Chapter VIII: Epilogue: , (2)

_James._ Then for band-boxes, they were so bepiled up to Sir _Francis_'s nose, that he could only peep out at a chance hole with one eye, as if he were viewing the country thro' a perspective glass. But, Sir, if you please, I'll go look after _John Moody_ a little for fear of accidents: For he never was in _London_ before, you know, but one week, and then he was kidnapp'd into a house of ill repute, where he exchang'd all his money and clothes for a----um. So I'll go look after him, Sir.

[_Exit._

Unc. _Rich._ Nay, I don't doubt but this wise expedition will be attended with more adventures than one.----This noble head, and supporter of his family, will, as an honest country gentleman, get credit enough amongst the tradesmen, to run so far in debt in one session, as will make him just fit for a gaol, when he's drop'd at the next election. He will make his speeches in the house to shew the government of what importance he can be to them, by which they will see, he can be of no importance at all; and he will find in time, that he stands valued at (if he votes right) being sometimes----invited to dinner. Then his wife (who has ten times more of a jade about her than he yet knows of) will so improve in this rich soil, she will, in one month, learn every vice the finest lady in the town can teach her. She will be extremely courteous to the fops who make love to her in jest, and she will be extremely grateful to those who do it in earnest. She will visit all ladies that will let her into their houses, and she will run in debt to all the shopkeepers that will let her into their books. In short, before her husband has got five pound by a speech at _Westminster_, she will have lost five hundred at cards and dice in the parish of _St. James_'s. Wife and family to _London_ with a pox!

[_Going off._

_Enter ~James~ and ~John Moody~._

_James._ Dear _John Moody_, I'm so glad to see you in London once more.

_John Moody._ And I you, my dear _James_: Give me a kiss----Why that's friendly.

_James._ I wish they had been so, _John_, that you met with when you were here before.

_John Moody._ Ah----Murrain upon all rogues and whores, I say: But I am grown so cunning now, the de'el himself can't handle me. I have made a notable bargain for these lodgings here, we are to pay but five pounds a week, and have all the house to ourselves.

_James._ Where are the people that belong to it to be then?

_John Moody._ O! there's only the gentlewoman, her two maids, and a cousin, a very pretty civil young woman truly, and the maids are the merriest griggs----

_James._ Have a care, _John_.

_John Moody._ O, fear nothing, we did so play together last night.

_James._ Hush, here comes my master.

_Enter Uncle ~Richard~._

Unc. _Rich._ What! _John_ has taken these lodgings, has he?

_James._ Yes, Sir, he has taken 'em.

Unc. _Rich._ Oh John! how dost do, honest John? I am glad to see thee with all my heart.

_John Moody._ I humbly thank your worship. I'm staut still, and a faithful awd servant to th' family. Heaven prosper aw that belong to't.

Unc. _Rich._ What, they are all upon the road?

_John Moody._ As mony as the awd coach wou'd hauld, Sir: the Lord send 'em well to tawn.

Unc. _Rich._ And well out on't again, John, ha!

_John Moody._ Ah, Sir! you are a wise man, so am I: home's home, I say. I wish we get any good here. I's sure we got little upo' the road. Some mischief or other aw the day long. Slap goes one thing, crack goes another; my Lady cries out for driving fast: The awd cattle are for going slow; _Roger_ whips, they stand still and kick; nothing but a sort of a contradiction aw the journey long. My Lady wou'd gladly have been here last night, Sir, tho' there was no lodging got; but her Ladyship said, she did naw care for that, she'd lie in the inn where the horses stood, as long as it was in London.

Unc. _Rich._ These ladies, these ladies, _John_----

_John Moody._ Ah, Sir, I have seen a little of 'em, tho' not so much as my betters. Your worship is naw married yet?

Unc. _Rich._ No, _John_ no; I am an old batchelor still.

_John Moody._ Heav'ns bless you and preserve you, Sir.

Unc. _Rich._ I think you have lost your good woman, John!

_John Moody._ No, sir, that I have not; _Bridget_ sticks to me still, Sir, she was for coming to _London_ too, but, no, says I, there may be mischief enough done without you.

Unc. _Rich._ Why that was bravely spoken, _John_, and like a man.

_John Moody._ Sir, were my measter but haf the mon that I am, Gadswookers----tho' he'll speak stautly too sometimes, but then he canno hawd it; no, he canno hawd it.

_Enter Maid._

_Maid._ Mr. _Moody_, Mr. _Moody_, here's the coach come.

_John Moody._ Already? no, sure.

_Maid._ Yes, yes, it's at the door, they are getting out; my mistress is run to receive them.

_John Moody._ And so will I as in duty bound.

[_Exeunt ~John~ and maid._

Unc. _Rich._ And I will stay here, not being in duty bound to do the honours of this house.

_Enter Sir ~Francis~, Lady, 'Squire ~Humphry~, Mrs. ~Betty~,
Mrs. ~Handy~, ~Doll Tripe~, ~John Moody~, and
Mrs. ~Motherly~._

Lady _Head._ Do you hear, _Moody_, let all the things be first laid down here, and then carried where they'll be used.

_John Moody._ They shall, an't please your ladyship.

Lady _Head._ What, my uncle _Richard_ here to receive us! this is kind indeed: Sir, I am extremely glad to see you.

Unc. _Rich._ Niece, your servant. [_Salutes her._] I am extremely sorry to see you, in the worst place I know in the world for a good woman to grow better in. Nephew, I am your servant too; but I don't know how to bid you welcome.

Sir _Fran._ I am sorry for that, Sir.

Unc. _Rich._ Nay, 'tis for your own sake: I'm not concern'd.

Sir _Fran._ I hope, uncle, I shall give you such weighty reasons for what I've done, as shall convince you I'm a prudent man.

Unc. _Rich._ That wilt thou never convince me of, whilst thou shalt live.

