for, if we should dispute, I must either part with more than life, or lose the best of fathers.

Humph. My dear master! were I but worthy to know this secret, that so near concerns you, my life, my all, should be engaged to serve you. This, sir, I dare promise, that I am sure I will, and can, be secret: your trust, at worst, but leaves you where you were; and, if I cannot serve you, I will at once be plain, and tell you

$0.

Bev. That's all I ask. Thou hast made it now my interest to trust thee. Be patient, then, and hear the story of my heart.

Humph. I am all attention, sir.

Bev. You may remember, Humphrey, that, in my last travels, my father grew uneasy at my making so long a stay at Toulon.

Humph. I remember it; he was apprehensive some woman had laid hold of you.

Bev. His fears were just; for, there, I first saw this lady she is of English birth: her father's name was Danvers, a younger brother of an ancient family, and originally an eminent merchant of Bristol, who, upon repeated misfortunes, was reduced to go privately to the Indies. In this retreat, Providence again grew favourable to his industry, and, in six years time, restored him to his former fortunes. On this, he sent directions over, that his wife and little family should follow him to the Indies. His wife, impatient to obey such welcome orders, would not wait the leisure of a convoy, but took the first occasion of a single ship; and, with her husband's sister only, and this daughter, then scarce seven years old, undertook the fatal voyage: for here, poor creature, she lost her liberty and life: she and her family, with all they had, were unfortunately taken by a privateer from Toulon. Being thus made a prisoner, though, as such, not ill-treated, yet the fright, the shock, and the cruel disappointment, seized with such violence upon her unhealthy frame, she sickened, pined, and died

at sea.

bles of value, to his wife, to be educated as his own adopted daughter.

Humph. Fortune here seemed again to smile on her.

Bev. Only to make her frowns more terrible! for, in his height of fortune, this captain, too, her benefactor, unfortunately was killed at sea, and, dying intestate, his estate fell wholly to an advocate, his brother, who, coming soon to take possession, there found, among his other riches, this blooming virgin at his mercy.

Humph. He durst not, sure, abuse his power? Bev. No wonder if his pampered blood was fired at the sight of her. In short, he loved; but, when all arts and gentle means had failed to move, he offered, too, his menaces in vain, denouncing vengeance on her cruelty, demanding her to account for all her maintenance from her childhood, seized on her little fortune as his own inheritance, and was dragging her by violence to prison, when Providence at the instant interposed, and sent me, by miracle, to relieve her.

Humph. Twas Providence, indeed! but pray, sir, after all this trouble, how came this lady at last to England?

Bev. The disappointed advocate, finding she had so unexpected a support, on cooler thoughts descended to a composition, which I, without her knowledge, secretly discharged.

Humph. That generous concealment made the obligation double.

Bev. Having thus obtained her liberty, I prevailed, not without some difficulty, to see her safe to England, where we no sooner arrived, but my father, jealous of my being imprudently engaged, immediately proposed this other fatal match, that hangs upon my quiet.

Humph. I find, sir, you are irrecoverably fixed this lady.

upon

Bev. As my vital life dwells in my heartand yet you see what I do to please my father; walk in this pageantry of dress, this splendid covering of sorrow- -But, Humphrey, you have your lesson.

Humph. Now, sir, I have but one material question

Bev. Ask it freely.

Humph. Is it then your own passion for this secret lady, or hers for you, that gives you this aversion to the match your father has proposed you?

Bev. I shall appear, Humphrey, more romantic in my answer, than in all the rest of my story; for, though I dote on her to death, and have no little reason to believe she has the same thoughts for me, yet, in all my acquaintance and utmost privacies with her, I never once directly told her that I loved.

termined, on that subject, to be dumb for ever. An honourable retreat shall always be at least within my power, however fortune may dispose of me; the lady may repine, perhaps, but never shall reproach me.

Humph. Well, sir, to your praise be it spo' en, you are certainly the most unfashionable lover in Great Britain.

Enter TOM.

Tom. Sir, Mr Myrtle's at the next door, and, if you are at leisure, will be glad to wait on you. Bev. Whenever he pleases-Hold, Tom; did you receive no answer to my letter?

Tom. Sir, I was desired to call again; for I was told her mother would not let her be out of her sight; but, about an hour hence, Mrs Phillis said I should have one.

Bev. Very well.

Humph. Sir, I will take another opportunity; in the mean time, I only think it proper to teli you, that, from a secret I know, you may appear

SCENE II.-Continues.

Enter BEVIL and TOM.

to your father as forward as you please to marry | Lucinda, without the least hazard of its coming to a conclusion. Sir, your most obedient ser

vant.

Bed. Honest Humphrey! Continue but my friend in this exigence, and you shall always find me yours.-[Exit HUMPH.I long to hear how my letter has succeeded with Lucinda. But I think it cannot fail; for, at worst, were it possible she should take it ill, her resentment of my indifference may as probably occasion a delay as her taking it right. Poor Myrtle! What terrors must he be in all this while!-Since he knows she is offered to me, and refused to him, there is no conversing or taking any measures with him, for his own service. But I ought to bear with my friend, and use him as one in adversity. All his disquietudes by my own I prove; For none exceeds perplexity in love.

Well, Charles, why so much care in thy countenance? Is there any thing in this world deserves it? You, who used to be so gay, so open, so vacant!

Myr. I think we have, of late, changed complexions. You, who used to be much the graver man, are now all air in your behaviour. But the cause of my concern may, for aught I know, be the same object that gives you all this satisfaction. In a word, I am told that you are this very day (and your dress confirms me in it) to be married to Lucinda.

