COACHMAN and FAG meeting.

Fag. WHAT! Thomas!-Sure, 'tis he! What, Thomas! Thomas!

Coach. Hey? odds life!-Mr. Fag, gives us your hand, my old fellow-servant!

Fag. Excuse my glove, Thomas; I'm devilish glad to see you, my lad! why, my prince of charioteers, you look as hearty!-but who the deuce thought of seeing you in Bath?

Coach. Sure, master, madam Julia, Harry, Mrs. Kate, and the postillion be all come.

Fag. Indeed!

Coach. Ay: master thought another fit of the gout was coming to make him a visit, so he'd a mind to gi't the slip-an whip! we were all off at an hour's warning.

Fag. Ay, ay; hasty in every thing, or it would not be Sir Anthony Absolute.

A

Coach. But tell us, Mr. Fag, how does young master? Odds! Sir Anthony will stare to see the captain here!

Fag. I do not serve Captain Absolute now.

Coach. Why, sure!

Fag. At present, I am employed by Ensign Beverley.

Coach. I doubt, Mr. Fag, you ha'n't changed for the

better.

Fag. I have not chang'd, Thomas.

Coach. No! why, didn't you say you had left young master?

Fag. No-Well, honest Thomas, I must puzzle you no further;-briefly then-Captain Absolute and Ensign Beverley are one and the same person.

Coach. The devil they are; do tell us, Mr. Fag, the meaning on't.

Fag. Why then, the cause of all this is love-love, Thomas, who has been a masquerader ever since the days of Jupiter.

Coach. But, pray, why does your master pass only for ensign?-now, if he had shammed general, in

deed

Fag. Ah, Thomas! there lays the mystery o'the matter!-Hark ye, Thomas, my master is in love with a lady of a very singular taste-a lady who likes him better as a half-pay ensign, than if she knew he was son and heir to Sir Anthony Absolute, a baronet, three thousand a year.

of

Coach. That is an odd taste, indeed!-But has she got the stuff, Mr. Fag? is she rich, eh?

Fag. Rich! why, I believe she owns half the stocks: -Z- -s, Thomas, she could pay the national debt as easily as I could my washerwoman!-She has a lapdog that eats out of gold-she feeds her parrot with small pearls, and all her thread-papers are made of bank-notes!

Coach. Bravo, faith-Odd! I warrant she has a set of thousands at least; but does she draw kindly with the captain?

Fag. As fond as pigeons.

Coach. May one hear her name?

Fag. Miss Lydia Languish : but there is an old tough aunt in the way, though by-the bye, she has never seen my master-for he got acquainted with miss while on a visit to Gloucestershire.

Coach. Well, I wish they were once harnessed together in matrimony. But pray, Mr. Fag, what kind of a place is this Bath? I ha' heard a great deal of it; here's a mort o'merry-making, eh?

Fag. Pretty well, Thomas, pretty well-'tis a good lounge-but damn the place, I'm tired of it: their regular hours stupify me-not a fiddle or a card after eleven! however, Mr. Faulkland's gentleman and I keep it up a little in private parties; l'll introduce you there, Thomas, you'll like him much. But, Thomas, you must polish a little-indeed you must :-Here, now, this wig; what the devil do you do with a wig, Thomas? none of the London whips, of any degree of ton, wear wigs now.

Coach. More's the pity, more's the pity, I say, Mr. Fag. Odds life! when I heard how the lawyers and doctors had took to their own hair, I thought how 'twould go next. Odd rabbit it! when the fashion had got foot on the bar, I guessed 'twould mount to the box! but 'tis all out of character, believe me, Mr. Fag: and look ye, I'll never give up mine, the lawyers and doctors may do as they will.

Fag. Well, Thomas, we'll not quarrel about that. But hold, mark-mark, Thomas.

Coach. Zooks, 'tis the captain! Is that the lady with him?

that is madam Lucy, my master's misthey lodge at that house-but I must

after him, to tell him the news.

Coach. Odd, he's giving her money!--Well, Mr. Fag

Fag. Good bye, Thomas: I have an appointment in Gyde's porch, this evening, at eight; meet me there, and we'll make a little party. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.-A Dressing-Room in Mrs. Malaprop's Lodgings.

LYDIA LANGUISH sitting on a Sofa, with a Book in her hand;-Lucy, as just returned from a Message.

Lucy. Indeed, ma'am, I traversed half the town in search of it: I don't believe there's a circulating library in Bath I ha'n't been at.

Lyd. And could not you get 'The Reward of Constancy.'

Lucy. No, indeed, ma'am.

Lyd. Nor 'The Fatal Connexion!'

Lucy. No, indeed, ma'am.

Lyd. Nor The Mistakes of The Heart?'.

Lucy. Ma'am, as ill luck would have it, Mr. Bull said, Miss Sukey Saunter had just fetched it away.

Lyd. Heigho! Did you inquire for 'The Delicate Distress?'

Lucy. Or, 'The Memoirs of Lady Woodford?'-Yes, indeed, ma'am, I asked every where for it; and I might have brought it from Mr. Frederick's, but Lady Slattern Lounger, who had just sent it home, had so soiled and dog's-eared it, it wa'n't fit for a Christian to read.

Lyd. Heigho! Yes, I always know when Lady Slattern has been before me; she has a most observing thumb, and, I believe, cherishes her nails for the convenience of making marginal notes. Well, child, what have you brought me?

Lucy. Oh, here, ma'am! [Taking Books from under her Cloak, and from her Pockets.] This is 'The Man of Feeling, and this 'Peregrine Pickle.'-Here are "The Tears of Sensibility,' and 'Humphrey Clinker.'

Lyd. Hold! here's some one coming-quick see who it is-[Exit Lucy.]-Surely I heard my cousin Julia's voice!

Re-enter LUCY.

Lucy. Lud, ma'am! here is Miss Neville!
Lyd. Is it possible!

Enter JULIA.

Lyd. My dearest Julia, how delighted I am!-[They embrace.]-How unexpected was this happiness!

Jul. True, Lydia, and our pleasure is the greater; but what has been the matter?you were denied to me at first. Lyd. Ah, Julia, I have a thousand things to tell you! but first inform me what has conjured you to Bath!Is Sir Anthony here?

Jul. He is; we are arrived within this hour, and I suppose he will be here to wait on Mrs. Malaprop as soon as he is dressed.

Lyd. Then, before we are interrupted, let me impart to you some of my distress; I know your gentle nature will sympathize with me, though your prudence may condemn me: my letters have informed you of my whole connexion whith Beverley; but I have lost him, Julia;—my aunt has discovered our intercourse, by a note she intercepted, and has confined me ever since: Yet, would you believe it? she has fallen absolutely in love with a tall Irish baronet, she met one night, since we have been here, at Lady Macshuffle's rout.

Jul. You jest, Lydia.

Lyd. No, upon my word:-She really carries on a kind of correspondence with him, under a feigned name though, till she chooses to be known to him; but it is a Delia, or a Celia, I assure you.

Jul. Then, surely, she is now more indulgent to her niece?

Lyd. Quite the contrary. Since she has discovered her own frailty, she is become ten times more suspicious of mine. Then I must inform you of another plague; that odious Acres is to be in Bath to-day, so that, I protest, I shall be teased out of all spirits!

Jul. Come, come, Lydia, hope for the best. Sir Anthony shall use his interest with Mrs. Malaprop.

Lyd. But you have not heard the worst. Unfortunately I had quarrelled with my poor Beverley, just before my aunt made the discovery, and I have not seen him since to make it up.

*