[_Aside._

Sir _Fran._ Here, _Humphry_, come up to your uncle----Sir, this is your godson.

Squire _Humph._ Honour'd uncle and godfather; I creave leave to ask your blessing.

[_Kneels._

Unc. _Rich._ Thou art a numbscull I see already.

[Aside.

There thou hast it. [_Puts his hand on his head._] And if it will do thee any good, may it be, to make thee, at least, as wise a man as thy father.

Lady _Head._ Miss Betty, don't you see your uncle?

Unc. _Rich._ And for thee, my dear, may'st thou be, at least, as good a woman as thy mother.

Miss _Betty._ I wish I may ever be so handsome, Sir.

Unc. _Rich._ Ha! Miss Pert! now that's a thought that seems to have been hatch'd in the girl on this side _Highgate_.

[_Aside._

Sir _Fran._ Her tongue is a little nimble, Sir.

Lady _Head._ That's only from her country education, Sir Francis, she has been kept there too long; I therefore brought her to _London_, Sir, to learn more reserve and modesty.

Unc. _Rich._ O! the best place in the world for it. Every woman she meets, will teach her something of it. There's the good gentlewoman of the house, looks like a knowing person, ev'n she perhaps will be so good to read her a lesson, now and then, upon that subject. An arrant bawd, or I have no skill in physiognomy.

[_Aside._

Mrs. _Moth._ Alas, Sir, Miss won't stand long in need of my poor instructions; if she does, they'll be always at her service.

Lady _Head._ Very obliging, indeed, Mrs. _Motherly_.

Sir _Fran._ Very kind and civil truly; I believe we are got into a mighty good house here.

Unc. _Rich._ For good business, very probable.

[_Aside._

Well, niece, your servant for to-night; you have a great deal of affairs upon your hands here, so I won't hinder you.

Lady _Head._ I believe, Sir, I shan't have much less every day, while I stay in this town, of one sort or other.

Unc. _Rich._ Why, 'tis a town of much action indeed.

Miss _Betty._ And my mother did not come to it to be idle, Sir.

Unc. _Rich._ Nor you neither, I dare say, young mistress.

Miss _Betty._ I hope not, Sir.

Unc. _Rich._ Um! Miss Mettle.

[_Going, Sir Francis following him._

Where are you going, nephew?

Sir _Fran._ Only to attend you to the door, Sir.

Unc. _Rich._ Phu! no ceremony with me; you'll find I shall use none with you, or your family.

[_Exit._

Sir _Fran._ I must do as you command me, Sir.

Miss _Petty._ This uncle _Richard_, papa, seems but a crusty sort of an old fellow.

Sir _Fran._ He is a little odd, child, but you must be very civil to him, for he has a great deal of money, and nobody knows who he may give it to.

Lady _Head._ Phu, a fig for his money; you have so many projects of late about money, since you are a parliament man, we must make ourselves slaves to his testy humours, seven years, perhaps, in hopes to be his heirs; and then, he'll be just old enough to marry his maid. But pray let us take care of our things here: Are they all brought in yet?

Mrs. _Han._ Almost, my lady, there are only some of the band-boxes behind, and a few odd things.

Lady _Head._ Let 'em be fetcht in presently.

Mrs. _Han._ They are here; come bring the things in: Is there all yet?

_Serv._ All but the great basket of apples and the goose-pye.

_Enter ~Cookmaid~._

_Cook._ Ah my Lady! we're aw undone, the goose-pye's gwon.

_All._ Gone?

Sir _Fran._ The goose-pye gone? how?

_Cook._ Why, Sir, I had got it fast under my arm to bring it in, but being almost dark, up comes two of these thin starv'd _London_ rogues, one gives me a great kick o' the----here; [_Laying her hand upon her backside._] while t'other hungry varlet twitch'd the dear pye out of my hands, and away they run dawn street like two grayhounds. I cry'd out fire! but heavy _George_ and fat _Tom_ are after 'em with a vengeance; they'll sauce their jackets for 'em, I'll warrant 'em.

_Enter ~George~ with a bloody face, and ~Tom~._

So, have you catch'd 'em?

_Geo._ Catch'd 'em! the gallows catch 'em for me. I had naw run half the length of our beam, before somewhat fetch me such a wherry across the shins, that dawn came I flop o' my face all along in the channel, and thought I shou'd ne'er ha gotten up again; but _Tom_ has skawar'd after them, and cried murder as he'd been stuck.

_Tom._ Yes, and straight upo' that, swap comes somewhat across my forehead, with such a force, that dawn came I like an ox.

Squire _Humph._ So, the poor pye's quite gone then.

_Tom._ Gone, young measter, yeaten, I believe by this time. These, I suppose, are what they call sharpers in this country.

Squire _Humph._ It was a rare good pye.

_Cook._ As e'er these hands put pepper to.

Lady _Head._ Pray, Mrs. _Motherly_, do they make a practice of these things often here?

Mrs. _Moth._ Madam, they'll twitch a rump of beef out of a boiling copper: and for a silver tankard, they make no more conscience of than if it were a _Tunbridge_ sugar box.

Sir _Fran._ I wish the coach and horses, _George_, were safe got to the inn. Do you and _Roger_ take special care that nobody runs away with them, as you go thither.

_Geo._ I believe, Sir, our cattle won't yeasily be run away with to-night; but wee'st take best care we con of them, poor sauls!

[_Exit._

Sir _Fran._ Do so, pray now.

Squire _Humph._ Feather, I had rather they had run away with heavy _George_ than the goose-pye; a slice of it before supper to-night would have been pure.

Lady _Head._ This boy is always thinking of his belly.

Sir _Fran._ But, my dear, you may allow him to be a little hungry after a journey.

Lady _Head._ Pray, good Sir _Francis_, he has been constantly eating in the coach, and out of the coach, above seven hours this day. I wish my poor girl could eat a quarter as much.

Miss _Betty._ Mama, I could eat a good deal more than I do, but then I should grow fat mayhap, like him, and spoil my shape.

