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Mrs C. You may before the wedding-day yet: the lady is a great heiress, the match is concluded, the writings are drawn, and his lordship is come hither to put the finishing hand to the business.

Young F. I understand as much.

Mrs. C. Now you must know, stripling, your brother's a knave.

Young F. Good.

Mrs. C. He has given me a bond of a thousand pounds for helping him to this fortune, and has promised me as much more, in ready money, upon the day of the marriage; which, I understand by a friend, he never designs to pay me; and his just now refusing to pay me a part, is a proof of it. If therefore you will be a generous young rogue, and secure me five thousand pounds, I'll help you to the lady.

Young F. And how the devil wilt thou do that?

Mrs. C. Without the devil's aid, I warrant thee. Thy brother's face not one of the family ever saw; the whole business has been managed by me, and all his letters go through my hands. Sir Tunbelly Clumsy, my relation-for that's the old gentleman's name is apprised of his lordship's being down here, and expects him to-morrow to receive his daughter's hand; but the peer, I find, means to bait here a few days longer, to recover the fatigue of his journey, I suppose. you shall go to Muddymoat-hall in his place-I'll give you a letter of introduction: and if you don't marry the girl before sun-set, you deserve to be hang'd before morning.

Young. F. Agreed, agreed; and for thy reward

Now

Mrs. C. Well, well;-though I warrant thou hast not a farthing of money in thy pocket now-no-oue may see it in thy face.

Young. F. Not a souse, by Jupiter.

Mrs. C. Must I advance then? Well, be at my lodgings, next door, this evening, and I'll see what may be done-we'll sign and seal, and when I have given thee some further instructions, thou shalt hoist sail and begone.

[Exit.

Young F. So, Lory, fortune, thou seest, at last takes care of merit: we are in a fair way to be great people.

Lory. Ay, sir, if the devil don't step between the cup, and the lip as he used to do.

Young F. Why faith, he has play'd me many a damn'd trick to spoil my fortune; and,'egad, I am almost afraid he's at work about it again now; but if I should tell thee how, thou'dst wonder at me.

Lory Indeed, sir, I should not.
Young F. How dost know?

Lory. Because, sir, 1 have wondered at you so often, I can wonder at you no more.

Young F. No!-What wouldst thou say, if a qualm of conscience should spoil my design?

Lory. I would eat my words, and wonder more than ever.

Young F. Why faith, Lory, though I have play'd many a roguish trick, this is so full-grown a cheat, find I must take pains to come up to't-I have scruples. Lory. They are strong symptoms of death. If you find they increase, sir, pray make your will.

Young F. No, my conscience shan't starve me neither; but thus far I'll listen to it. Before I execute this project, I'll try my brother to the bottom. If he has yet so much humanity about him as to assist me -though with a moderate aid-I'll drop my project at his feet, and shew him how I can do for him much more than what I'd ask he'd do for me. This one conclusive trial of him I resolve to make.Succeed or fail, still vict'ry is my lot; If I subdue his heart, 'tis well-if not I will subdue my conscience to my plot.

SCENE III.

Enter LOVELESS and AMANDA.

[Exeunt

Love. How do you like these lodgings, my dear? For my part, I am so pleased with them, I shall hardly remove whilst we stay here, if you are satisfied.

Aman. I am satisfied with every thing that pleases you, else I had not come to Scarborough at all.

Love. O! a little of the noise and folly of this place will sweeten the pleasures of our retreat; we shall find the charms of our retirement doubled when we return to it.

Aman. That pleasing prospect will be my chiefest entertainment, whilst, much against my will, I engage in those empty pleasures which 'tis so much the fashion to be fond of.

Love. I own most of them are, indeed, but empty; yet there are delights of which a private life is destitute, which may divert an honest man, and be a harmless entertainment to a virtuous woman: good music is one; and truly (with some small allowance) the plays, I think, may be esteemed another.

Aman. Plays, I must confess, have some small eharms. What do you think of that you saw last night?

