to the purport and tenor of this other cove-no longer; you, thing, that was a wife, shall nant. I suppose, madam, your consent is not smart for this.

requisite in this case; nor Mr. Mirabell, your Mrs. F. I despise you, and defy your maresignation; nor, sir Wilfull, your right; you lice; you have aspersed me wrongfully; I have may draw your fox if you please, sir, and proved your falsehood; go you and your make a bear-garden flourish somewhere else; treacherous-I will not name it, but starve for here it will not avail. This, my lady Wish- together, perish.

fort, must be subscribed, or your darling Fain. Not while you are worth a groat, daughter's turn'd adrift, to sink or swim, as indeed, my dear; madam, I'll be fool'd no she and the current of this lewd town can longer.

agree.

Lady W. Is there no means, no remedy, to stop my ruin? Ungrateful wretch! Dost thou not owe thy being, thy subsistence to my daughter's fortune?

Fain. I'll answer you when I have the rest of it in my possession.

Mir. But that you would not accept of a remedy from my hands I own I have not deserved you should owe any obligation to me; or else perhaps I could advise.

Lady W. O, what? what? to save me and my child from ruin, from want, I'll forgive all that's past; nay, I'll consent to any thing to come, to be deliver'd from this tyranny.

Mir. Ay, madam; but that is too late, my reward is intercepted. You have disposed of her, who only could have made me a compensation for all my services; but be it as it may, I am resolved I'll serve you; you shall not he wrong'd in this savage manner.

Lady W. How! dear Mr. Mirabell, can you Wit. Hey-day! what, are you all together, be so generous at last! but it is not possible. like players at the end of the last act? Harkee, I'll break my nephew's match; you Mir. You may remember gentlemen, 1 once shall have my niece yet, and all her fortune, requested your hands as witnesses to a cerif you can but save me from this imminent tain parchment. danger.

Mir. Will you? I take you at your word. I ask no more. I must have leave for two criminals to appear.

Lady W. Ay, ay, any body, any body.
Mir. Foible is one, and a penitent.

Enter MRS. FAINALL, FOIBLE, and MINCING.

Wit. Ay, I do, my hand I remember-Petulant set his mark.

Mir. You wrong him, his name is fairly written, as shall appear. You do not remember, gentlemen, any thing of what that parchment contained. [Undoing the Box.

Wit. No.

Pet. Not I. I writ, I read nothing. Mir. Very well, now you shall know. Madam, your promise.

Mrs. Mar. O, my shame! [Mirabell and Lady Wishfort go to Mrs. Fainall and Lady W. Ay, ay, sir, upon my honour. Foible] these corrupt things are brought hi- Mir. Mr. Fainall, it is now time that you ther to expose me. [To Fainall. should know, that your lady, while she was Fain. If it must all come out, why let 'em at her own disposal, and before you had by know it, 'tis but the Way of the World. That your insinuations wheedled her out of a preshall not urge me to relinquish or abate one tended settlement of the greatest part of her little of my terms; no, I will insist the more. fortuneFoi. Yes indeed, madam, I'll take my Bible oath of it.

Fain. Sir! pretended!

Mir. Yes, sir, I say, that this lady, while a Min. And so will I, mem. widow, having it seems received some cautiLady W. O Marwood, Marwood, art thou ons respecting your inconstancy and tyranny false! My friend deceive me! hast thou been of temper, which, from her own partial opia wicked accomplice with that profligate man? nion and fondness of you, she could never Mrs. Mar. Have you so much ingratitude have suspected-she did, I say, by the wholeand injustice, to give credit against your friend, some advice of friends, and of sages learned to the aspersions of two such mercenary trulls? in the laws of this land, deliver this same Min. Mercenary, mem! I scorn your words. her act and deed to me in trust, and to the Tis true we found you and Mr. Fainall in uses within mentioned. You may read if you the blue garret; by the same token, you swore please, [Holding out the Parchment] though us to secrecy upon Messalina's poems. Mer- perhaps what is written on the back may serve senary! no, if we would have been mercenary, your occasions.

as

we should have held our tongues; you would Fain. Very likely, sir. What's here? Damhave bribed us sufficiently. nation! [Reads] A deed of conveyance of Fain. Go, you are an insignificant thing. the whole estate real of Arabella Languish, Well, what are you the better for this? Is widow, in trust to Edward Mirabell.- Conthis Mr. Mirabell's expedient? I'll be put off fusion!