Lady _Head._ Mrs. _Motherly_ will you be so kind to tell them where they shall carry the things.

Mrs. _Moth._ Madam I'll do the best I can: I doubt our closets will scarce hold 'em all, but we have garrets and cellars, which, with the help of hiring a store-room, I hope may do. Sir, will you be so good to help my maids a little in carrying away the things.

[_To ~Tom~._

_Tom._ With all my heart, forsooth, if I con but see my way; but these whoresons have awmost knockt my eyen awt.

[_They carry off the things._

Mrs. _Moth._ Will your ladyship please to refresh yourself with a dish of tea, after your fatigue? I think I have pretty good.

Lady _Head._ If you please, Mrs. _Motherly_.

Squire _Humph._ Would not a good tankard of strong beer, nutmeg and sugar, do better, feather, with a toast and some cheese?

Sir _Fran._ I think it would, son: Here, _John Moody_, get us a tankard of good heavy stuff presently.

_John Moody._ Sir, here's _Norfolk Nog_ to be had next door.

Squire _Humph._ That's best of all, feather; but make haste with it, _John_.

[_Exit ~Moody~._

Lady _Head._ Well, I wonder, Sir _Francis_, you will encourage that lad to swill his guts thus with such beastly lubberly liquor; if it were _Burgundy_ or _Champain_, something might be said for't; they'd perhaps give him some wit and spirit; but such heavy, muddy stuff as this, will make him quite stupid.

Sir _Fran._ Why you know, my dear, I have drank good ale, and strong beer these thirty years, and by your permission I don't know, that I want wit.

_Miss Betty._ But I think you might have more papa, if you'd have been govern'd by my mother.

_Enter ~John Moody~ with a tankard._

Sir _Fran._ Daughter, he that is govern'd by his wife, has no wit at all.

Miss _Betty._ Then I hope I shall marry a fool, father, for I shall love to govern dearly.

Sir _Fran._ Here, _Humphry_, here's to thee.

[_Drinks._

You are too pert, child it don't do well in a young woman.

Lady _Head._ Pray, Sir _Francis_, don't snub her; she has a fine growing spirit, and if you check her so, you'll make her as dull as her brother there.

Squire _Humph._ Indeed Mother, I think my sister is too forward.

[_After drinking a long draught._

Miss _Betty._ You? you think I'm too forward? what have you to do to think, brother Heavy? you are too fat to think of any thing but your belly.

Lady _Head._ Well said, Miss; he's none of your master, tho' he's your elder brother.

_Enter ~George~._

_Geo._ Sir, I have no good opinion of this tawn, it's made up of mischief, I think.

Sir _Fran._ Why, what's the matter now?

_Geo._ I'se tell your worship; before we were gotten to the street-end, a great lugger-headed cart, with wheels as thick as a good brick wall, layd hawld of the coach, and has pood it aw to bits: an this be _London_, wo'd we were all weel i' th' country again.

Miss _Betty._ What have you to do, Sir, to wish us all in the country again, lubber? I hope we shan't go into the country again these seven years, Mama, let twenty coaches be pull'd to pieces.

Sir _Fran._ Hold your tongue, _Betty_. Was _Roger_ in no fault of this?

_Geo._ No, Sir, nor I neither. Are you not asham'd, says _Roger_ to the carter, to do such an unkind thing to strangers? No, says he, you bumkin. Sir, he did the thing on very purpose, and so the folks said that stood by; but they said your worship need na be concerned, for you might have a law-suit with him when you pleas'd, that wou'd not cost you above a hundred pounds, and mayhap you might get the better of him.

Sir _Fran._ I'll try what I can do with him, I'gad, I'll make such----

Squire _Humph._ Feather, have him before the parliament.

Sir _Fran._ And so I will: I'll make him know who I am. Where does he live?

_Geo._ I believe in _London_, Sir.

Sir _Fran._ What's the villain's name?

_Geo._ I think I heard somebody call him _Dick_.

Sir _Fran._ Where did he go?

_Geo._ Sir, he went home.

Sir _Fran._ Where's that?

_Geo._ By my troth I do naw knaw. I heard him say he had nothing more to do with us to-night, and so he'd go home and smoke a pipe.

Lady _Head._ Come, Sir _Francis_, don't put yourself in a heat; accidents will happen to people in travelling abroad to see the world. Eat your supper heartily, go to bed, sleep quietly, and to-morrow see if you can buy a handsome second-hand coach for the present use, bespeak a new one, and then all's easy.

[_Exeunt._

_Enter Colonel ~Courtly~._

_Col._ Who's that, _Deborah_?

_Deb._ At your service, Sir.

_Col._ What, do you keep open house here? I found the street door as wide as it could gape.

_Deb._ Sir, we are all in a bustle, we have lodgers come to-night, the house full.

_Col._ Where's your mistress?

_Deb._ Prodigious busy with her company, but I'll tell Mrs. _Martilla_ you are here, I believe she'll come to you.

[_Exit._

_Col._ That will do as well. Poor _Martilla_! she's a very good girl, and I have lov'd her a great while. I think six months it is, since like a merciless highwayman, I made her deliver all she had about her; she begg'd hard, poor thing, I'd leave her one small bauble. Had I let her keep it, I believe she had still kept me. Cou'd women but refuse their ravenous lovers that one dear destructive moment, how long might they reign over them! But for a bane to both their joys and ours, when they have indulg'd us with such favours as make us adore them, they are not able to refuse us that one, which puts an end to our devotion.

_Enter ~Martilla~._

_Col._ _Martilla_, how dost thou do, my child?

_Mart._ As well as a losing gamester can.

_Col._ Why, what have you lost?

_Mart._ I have lost you.

_Col._ How came you to lose me?

_Mart._ By losing myself.

_Col._ We can be friends still.

_Mart._ Dull ones.