Love. To say truth, I did not mind it much-my attention was for some time taken off to admire the workmanship of nature, in the face of a young lady who sat some distance from me, she was so exquisitely handsome.

Aman. So exquisitely handsome.

Love. Why do you repeat my words, my dear?

Aman. Because you seem'd to speak them with such pleasure, I thought I might oblige you with their echo.

Love. Then you are alarmed, Amanda ?

Aman. It is my duty to be so when you are in danger.

Love. You are too quick in apprehending for me. I view'd her with a world of admiration, but not one glance of love.

Aman. Take heed of trusting to such nice distinctions. But were you eyes the only things that were inquisitive? Had I been in your place, my tongue, I fancy, had been curious too. I should have asked her where she liv'd-yet still without design-who was she, pray?

Love. Indeed I cannot tell.

Aman. You will not tell.

Love. Upon my honour then, I did not ask.

Aman. Nor do you know what company was with her? Love. I do not. But why are you so earnest?

Aman. I thought I had cause.

Love. But you thought wrong, Amanda; for turn the case, and let it be your story: should you come home and tell me you had seen a handsome man, should I grow jealous because you had eyes?

Aman. But should I tell you he was exquisitely so, and that I had gazed on him with admiration, should you not think 'twere possible I might go one step further, and inquire his name?

Love. She has reason on her side; I have talk'd too much; but I must turn off another way. [Aside.] Will you then make no difference, Amanda, between the language of our sex and yours? There is a modesty restrains your tongues, which makes you speak by halves when you commend; but roving flattery gives a loose to ours, which makes us still speak double what we think.

Enter a SERVANT.

Serv. Madam, there is a lady at the door in a chair desires to know whether your ladyship sees company? her name is Berinthia.

Aman. Oh dear! 'tis a relation I have not seen these five years, pray her to walk in. [Exit SERVANT.] Here's another beauty for you; she was, when I saw her last, reckoned extremely handsome.

Love. Don't be jealous now; for I shall gaze upon

her too.

Enter BERINTHIA.

Ha! by heavens, the very woman!

[Aside.

Ber. Dear Amanda, I did not expect to meet you in Scarborough.

Aman. Sweet cousin, I'm overjoyed to see you.— Mr. Loveless, here's a relation and a friend of mine, I desire you'll be better acquainted with.

J

Love. If my wife never desires a harder thing, madam, her request will be easily granted.

Re-enter a SERVANT.

Serv. Sir, my Lord Foppington presents his humble service to you, and desires to know how you do. He's at the next door; and if it be not inconvenient to you, he'll come and wait upon you.

Love. Give my compliments to his Lordship, and I shall be glad to see him. [Exit SERVANT.] If you are not acquainted with his lordship, madam, you will be entertained with his character.

Aman. Now it moves my pity more than my mirth to see a man, whom nature has made no fool, be so very industrious to pass for an ass.

Love. No, there you are wrong, Amanda; you should never bestow your pity upon those who take pains for your contempt: pity those whom nature abuses, never those who abuse nature.

Enter LORD FOPPINGTON.

Lord. F. Dear Loveless, I am your most humble

servant.

Love. My lord, I'm yours.

Lord F. Madam, your ladyship's very obedient slave. Love. My lord, this lady is a relation of my wife's. Lord F. [Kisses her hand.] The beautifullest race of people upon earth, rat me. Dear Loveless, I am overjoyed that you think of continuing here. I am, stap my vitals. For Gad's sake, madam, how has your ladyship been able to subsist thus long, under the fatigue of a country life? [TO AMANDA.

Aman. My life has been very far from that, my lord, it has been a very quiet one.

Lord F. Why that's the fatigue I speak of, madam; for 'tis impossible to be quiet, without thinking: now thinking is to me the greatest fatigue in the world.

Aman. Does not your lordship love reading then? Lord F. Oh, passionately, madam; but I never think of what I read. For example, madam, my life

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