Mrs. Mill. Why does not the man take me? Would you have me give myself to you over again?

Mir. Ay, and over and over again. [Kisses her Hand] I would have you as often as possibly I can. Well, heaven grant I love you not too well, that's all my fear.

Mir. Even so, sir; 'tis The Way of the matter; I'm in a maze yet, like a dog in a World, sir; of the widows of the world. I dancing-school. suppose this deed may bear an elder date Lady W. Well, sir, take her, and with her than what you have obtained from your lady. all the joy I can give you. Fain. Perfidious fiend! then thus I'll be reveng'd. [Offers to run at Mrs. Fainall. Sir W. Hold, sir; now you may make your beargarden flourish somewhere else, sir. Fain. Mirabell, you shall hear of this, sir; be sure you shall. Let me pass, oaf. [Exit. Mrs. F. Madam, you seem to stifle your resentment: you had better give it vent. Sir W. 'Sheart, you'll have time enough to Mrs. Mar. Yes, it shall have vent, and to toy after you're married; or if you will toy your confusion, or I'll perish in the attempt. now, let us have a dance in the mean time; [Exit that we who are not lovers may have some Lady W. O daughter, daughter, 'tis plain other employment, besides looking on. thou hast inherited thy mother's prudence. Mir. With all my heart, dear sir Wilful. Mrs. F. Thank Mr. Mirabell, a cautious What shall we do for music? friend, to whose advice all is owing. Foi. O, sir, some that were provided for Lady W. Well, Mr. Mirabell, you have sir Rowland's entertainment are yet within kept your promise, and I must perform mine. call. First, I pardon, for your sake, sir Rowland Lady W. As I am a person, there and Foible. The next thing is to break out no longer; I have wasted my spirits so the matter to my nephew; and how to do to-day already, that I am ready to sink under the fatigue: and I cannot but have some fears upon me yet, that my son Fainall will pursue some desperate course.

that

A Dance.

can hold

Mir. For that, madam, give yourself no trouble; let me have your consent; sir Wilful is my friend; he has had compassion upon Mir. Madam, disquiet not yourself on that lovers, and generously engaged a volunteer in account; to my knowledge his circumstances this action for our service; and now designs are such, he must of force comply. For my to prosecute his travels. part, I will contribute all that in me lies to

Sir W. 'Sheart, aunt, I have no mind to a re-union: in the mean time, madam, [To marry. My cousin's a fine lady, and the gen- Mrs. Fainall] let me before these witnesses tleman loves her, and she loves him, and they restore to you this deed of trust; it may be deserve one another; my resolution is to see a means, well managed, to make you live eaforeign parts; I have set on't, and when I'm sily together. set on't, I must do't. And if these two gentlemen would travel too, I think they may be spared.

Pet. For my part, I say little; I think things are best; off or on.

Wait. l'gad, I understand nothing of the

From hence let those be warn'd, who mean

to wed,

Lest mutual falsehood stain the bridal-bed:
For each deceiver to his cost may find,
That marriage frauds too oft are paid in kind
[Exeunt.

CUMBERLAND.