_Col._ Useful ones, perhaps. Shall I help thee to a good husband?

_Mart._ Not if I were rich enough to live without one.

_Col._ I'm sorry I'm not rich enough to make thee so; but we won't talk of melancholy things. Who are these folks your aunt has got in her house?

_Mart._ One Sir _Francis Headpiece_ and his Lady, with a son and daughter.

_Col._ _Headpiece_! Cotso, I know 'em a little. I met with 'em at a race in the country two years since; a sort of blockhead, is not he?

_Mart._ So they say.

_Col._ His wife seem'd a mettlesome gentlewoman, if she had but a fair field to range in.

_Mart._ That she won't want now, for they stay in town the whole winter.

_Col._ Oh that will do to shew all her parts in.

_Enter Mrs. ~Motherly~._

How do you do, my old acquaintance?

Mrs. _Moth._ At your service, you know, always colonel.

_Col._ I hear you have got good company in the house.

Mrs. _Moth._ I hope it will prove so; he's a parliament man only, colonel, you know there's some danger in that.

_Col._ O, never fear, he'll pay his landlady, tho' he don't pay his butcher.

Mrs. _Moth._ His wife's a clever woman.

_Col._ So she is.

Mrs. _Moth._ How do you know?

_Col._ I have seen her in the country, and begin to think I'll visit her in town.

Mrs. _Moth._ You begin to look like a rogue.

_Col._ What, your wicked fancies are stirring already?

Mrs. _Moth._ Yours are, or I'm mistaken. But I'll have none of your pranks play'd upon her.

_Col._ Why, she's no girl, she can defend herself.

Mrs. _Moth._ But what if she won't?

_Col._ Why then she can blame neither you nor me.

Mrs. _Moth._ You'll never be quiet till you get my windows broke; but I must go and attend my lodgers, so good night.

_Col._ Do so, and give my service to my lady, and tell her, if she'll give me leave, I'll do myself the honour to-morrow to come and tender my services to her, as long as she stays in town. If it ben't too long.

[_Aside._

Mrs. _Moth._ I'll tell her what a devil you are, and advise her to take care of you.

[_Exit._

_Col._ Do, that will make her every time she sees me think what I'd be at. Dear _Martilla_, good night; I know you won't be my hindrance; I'll do you as good a turn some time or other. Well, I'm so glad, you don't love me too much.

_Mart._ When that's our fate, as too, too oft we prove, How bitterly we pay the past delights of love.

+ACT+ II. +SCENE+ I.

_Lord_ Loverule's _House_.

_Enter Lord ~Loverule~, and Lady ~Arabella~. He
following her._

Lady _Ara._ Well, look you, my Lord, I can bear it no longer; nothing still but about my faults, my faults! an agreeable subject truly!

Lord _Love._ But, Madam, if you won't hear of your faults, how is it likely you shou'd ever mend 'em?

Lady _Ara._ Why I don't intend to mend 'em. I can't mend 'em, I have told you so an hundred times; you know I have try'd to do it, over and over, and it hurts me so, I can't bear it. Why, don't you know, my Lord, that whenever (just to please you only) I have gone about to wean myself from a fault (one of my faults I mean that I love dearly) han't it put me so out of humour, you cou'd scarce endure the house with me?

Lord _Love._ Look you, my dear, it is very true, that in weaning one's self from----

Lady _Ara._ Weaning! why ay, don't you see, that even in weaning poor children from the nurse, it's almost the death of 'em? and don't you see your true religious people when they go about to wean themselves, and have solemn days of fasting and praying, on purpose to help them, does it not so disorder them, there's no coming near 'em? are they not as cross as the devil? and then they don't do the business neither; for next day their faults are just where they were the day before.

Lord _Love._ But, Madam, can you think it a reasonable thing to be abroad till two o'clock in the morning, when you know I go to bed at eleven?

Lady _Ara._ And can you think it a wise thing (to talk your own way now) to go to bed at eleven, when you know I am likely to disturb you by coming there at three?

Lord _Love._ Well, the manner of womens living of late is insupportable, and some way or other----

Lady _Ara._ It's to be mended, I suppose--Pray, my Lord, one word of fair argument: You complain of my late hours; I of your early ones; so far we are even, you'll allow; but which gives us the best figure in the eye of the polite world? my two o'clock speaks life, activity, spirit, and vigour; your eleven has a dull, drowsy, stupid, good-for-nothing sound with it. It favours much of a mechanic, who must get to bed betimes, that he may rise early to open his shop. Faugh!

Lord _Love._ I thought to go to bed early and rise so, was ever esteem'd a right practice for all people.

Lady _Ara._ Beasts do it.

Lord _Love._ Fy, fy, Madam, fy; but 'tis not your ill hours alone disturb me; but the ill company who occasion those ill hours.

Lady _Ara._ And pray what ill company may those be?

Lord _Love._ Why, women that lose their money, and men that win it: especially when 'tis to be paid out of their husband's estate; or if that fail, and the creditor be a little pressing, the lady will, perhaps, be oblig'd to try if the gentleman instead of gold will accept of a trinket.

Lady _Ara._ My Lord, you grow scurrilous, and you'll make me hate you. I'll have you to know, I keep company with the politest people in the town, and the assemblies I frequent are full of such.

Lord _Love._ So are the churches now and then.

Lady _Ara._ My friends frequent them often, as well as the assemblies.

Lord _Love._ They wou'd do it oftener if a groom of the chamber there were allow'd to furnish cards and dice to the company.

Lady _Ara._ You'd make a woman mad.

Lord _Love._ You'd make a man a fool.

Lady _Ara._ If Heav'n has made you otherwise, that won't be in my power.

Lord _Love._ I'll try if I can prevent your making me a beggar at least.

Lady _Ara._ A beggar! Crœsus! I'm out of patience--I won't come home 'till four to-morrow morning.

Lord _Love._ I'll order the doors to be lock'd at twelve.