Bev. You are not misinformed. Nay, put not on the terrors of a rival, till you hear me out. I shall disoblige the best of fathers, if I don't seem ready to marry Lucinda; and you know I have ever told you, you might make use of my secret resolution, never to marry her, for your own service as you please: but I am now driven to the extremity of immediately refusing, or complying, unless you help me to escape the match.

Myr. Escape, sir! neither her merit nor her fortune are below your acceptance. Escaping, do you call it?

Bev. Dear sir! Do you wish I should desire the match?

Myr, No-But such is my humourous and

|

[Exeunt.

sickly state of mind, since it has been able to relish nothing but Lucinda, that, though I must owe my happiness to your aversion to this marriage, I cannot bear to hear her spoken of with levity, or unconcern.

Bev. Pardon me, sir; I shall transgress that way no more. She has understanding, beauty, shape, complexion, wit

Myr. Nay, dear Bevil! Don't speak of her as if you loved her, neither.

Bev. Why, then, to give you ease at once, though I allow Lucinda to have good sense, wit, beauty, and virtue, I know another in whom these qualities appear to me more amiable than in her.

Myr. There you spoke like a reasonable and good-natured friend. When you acknowledge her merit, and own your prepossession for another, at once you gratify my fondness, and cure my jealousy.

Bev. But all this while you take no notice, you have no apprehension, of another man, that has twice the fortune of either of us.

Myr. Cimberton! Hang him, a formal, philosophical, pedantic coxcomb!-for the sot, with all these crude notions of divers things, under the direction of great vanity and very little judgment, shews his strongest bias is avarice, which is so. predominant in him, that he will examine the limbs of his mistress with the caution of a jockey, and pays no more compliment to her personal charms than if she were a mere breeding animal.

Bev. Are you sure that is not affected? I have known some women sooner set on fire by that sort of negligence, than by all the blaze and ce remony of a court.

Myr. No, no; hang him! the rogue has no art; it is pure simple innocence and stupidity. Bev. Yet, with all this, I don't take him for a fool.

Myr. I own the man is not a natural; he has a very quick sense, though a very slow understanding-he says, indeed, many things that want only the circumstances of time and place to be very just and agreeable.

Bed. Well, you may be sure of me, if you can disappoint him; but my intelligence says, the mother has actually sent for the conveyancer to draw articles for his marriage with Lucinda, though those for mine with her are, by her father's order, ready for signing; but it seems she has not thought fit to consult either him or his daughter in the matter.

Myr. Pshaw! a poor troublesome woman!Neither Lucinda nor her father will ever be brought to comply with it-besides, I am sure Cimberton can make no settlement upon her, without the concurrence of his great uncle, sir Geoffry, in the

west.

Bev. Well, sir, and I can tell you, that is the very point that is now laid before her counsel, to know whether a firm settlement can be made without this uncle's actually joining in it. Now, pray con sider, sir, when my affair with Lucinda comes, as it soon must, to an open rupture, how are you sure that Cimberton's fortune may not then tempt her father, too, to hear his proposals?

Myr. There you are right, indeed; that must be provided against. Do you know who are her counsel?

Bev. Yes, for your service I have found out that, too they are, serjeant Bramble aud old Target-By the way, they are neither of them known in the family: now, I was thinking why you might not put a couple of false counsels upon her, to delay and confound matters a littlebesides, it may probably let you into the bottom of her whole design against you.

Myr. As how, pray?

Ber. Why, can't you slip on a black wig and a gown, and be old Bramble yourself?

Myr. Ha! I don't dislike it—but what shall I do for a brother in the case?

Bev. What think you of my fellow, Tom? The rogue's intelligent, and is a good mimic; all his part will be but to stutter heartily; for that's old Target's case-nay, it would be an immoral thing to mock him, were it not that his impatience is the occasion of its breaking out to that degree. The conduct of the scene will chiefly lie upon

you.

Myr. I like it of all things! if you'll send Tom to my chambers, I will give him full instructions. This will certainly give me occasion to raise difficulties, to puzzle or confound her project for a while, at least.

Bev. I warrant you success; so far we are right,

then. And now, Charles, your apprehension of my marrying her is all you have to get over.

Myr. Dear Bevil! though I know you are my friend, yet, when I abstract myself from my own interest in the thing, I know no objection she can make to you, or you to her; and therefore hope

Bev. Dear Myrtle! I am as much obliged to you for the cause of your suspicion, as I am offended at the effect; but, be assured, I am taking measures for your certain security, and that all things, with regard to me, will end in your entire satisfaction.

Myr. Well; I'll promise you to be as easy and as confident as I can, though I cannot but remember that I have more than life at stake on your fidelity. [Going.

Bev. Then, depend upon it, you have no chance against you.

Myr. Nay, no ceremony; you know I must be going. [Exit MYRTLE. Bev. Well; this is another instance of the perplexities which arise, too, in faithful friendship. We must often in this life go on in our good offices, even under the displeasure of those to whom we do them, in compassion to their weaknesses and mistakes. But all this while poor Indiana is tortured with the doubt of me; she has no support or comfort but in my fidelity, yet sees me daily pressed to marriage with another. How painful, in such a crisis, must be every hour she thinks on me! I'll let her see, at least, my conduct to her is not changed: I'll take this opportunity to visit her; for though the religious vow I have made to my father restrains me from ever marrying without his approbation, yet that confines me not from seeing a virtuous woman, that is the pure delight of my eyes, and the guiltless joy of my heart. But the best condition of human life is but a gentler misery!

To hope for perfect happiness is vain,
And love has ever its allays of pain.

SCENE II.-INDIANA's lodgings.

Enter ISABELLA and INDIANA.

[Exit.