RICHARD CUMBERLAND, son of Dr. Denison Cumberland, late Bishop of Kilmore, in Ireland, by Joanna, youngest daughter of the celebrated Dr. Bentley (a lady on whom the well-known pastoral of Phebe, by Dr. Byram, printed in The Spectator, Nr. 603, was written), and great-grandson of Dr. Richard Cumberland, Bishop of Peterborough, was born February 19, 1752, in the master's lodge of Trinity College, Cambridge, under the roof of his grandfather Bentley, in what is called the Judge's Chamber. When turned of six years of age, he was sent to the school of Bury St. Edmund's, whence he was in due time transplanted to Westminster. At the age of fourteen Mr. C. was admitted to Trinity College, Cambridge, whence, after a long and assiduous course of study, he launched into the great world, and became a private confidential secretary to Lorp Halifax, then at the head of the Board of Trade; which situation he held with great credit to himself, till his Lordship went out of office. Soon after this, he obtained the lay fellowship of Trinity College, vacant by the death of Mr. Titley, the Danish Envoy. This fellowship, however, he did not hold long; for, on obtaining, through the patronage of Lord Halifax, a small establishment as crown agent for the province of Nova Scotia, he married Elisabeth, only daughter of George Ridge, Esq. of Kilmiston, in Hampshire, in whose family he had long been intimate. When Lord Halifax returned to administration, and was appointed Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, Mr. C. went with him to that country, as under-secretary; his father, as one of his chaplains, and his brother in law, Capt. William Ridge, as one of his aides-de-camp. Before Lord Halifax quitted Ireland to become Secretary of State, Mr. Cumberland's father had been made Bishop of Clonfert, and Mr. Cumberland himself, who had declined a baronetcy which had been offered him by his patron, came to England with his Lordship, and was appointed, we believe, to the situation of assistant secretary to the Board of Trade. About the end of the year 1771, the Bishop of Clonfert was translated to Kilmore, which see, however, he held not long, being translated by death to a belter world, to which he was followed by his lady in June 1775. The accession of Lord George Germaine to the seals, for the colonialdepartment promoted Mr. Cumberland from a subaltern at the Board of Trade to the post of seeretary. In the year 1780 he was sent on a secret and confidential mission to the court of Spain; and it is reported, that his embassy would have been successful, but for the riots in London, and the capture of our East-and West-India Heets, which inspired the Spaniards with more confidence than they had before possessed. In this mission Mr. Cumberland necessarily incurred great expenses; and he was cruelly neglected by the ministers after the conclusion of his negotiation. It was, however, during his residence in that country that he collected the Ancedotes of eminent Painters in Spain, which he afterwards published. By the provisions of Mr. Burke's well-known bill, the Board of Trade was annihi

It

lated, and Mr. Cumberland was set adrift with a compensation of scarcely a moiety in value of what he had been deprived of. He now retired, with his family, to Tunbridge Wells, where he has continued, we believe, ever since to reside, universally respected. That a man of such learning, of such versatility of literary talent, such unquestionable genius, and such sound morality, should, in the vale of years," feel the want of what he has lost by his exertions for the public good, must, to every feeling mind, be a subject of keen regrets; yet the fact seems to be placed beyond doubt by the following annunciation of his intention, in 1809, to publish a 4to volume of his dramas: To the Public was my purpose to have reserved these MSS. for the eventual use and advantage of a beloved daughter after my decease; but the circumstances of my story, which are before the public, and to which I can appeal without a blush, make it needless for me to state why I am not able to fulfil that purpose: I therefore now, with full reliance on the candour and protection of my countrymen at large, solicit their subscription to these unpublished dramas; conscious as I am, that neither in this instance, nor in any other through the course of my long-continued labours, have I wilfully directed the humble talents, with which God has endowed me, otherwise than to his service, and the genuine interests (so far as I understood them) of benevolence and virtue, Richard Cumberland."

THE FASHIONABLE LOVER,

Comedy by Richard Cumberland. increase the reputation of its author. improved in the public favour,

Acted at Drury Lane 1779. This piece followed The West-Indian too soon to
It was coldly received the first night; but undergoing some judicious alterations

ACT I.

the weams of you all together, say I, for a SCENE 1.-A Hall in LORD ABBERVILLE's pack of locusts; a cow in a clover-field has House, with a Staircase seen through an more moderation than the best among you; Arch. Several Domestics waiting in rich had my lord Abberville the wealth of GlasLiveries. Flourish of French Horns. gow, you'd swallow it all down before you gee'd1) over.

Enter COLIN,1) hastily.

Colin. Hoor! 2) fellows, haud 3) your! honds:) pack up your damn'd clarinets, and gang your gait 5) for a pair of lubberly min

La Jeu. Ah, barbare! Here come my lord.

Enter LORD Abberville.

[Exit.

Lord A. Colin, see that covers are laid for

strels as you are. An) you could hondle four-and-twenty, and supper served at twelve the bagpipe instead, I would na' say you nay: in the great eating-parlour.

ah! 'tis an auncient instrument of great me- Colin. Ecod, my lord, had you ken'd 2) the lody, and has whastled 7) many a brau ) braw mess of cakes and sweeties 3) that was honded lad to his grave; but your holiday horns there up amongst 'em just now, you would na' are fit only to play to a drunken city barge think there could be muckle) need of supper on a swan-hopping) party up the Thames." this night.