Lady _Ara._ Then I won't come home till to-morrow night.

Lord _Love._ Then you shall never come home again, Madam.

[_Exit._

Lady _Ara._ There he has knock'd me down: my father upon our marriage said, wives were come to that pass, he did not think it fit they shou'd be trusted with pin money, and so would not let this man settle one penny upon his poor wife, to serve her at a dead lift for separate maintenance.

_Enter ~Clarinda~._

_Clar._ Good-morrow, Madam; how do you do to-day? you seem to be in a little fluster.

Lady _Ara._ My Lord has been in one, and as I am the most complaisant poor creature in the world, I put myself into one too, purely to be suitable company to him.

_Clar._ You are prodigious good; but surely it must be mighty agreeable when a man and his wife can give themselves the same turn of conversation.

Lady _Ara._ O, the prettiest thing in the world.

_Clar._ But yet, tho' I believe there's no life so happy as a marry'd one, in the main; yet I fancy, where two people are so very much together, they must often be in want of something to talk upon.

Lady _Ara._ _Clarinda_, you are the most mistaken in the world; married people have things to talk of, child, that never enter into the imagination of others. Why now, here's my Lord and I, we han't been married above two short years you know, and we have already eight or ten things constantly in bank, that whenever we want company we can talk of any of them for two hours together, and the subject never the flatter. It will be as fresh next day, if we have occasion for it, as it was the first day it entertained us.

_Clar._ Why that must be wonderful pretty.

Lady _Ara._ O there's no life like it. This very day now for example, my Lord and I, after a pretty cheerful _tête à tête_ dinner, sat down by the fire-side, in an idle, indolent, pick-tooth way for a while, as if we had not thought of one another's being in the room. At last, stretching himself, and yawning twice, my dear, says he, you came home very late last night. 'Twas but two in the morning, says I. I was in bed (_yawning_) by eleven, says he. So you are every night, says I. Well, says he, I'm amazed how you can sit up so late. How can you be amazed, says I, at a thing that happens so often? Upon which we enter'd into conversation. And tho' this is a point has entertain'd us above fifty times already, we always find so many pretty new things to say upon't, that I believe in my soul it will last as long as we live.

_Clar._ But in such sort of family dialogues, tho' extremely well for passing of time, don't there now and then enter some little sort of bitterness?

Lady _Ara._ O yes; which don't do amiss at all; a little something that's sharp, moderates the extreme sweetness of matrimonial society, which would else perhaps be cloying. Tho' to tell you the truth, _Clarinda_, I think we squeezed a little too much lemon into it this bout; for it grew so sour at last, that I think I almost told him he was a fool; and he talkt something oddly of turning me out of doors.

_Clar._ O, but have a care of that.

Lady _Ara._ Why, to be serious, _Clarinda_, what wou'd you have a woman do in my case? There is no one thing he can do in the world to please me----Except giving me money; and that he is grown weary of; and I at the same time, partly by nature, and partly perhaps by keeping the best company, do with my soul love almost every thing that he hates; I dote upon assemblies, adore masquerades, my heart bounds at a ball; I love a play to distraction, cards inchant me, and dice--put me out of my little wits--Dear, dear hazard, what music there is in the rattle of the dice, compared to a sleepy opera! Do you ever play at hazard, _Clarinda_?

_Clar._ Never; I don't think it fits well upon women; it's very masculine, and has too much of a rake; you see how it makes the men swear and curse. Sure it must incline the women to do the same too if they durst give way to it.

Lady _Ara._ So it does; but hitherto for a little decency, we keep it in; and when in spite of our teeth, an oath gets into our mouths, we swallow it.

_Clar._ That's enough to burst you; but in time perhaps you'll let 'em fly as they do.

Lady _Ara._ Why, 'tis probable we may, for the pleasure of all polite womens lives now, you know, is founded upon entire liberty to do what they will. But shall I tell you what happened t'other night? having lost all my money but ten melancholy guineas, and throwing out for them, what do you think slipt from me?

_Clar._ An oath?

Lady _Ara._ Gud soons!

_Clar._ O Lord! O Lord! did not it frighten you out of your wits?

Lady _Ara._ _Clarinda_, I thought a gun had gone off.--But I forget you are a prude, and design to live soberly.

_Clar._ Why 'tis true; both my nature and education, do in a good degree incline me that way.

Lady _Ara._ Well, surely to be sober is to be terribly dull. You will marry; won't you?

_Clar._ I can't tell but I may.

Lady _Ara._ And you'll live in town?

_Clar._ Half the year, I should like it very well.

Lady _Ara._ And you wou'd live in _London_ half a year, to be sober in it?

_Clar._ Yes.

Lady _Ara._ Why can't you as well go and be sober in the country?

_Clar._ So I wou'd the other half year.

Lady _Ara._ And pray what pretty scheme of life wou'd you form now, for your summer and winter sober entertainments?

_Clar._ A scheme that I think might very well content us.

Lady _Ara._ Let's hear it.

_Clar._ I cou'd in summer pass my time very agreeably, in riding soberly, in walking soberly, in sitting under a tree soberly, in gardening soberly, in reading soberly, in hearing a little music soberly, in conversing with some agreeable friends soberly, in working soberly, in managing my family and children (if I had any) soberly, and possibly by these means I might induce my husband to be as sober as myself.

Lady _Ara._ Well, _Clarinda_, thou art a most contemptible creature. But let's have the sober town scheme too, for I am charm'd with the country one.

_Clar._ You shall, and I'll try to stick to my sobriety there too.

Lady _Ara._ If you do, you'll make me sick of you. But let's hear it however.

_Clar._ I wou'd entertain myself in observing the new fashion soberly, I wou'd please myself in new clothes soberly, I wou'd divert myself with agreeable friends at home and abroad soberly. I wou'd play at quadrille soberly, I wou'd go to court soberly, I wou'd go to some plays soberly, I wou'd go to operas soberly, and I think I cou'd go once, or, if I lik'd my company, twice to a masquerade, soberly.

Lady _Ara._ If it had not been for that last piece of sobriety, I was going to call for some surfeit-water.

_Clar._ Why, don't you think, that with the further aid of breakfasting, dining, supping and sleeping (not to say a word of devotion) the four and twenty hours might roll over in a tolerable manner?

Lady _Ara._ How I detest that word, Tolerable! And so will a country relation of ours that's newly come to town, or I'm mistaken.

_Clar._ Who is that?

Lady _Ara._ Even my dear Lady _Headpiece_.

_Clar._ Is she come?

Lady _Ara._ Yes, her sort of a tolerable husband has gotten to be chosen parliament-man at some simple town or other, upon which she has persuaded him to bring her and her folks up to _London_.

_Clar._ That's good; I think she was never here before.

Lady _Ara._ Not since she was nine years old; but she has had an outrageous mind to it ever since she was marry'd.

_Clar._ Then she'll make the most of it, I suppose, now she is come.

Lady _Ara._ Depend upon that.

_Clar._ We must go and visit her.

Lady _Ara._ By all means; and may be you'll have a mind to offer her your tolerable scheme for her _London_ diversion this winter; if you do, mistress, I'll shew her mine too, and you'll see she'll so despise you and adore me, that if I do but chirrup to her, she'll hop after me like a tame sparrow, the town round. But there's your admirer I see coming in, I'll oblige him and leave you to receive part of his visit, while I step up to write a letter. Besides, to tell you the truth, I don't like him half so well as I used to do; he falls off of late from being the company he was, in our way. In short, I think he's growing to be a little like my lord.

[_Exit._

_Enter Sir ~Charles~._

Sir _Charles_. Madam, your servant; they told me Lady _Arabella_ was here.

_Clar._ She's only stept up to write a letter, she'll come down presently.

Sir _Charles_. Why, does she write letters? I thought she had never time for't: pray how may she have dispos'd of the rest of the day?

_Clar._ A good deal as usual; she has visits to make 'till six; she's then engag'd to the play, from that 'till court-time, she's to be at cards at Mrs. _Idle_'s; after the drawing-room, she takes a short supper with Lady _Hazard_, and from thence they go together to the assembly.

Sir _Charles_. And are you to do all this with her?

_Clar._ The visits and the play, no more.

Sir _Charles_. And how can you forbear all the rest?

_Clar._ 'Tis easy to forbear, what we are not very fond of.

Sir _Charles_. I han't found it so. I have past much of my life in this hurry of the ladies, yet was never so pleas'd as when I was at quiet without 'em.

_Clar._ What then induc'd you to be with 'em?

Sir _Charles_. Idleness and the fashion.

_Clar._ No mistresses in the case?

Sir _Charles_. To speak honestly, yes. When one is in a toyshop, there was no forbearing the baubles; so I was perpetually engaging with some coquet or other, whom I cou'd love perhaps just enough to put it into her power to plague me.

_Clar._ Which power I suppose she sometimes made use of.

Sir _Charles_. The amours of a coquet, Madam, general'y mean nothing farther; I look upon them and prudes to be nuisances much alike, tho' they seem very different; the first are always disturbing the men, and the latter always abusing the women.

_Clar._ And all I think is to establish the character of being virtuous.

Sir _Charles_. That is, being chaste they mean, for they know no other virtue; therefore indulge themselves in every thing else that's vicious; they (against nature) keep their chastity, only because they find more pleasure in doing mischief with it, than they shou'd have in parting with it. But, Madam, if both these characters are so odious, how highly to be valued is that woman, who can attain all they aim at, without the aid of the folly or vice of either!

_Enter Lady ~Arabella~._

Lady _Ara._ Your servant, Sir. I won't ask your pardon for leaving you alone a little with a lady that I know shares so much of your good opinion.

Sir _Charles_. I wish, Madam, she cou'd think my good opinion of value enough, to afford me a small part in hers.

Lady _Ara._ I believe, Sir, every woman who knows she has a place in a fine gentleman's good opinion, will be glad to give him one in hers, if she can. But however you two may stand in one another's, you must take another time, if you desire to talk farther about it, or we shan't have enough to make our visits in; and so your servant, Sir. Come, _Clarinda_.

Sir _Charles_. I'll stay and make my Lord a visit, if you will give me leave.

Lady _Ara._ You have my leave, Sir, tho' you were a Lady.

[_Exit with ~Clar~._

_Enter Lord ~Loverule~._

Lord _Love._ Sir _Charles_, your servant; what, have the ladies left you?

Sir _Charles_. Yes, and the ladies in general I hope will leave me too.

Lord _Love._ Why so?

Sir _Charles_. That I mayn't be put to the ill manners of leaving them first.

Lord _Love._ Do you then already find your gallantry inclining to an ebb?

Sir _Charles_. 'Tis not that I am yet old enough to justify myself in an idle retreat, but I have got I think a sort of surfeit on me, that lessens much the force of female charms.

Lord _Love._ Have you then been so glutted with their favours?

Sir _Charles_. Not with their favours, but with their service; it is unmerciful. I once thought myself a tolerable time-killer; I drank, I play'd, I intrigu'd, and yet I had hours enough for reasonable uses; but he that will list himself a lady's man of mettle now, she'll work him so at cards and dice, she won't afford him time enough to play with her at any thing else, though she herself should have a tolerable good mind to it.

Lord _Love._ And so the disorderly lives they lead, incline you to a reform of your own.

Sir _Charles_. 'Tis true; for bad examples (if they are but bad enough) give us as useful reflections as good ones do.

Lord _Love._ 'Tis pity any thing that's bad, shou'd come from women.

Sir _Charles_. 'Tis so, indeed, and there was a happy time, when both you and I thought there never could.

Lord _Love._ Our early first conceptions of them, I well remember, were that they never could be vicious, nor never could be old.