Enter LA JEUNESSE.

Lord A. What, fellow, would you starve my guests?

have me

Colin. Troth, an you don't, they'll go nigh starve you.

La Jeu. Fidon, monsieur Colin, for why you have send away the horns? It is very to much the ton in this country for the fine gen- Lord A. Let me hear no more of this, Cotlemens to have the horns: upon my vord, my lin Macleod; I took you for my servant, not lord this day give grand entertainment to very for my adviser.

[Exit.

grand company; tous les macaroni below Colin. Right, my lord, you did; but if by stairs, et toute la coterie above. Hark, who advising I can serve you, where's the breach vait dere? My lord ring his bell.-Voila, of duty in that? monsieur Colin, dere is all the company going Lord A. What a Highland savage it is!to the tea-room. My father indeed made use of him to pay the Colin. [Looking out] Now the de'il burst servants' wages, and post the tradesmen's accounts; as I never do either, I wish somebody 1) Colin pourtrays the character of a Scotchman, in helse had him that does. station, most admirably, who is so addicted to praise his own country, that, as he says himself a true North Briton would give up his virtue before (he) would give up) his country, at any time."

2) Scotch exclamation for, out, begone 3) Hold.
4) Hands. 5) Go away. 6) If. 7) Whistled. 8) Brave.

Enter MORTIMER, repeating to himse.f.
Mort. Is this a dinner, this a genial room?
This is a temple and a hecatomb.
Lord A. What, quoting, Mortimer, and sa-

9) It is customary, in the summer, for the Lord Mayor tire too?-I thought you need not go abroad

and Aldermen of London to sail in a barge up the

Thames towards Richmond, to catch the young swans,) for that.

and mark them, as the property of the city; it is fe- Mort. True; therefore, I'm returning home. lony to steal those that are thus marked. The word-Good night to you.

hop in this sense comes from the Norman word hap

per, to catch.

1) Gave. 2) Known.

3) Sweetmeals. 4) Much.

Lord 4. What, on the wing so soon! With teeth, Mr. Mortimer. What is the surlypoots so much company, can my philosopher want prabbling about? Cot give her 1) coot luck; food to feast his spleen upon? will the man never leave off his flings, and

Mort. Food! I revolt against the name; no his fleers, and his fegaries; packpiting his petBramin could abominate your fleshly meal ters?-Coot, my lord, let me call him back, more than I do; why, Hirtius and Apicius and have a little tisputes and tisputations with would have blush'd for it: Mark Antony, who him, dy'e see. roasted eight whole boars for supper, never Lord A. Hang him, tedious rogue, let him go. massacred more at a meal than you have done. Lord A. A truce, good cynic: pr'ythee now get thee up stairs, and take my place; the ladies will be glad of you at cards.

Mort. Me at cards! Me at a quadrille-table! Pent in with fuzzing dowagers, gossiping old maids, and yellow admirals; 'sdeath, my lord Abberville, you must excuse me.

Lord A. Out on thee, unconformable being; thou art a traitor to society.

Mort. Do you call that society?

Dr. D. Tedious! ay, in coot truth is he, as tedious as a Lapland winter, and as melancholy too; his crotchets and his humours damp all mirth and merriment, as a wet blanket does a fire: he is the very night-mare of society. Lord A. Nay, he talks well sometimes. Dr. D. Ay, 'tis pig sound and little wit; like a loud pell to a pad dinner.

Lord A. Patience, good doctor, patience! Another time you shall have your revenge; at present you must lay down your wrath, and take up your attention.

Dr. D. I've done, my lord, I've done: laugh at my putterflies indeed! If he was a pig and pold as king Gryffyn, doctor Druid would make free to whisper an oord 2) or two in his ear.

Lord A. Yes; but not my society; none such as you describe will be found here; my circle, Mr. Mortimer, is form'd by people of the first fashion and spirit in this country. as Mort. Fashion and spirit! Yes, their country's like to suffer by their fashion more than 'twill ever profit by their spirit.

Lord A. Come, come, your temper is too sour. Mort. And your's too sweet: a mawkish lump of manna; sugar in the mouth, but physic to the bowels.

Lord A. Mr. Mortimer, you was my father's executor; I did not know your office extended any further.