Sir _Charles_. We thought so then; the beauteous form we saw them cast in, seem'd design'd a habitation for no vice, nor no decay; all I had conceiv'd of angels, I conceiv'd of them; true, tender, gentle, modest, generous, constant, I thought was writ in every feature; and in my devotions, Heaven, how did I adore thee, that blessings like them should be the portion of such poor inferior creatures as I took myself and all men else (compared with them) to be!--but where's that adoration now?

Lord _Love._ 'Tis with such fond young fools as you and I were then.

Sir _Charles_. And with such it will ever be.

Lord _Love._ Ever. The pleasure is so great, in believing women to be what we wish them, that nothing but a long and sharp experience can ever make us think them otherwise. That experience, friend, both you and I have had, but yours has been at other mens expence; mine----at my own.

Sir _Charles_. Perhaps you'd wonder, shou'd you find me dispos'd to run the risque of that experience too.

Lord _Love._ I shou'd, indeed.

Sir _Charles_. And yet 'tis possible I may; I know at least, I still have so much of my early folly left, to think, there's yet one woman fit to make a wife of: How far such a one can answer the charms of a mistress, marry'd men are silent in, so pass----for that I'd take my chance; but cou'd she make a home easy to her partner, by letting him find there a chearful companion, an agreeable intimate, a useful assistant, a faithful friend, and (in its time perhaps) a tender mother, such change of life, from what I lead, seems not unwise to think of.

Lord _Love._ Nor unwise to purchase, if to be had for millions, but----

Sir _Charles_. But what?

Lord _Love._ If the reverse of this shou'd chance to be the bitter disappointment, what wou'd the life be then?

Sir _Charles_. A damn'd one.

Lord _Love._ And what relief?

Sir _Charles_. A short one; leave it, and return to that you left, if you can't find a better.

Lord _Love._ He says right--that's the remedy, and a just one----for if I sell my liberty for gold, and I am foully paid in brass, shall I be held to keep the bargain?

[_Aside._.

Sir _Charles_. What are you thinking of?

Lord _Love._ Of what you have said.

Sir _Charles_. And was it well said?

Lord _Love._ I begin to think it might.

Sir _Charles_. Think on, 'twill give you ease----the man who has courage enough to part with a wife need not much dread the having one; and he that has not, ought to tremble at being a husband----But perhaps I have said too much; you'll pardon however the freedom of an old friend, because you know I am so; so your servant.

[_Exit._

Lord _Love._ _Charles_, farewell, I can take nothing as ill-meant that comes from you. Nor ought my wife to think I mean amiss to her; if I convince her I'll endure no longer that she would thus expose herself and me. No doubt 'twill grieve her sorely. Physick's a loathsome thing, 'till we find it gives us health, and then we are thankful to those who made us take it. Perhaps she may do so by me, if she does, 'tis well; if not, and she resolves to make the house ring with reprisals: I believe (tho' the misfortune's great) he'll make a better figure in the world, who keeps an ill wife out of doors, than he that keeps her within.

+ACT+ III. +SCENE+ I.

_Enter Lady ~Headpiece~ and Mrs. ~Motherly~._

Lady _Head._ So, you are acquainted with Lady _Arabella_, I find.

Mrs. _Moth._ Oh, Madam, I have had the honour to know her Ladyship almost from a child, and a charming woman she has made.

Lady _Head._ I like her prodigiously; I had some acquaintance with her in the country two years ago; but she's quite another woman here.

Mrs. _Moth._ Ah, Madam, two years keeping company with the polite people of the town will do wonders in the improvement of a lady, so she has it but about her.

Lady _Head._ Now 'tis my misfortune, Mrs. _Motherly_, to come late to school.

Mrs. _Moth._ Oh! don't be discourag'd at that, Madam, the quickness of your ladyship's parts will easily recover your loss of a little time.

Lady _Head._ O! You flatter me! But I'll endeavour by industry and application to make it up; such parts as I have shall not lie idle. My Lady _Arabella_ has been so good to offer me already her introduction, to those assemblies, where a woman may soonest learn to make herself valuable to every body.

Mrs. _Moth._ But her husband. [_Aside._] Her Ladyship, Madam, can indeed, better than any body, introduce you, where every thing that accomplishes a fine lady, is practised to the last perfection; Madam, she herself is at the very tip-top of it----'tis pity, poor lady, she shou'd meet with any discouragements.

Lady _Head._ Discouragements! from whence pray?

Mrs. _Moth._ From home sometimes----my Lord a--

Lady _Head._ What does he do?

Mrs. _Moth._ But one should not talk of people of qualities family-concerns.

Lady _Head._ O, no matter, Mrs. _Motherly_, as long as it goes no farther. My Lord, you were saying----

Mrs. _Moth._ Why, my Lord, Madam, is a little humoursome, they say.

Lady _Head._ Humoursome?

Mrs. _Moth._ Yes, they say he's humoursome.

Lady _Head._ As how, pray?

Mrs. _Moth._ Why, if my poor lady perhaps does but stay out at night, may be four or five hours after he's in bed, he'll be cross.

Lady _Head._ What, for such a thing as that?

Mrs. _Moth._ Yes, he'll be cross; and then if she happens, it may be, to be unfortunate at play, and lose a great deal of money, more than she has to pay, then Madam----he'll snub.

Lady _Head._ Out upon him! snub such a woman as she is? I can tell you, Mrs. _Motherly_, I that am but a country lady, should Sir _Francis_ take upon him to snub me, in _London_, he'd raise a spirit would make his hair stand on end.

Mrs. _Moth._ Really, Madam, that's the only way to deal with 'em.

_Enter Miss ~Betty~._

And here comes pretty Miss _Betty_, that I believe will never be made a fool of, when she's married.

Miss _Betty._ No by my troth won't I. What are you talking of my being married, mother?

Lady _Head._ No, Miss; Mrs. _Motherly_ was only saying what a good wife you wou'd make, when you were so.