Mort. No; when I gave a clear estate into your hands, I clear'd myself of an unwelcome office: I was, indeed, your father's executor; the gentlemen of fashion and spirit will be your lordship's.

Lord A. Pooh! You've been black-ball'd 1) at some paltry port-drinking club; and set up for a man of wit and ridicule.

Lord A. Peace, choleric king of the mountains, peace.

Dr. D. I've done, my lord; I say, I've done. Lord A. If you have done, let me begin. You must know then, I expect my city madam from Fishstreet-hill.

Dr. D. Ay, ay, the rich pig-pellied fellow's daughter, young madam Pridgemore, my lady Apperville, that is to be, pless her, and save her, and make her a coot wife, say I.

Lord A. Pr'ythee, good doctor, don't put a man in mind of his misfortunes: I tell you, she is coming here by appointment, with old Bridgemore and her mother; 'tis an execrable group; and, as I mean to make all things as easy to me as I can, I'm going out to avoid being troubled with their impertinence,

Dr. D. Going out, my lord, with your house full of company?

Mort. Not I, believe me: your companions are too dull to laugh at, and too vicious to expose. There stands a sample of your choice. Lord A. Who, doctor Druid? Where's the Lord A. Oh, that's no objection; none in harm in him? the least; fashion reconciles all those scruples: Mort. Where is the merit?-What one to consult your own ease in all things is the quality does that old piece of pedantry pos- very first article in the recipe for good breedsess to fit him for the liberal office of traveling: when every man looks after himself, no ling-preceptor to a man of rank? You know, one can complain of neglect; but, as these my lord, I recommended you a friend as fit maxims may not be orthodox on the eastern to form your manners as your morals; but he side of Temple-bar, you must stand gentlewas a restraint; and, in his stead, you took man-usher in this spot; put your best face that Welshman, that buffoon, that antiquarian, upon the matter, and marshal my citizens into forsooth, who looks as if you had rak'd him the assembly-roon, with as much ceremony out of the cinders of Mount Vesuvius. as if they came up with an addresss from the Lord A. And so I did: but pr'ythee, Mor-whole company of cordwainers. 3) timer, don't run away; I long to have you

'meet.

Mort. You must excuse me.

Lord 4. Nay, I must have you better friends. -Come hither, doctor; hark'e

Dr. D. Out on it, you've some tevilish oomans in the wind; for when the tice are rattling above, there's nothing but teath, or the tevil, could keep you below.

Lord A. You've guest it; such a divine, deMort. Another time: at present, I am in no licious, little devil, lurks in my heart; Glenhumour to stay the discussion of a cockle-dower himself could not exorcise her: I am shell, or the dissection of a butterfly's wing, possess'd; and from the hour I saw her by [Exit. surprise, I have been plotting methods how to meet her; a lucky opening offers; the mine

Enter DOCTOR DRUID.

Dr. D. Putterflies! 2) Putterflies in your 1) Alluding to the electing or refusing a member in any society by means of white and black balls.

2) The welsh manner of speaking English will be easily understood, if we bear in mind that they always change

the hard and soft letters in their pronunciation - of words; thus they say Putterflies, for Butterflies, etc. 1) The word her is used by the Welsh for all the pronouns, in all the persons, and all the cases. 2) Word. 5) The company of Shoemakers (Cordubanarius), one of the most important in the city.

is laid, and Bridgemore's visit is the signal above stairs-Our card was from lady Carofor springing it. line; I suppose she is not from home, as well as her brother.

Dr. D. Pridgemore's! How so? Lord A. Why, 'tis with him she lives; what Dr. D. Who waits there? show the ladies up. else could make it difficult, and what but dif- Bridge. Ay, ay, go up, and show your ficulty could make me ursue it? They pru-cloaths, I'll chat with doctor Druid here below. dently enough would have concealed her from [Exeunt Ladies.] I love to talk with men me; for who can think of any other, when that know the world: they tell me, sir, you've miss Aubrey is in sight? -But bark! they're travelled it all over.

come; I must escape-Now, love and fortune Dr. D. Into a pretty many parts of it. stand my friends! [Exit. Bridge. Well, and what say you, sir? you're Dr. D. Pless us, what hastes and hurries glad to be at home; nothing I warrant like he is in! and all for some young hussy-Ah! old England. Ah! what's France, and Spain, he'll never have a proper relish for the vener- and Burgundy, and Flanders! no, old Engable antique: I never shall bring down his land for my money; 'tis worth all the world mercury to touch the proper freezing point, besides.

which that of a true virtuoso ought to stand Dr. D. Your pelly says as much; 'twill fill at: sometimes, indeed, he will contemplate a the pot, but starve the prain; 'tis full of corn, beautiful statue, as if it was à ooman; I never and sheep, and villages, and people: England, could persuade him to look upon a beautiful to the rest of the oorld, is like a flower-garden ooman, as if she was a statue.

Enter BRIDGE MORE, MRS. BRIDGEMORE, and
LUCINDA.

Bridge. Doctor, I kiss your hands; I kiss your hands, good doctor.-How these nobles live! Zooks, what a swinging chamber!

Mrs. B. Why, Mr. Bridgemore, sure you think yourself in Leathersellers'-hall.

Luc. Pray recollect yourself, papa; indeed this is not Fishstreet-hill.

to a forest.

Bridge. Well, but the people, sir; what say you to the people?

Dr. D. Nothing: I never meddle with the human species; man, living man, is no object of my curiosity; nor ooman neither; at least, Mr. Pridgemore, till she shall be made a mummies of.

Bridge. I understand you; you speak in the way of trade; money's your object.

Dr. D. Money and trade! I scorn 'em Bridge. I wish it was: I'd soon unhouse both; the beaten track of commerce I disdain: this trumpery: I'd soon furnish it with better I've traced the Oxus, and the Po; traversed goods: why this profusion, child, will turn the Riphæan Mountains, and pierced into the your brain. inmost Tesarts of Kalmuc Tartary - follow Mrs. B. Law, how you stand and stare at trade indeed! no; I've followed the ravages things; stopping in the hall to count the ser- of Kouli Chan with rapturous delight: there vants, gaping at the lustre there, as if you'd is the land of wonders; finely depopulated; swallow it.-I suppose our daughter, when gloriously laid waste; fields without a hoof to she's a woman of quality, will behave as other tread 'em; fruits without a hand to gather 'em ; women of quality do.-Lucinda, this is doctor with such a catalogue of pats, peetles, serDruid, lord Abberville's travelling tutor, a pents, scorpions, caterpillars, toads-oh! 'tis gentleman of very ancient family in North a recreating contemplation, to a philosophic Wales.

Luc. So it should seem, if he's the representative of it.

mind!

Bridge. Out on 'em, filthy vermin, I hope you left 'em where you found 'em. Dr. D. No, to my honour be it spoken, I

Dr. D. Without flattery, Mrs. Bridgemore, miss has very much the behaviours of an oo-have imported above fifty different sorts of man of quality already.

Mrs. B. Come, sir, we'll join the company, lord Abberville will think us late.

Dr. D. Yes truly, he's impatient for our coming; but you shall find him not at home. Mrs. B. How! Not at home?

mortal poisons into my native country. Bridge. Lack-a-day, there's people enough at home can poison their native country.

Enter MRS. BRIDGEMORE and LUCINDA. visit al

Luc. A mighty proof of his impatience, So, ladies, have truly.

| ready?

finished your you

Dr. D. Why, 'twas some plaguy business Mrs. B. We've made our courtesies and took him out; but we'll dispatch it out of come away. hand, and wait upon you quickly. Dr. D. Marry, the fates and the fortunes Bridge. Well, business, business must be forbid that should go, till lord comes done.

Mrs. B. I thought my lord had been a man of fashion, not of business.

back.

you

my

Luc. Why not? if my lord treats me already with the freedom of a husband, shouldn't I begin to practice the indifference of a wife? [Exeunt.

Luc. And so he is; a man of the first fashion; you cannot have a fresher sample: the worst gallant in nature is your macaroni; Dr. D. Well, but the supper, Mr. Pridgewith the airs of a coquette you meet the more; you a citizen, and leave the supper? manners of a clown: fear keeps him in some Bridge. Your fifty mortal poisons have giawe before the men, but not one spark of ven me my supper: scorpions, and bats, and passion has he at heart, to remind him of toads-come, let's be gone. [Exit. the ladies. Dr. D. Would they were in your pelly! [Exit.

Mrs.b. Well, we must make our courtesy