Miss _Betty._ The sooner it is try'd, mother, the sooner it will be known. Lord, here's the colonel, Madam!

_Enter ~Colonel~._

Lady _Head._ Colonel, your servant.

Miss _Betty._ Your servant, colonel.

_Col._ Ladies, your most obedient----I hope, Madam, the town air agrees with you?

Lady _Head._ Mighty well, Sir.

Miss _Betty._ Oh prodigious well, Sir. We have bought a new coach and an ocean of new clothes, and we are to go to the play to-night, and to-morrow we go to the opera, and next night we go to the assembly, and then the next night after, we----

Lady _Head._ Softly, Miss----Do you go to the play to-night, colonel?

_Col._ I did not design it, Madam; but now I find there is to be such good company, I'll do myself the honour (if you'll give me leave, ladies) to come and lead you to your coach.

Lady _Head._ It's extremely obliging.

Miss _Betty_. It is indeed mighty well-bred. Lord! colonel, what a difference there is between your way and our country companions; one of them would have said, what, you are aw gooing to the playhouse then? Yes, says we, won't you come and lead us out? No, by good feggins, says he, ye ma' e'en ta' care o' yoursells, y'are awd enough; and so he'd ha' gone to get drunk at the tavern against we came home to supper.

Mrs. _Moth._ Ha, ha, ha! well, sure Madam, your Ladyship is the happiest mother in the world to have such a charming companion to your daughter.

_Col._ The prettiest creature upon earth!

Miss _Betty._ D'ye hear that, mother? Well, he's a fine gentleman really, and I think a man of admirable sense.

Lady _Head._ Softly, Miss, he'll hear you.

Miss _Betty._ If he does, Madam, he'll think I say true, and he'll like me never the worse for that, I hope. Where's your niece _Martilla_, Mrs. _Motherly_? Mama, won't you carry _Martilla_ to the play with us?

Lady _Head._ With all my heart, child.

_Col._ She's a very pretty civil sort of woman, Madam, and miss will be very happy in having such a companion in the house with her.

Miss _Betty._ So I shall indeed, Sir, and I love her dearly already, we are growing very great together.

Lady _Head._ But what's become of your brother, child? I han't seen him these two hours, where is he?

Miss _Betty._ Indeed, mother, I don't know where he is; I saw him asleep about half an hour ago by the kitchen fire.

_Col._ Must not he go to the play too?

Lady _Head_. Yes, I think he shou'd go, tho' he'll be weary on't, before it's half done.

Miss _Betty._ Weary? yes; and then he'll sit, and yawn, and stretch like a grayhound by the fire-side, 'till he does some nasty thing or other, that they'll turn him out of the house, so it's better to leave him at home.

Mrs. _Moth._ O, that were pity, Miss. Plays will enliven him----see, here he comes, and my niece with him.

_Enter Squire ~Humphry~ and ~Martilla~._

_Col._ Your servant, Sir; you come in good time, the ladies are all going to the play, and wanted you to help to gallant them.

Squire _Humph._ And so 'twill be nine o'clock, before one shall get any supper.

Miss _Betty._ Supper! why your dinner is not out of your mouth yet, at least 'tis all about the brims of it. See how greasy his chops is, mother.

Lady _Head._ Nay, if he han't a mind to go, he need not. You may stay here 'till your father comes home from the parliament-house, and then you may eat a broil'd bone together.

Miss _Betty._ Yes, and drink a tankard of strong beer together; and then he may tell you all he has been doing in the parliament-house, and you may tell him all you have been thinking of when you were asleep, in the kitchen: and then if you'll put it all down in writing, when we come from the play, I'll read it to the company.

Squire _Humph._ Sister, I don't like your joaking, and you are not a well-behav'd young woman; and altho' my mother encourages you, my thoughts are, you are not too big to be whipt.

Miss _Betty._ How, sirrah?

Squire _Humph._ There's a civil young gentlewoman stands there, is worth a hundred of you. And I believe she'll be married before you.

Miss _Betty._ Cots my life, I have a good mind to pull your eyes out.

Lady _Head._ Hold, Miss, hold, don't be in such a passion, neither.

Miss _Betty._ Mama, it is not that I am angry at any thing he says to commend _Martilla_, for I wish she were to be marry'd to-morrow, that I might have a dance at her wedding; but what need he abuse me for? I wish the lout had mettle enough to be in love with her, she'd make pure sport with him. [_Aside._] Does your Heaviness find any inclinations moving towards the lady you admire----Speak! are you in love with her?

Squire _Humph._ I am in love with nobody; and if any body be in love with me, mayhap they had as good be quiet.

Miss _Betty._ Hold your tongue, I'm quite sick of you. Come, _Martilla_, you are to go to the play with us.

_Mart._ Am I, Miss? I am ready to wait upon you.

Lady _Head._ I believe it's time we should be going; Colonel, is not it?

_Col._ Yes, Madam, I believe it is.

Lady _Head._ Come, then; who is there?

_Enter Servant._

Is the coach at the door?

_Serv._ It has been there this hafe haur, so please your Ladyship.

Miss _Betty._ And are all the people in the street gazing at it, _Tom_?

_Serv._ That are they, Madam; and _Roger_ has drank so much of his own beveridge, that he's even as it were gotten a little drunk.

Lady _Head._ Not so drunk, I hope, but that he can drive us?

_Serv._ Yes, yes, Madam, he drives best when he's a little upish. When _Roger_'s head turns, raund go the wheels, i'faith.

Miss _Betty._ Never fear, Mama, as long as it's to the playhouse, there's no danger.

Lady _Head._ Well, daughter, since you are so courageous, it shan't be said I make any difficulty; and if the Colonel is so gallant, to have a mind to share our danger, we have room for him, if he pleases.

_Col._ Madam, you do me a great deal of honour, and I'm sure you give me a great deal of pleasure.