dra, not to be believed. Valentine is disturbed; what can be the cause of that? and sir Sampson is hurried on by an unusual violence-I fear he does not act wholly from himself; and, methinks, he does not look as he used to do.

Fore. He was always of an impetuous nature. But, as to this marriage, I have consulted the stars; and all appearances are prosperous.

Scand. Come, come, Mr Foresight; let not the prospect of worldly lucre carry you beyond your judgment, nor against your conscience. You are not satisfied that you act justly.

Fore. How!

Scand. You are not satisfied, I say. I am loth to discourage you-but it is palpable that you are not satisfied.

Fore. How does it appear, Mr Scandal? 1 think I am very well satisfied.

Scand. Either you suffer yourself to deceive yourself, or you do not know yourself. Fore. Pray explain yourself.

Scand. Do you sleep well o' nights?
Fore. Very well.

Scand. Are you certain? you do not look so.
Fore. I am in health, I think.

Scand. So was Valentine this morning; and looked just so.

Fore. How! Am I altered any way? I don't perceive it.

Scand. That may be; but your beard is longer than it was two hours ago.

Fore. Indeed? bless me !

Enter MRS FORESIGHT.

Mrs Fore. Husband, will you go to bed' it's ten o'clock. Mr Scandal, your servant.

Scand. Pox on her, she has interrupted my design-but I must work her into the project. You keep early hours, madam.

Mrs Fore. Mr Foresight is punctual; we sit up after him.

Fore. My dear, pray lend me your glass, your little looking-glass.

Scand. Pray lend it him, madam-I'll tell you the reason-She gives him the glass: SCANDAL and she whisper-my passion for you is grown so violent, that I am no longer master of myself; I was interrupted in the morning, when you had charity enough to give me your attention; and I had hopes of finding another opportunity of explaining myself to you-but was disappointed all this day; and the uneasiness that has attended me ever since, brings me now hither at this unseasonable hour.

Mrs Fore. Was there ever such impudence, to make love to me before my husband's face? I'll swear I'll tell him.

Scand. Do. I'll die a martyr rather than disclaim my passion. But come a little farther this way; and I'll tell you what project I had to get

him out of the way, that I might have an oppor tunity of waiting upon you.

[Whisper. FORESIGHT looking in the glass. Fore. I do not see any revolution here. Methinks I look with a serene and benign aspectpale, a little pale—but the roses of these cheeks have been gathered many years-ha! I do not like that sudden flushing- -gone already! hem, hem, hem! faintish. My heart is pretty good; yet it beats: and my pulses, ha! I have none→ mercy on me!-hum!-Yes, here they are.Gallop, gallop, gallop, gallop, gallop, gallop! hey, whither will they hurry me? now they're gone again-and now I'm faint again; and pale again, and, hem! and my, hem !-breath, and, hem !—grows short; hem! he, he, hem!

Scand. It takes! pursue it, in the name of love and pleasure.

Mrs Fore. How do you do, Mr Foresight? Fore. Hum, not so well as I thought I was. Lend me your hand.

Scand. Look you there, now. Your lady says your sleep has been unquiet of late. Fore. Very likely!

Mrs Fore. O, mighty restless! but I was afraid to tell him so. He has been subject to talking and starting.

Scand. And did not use to be so?

Mrs Fore. Never, never; till within these three nights, I cannot say that he has once broken my rest since we have been married.

Fore. I will go to bed.

Scand. Do so, Mr Foresight, and say your prayers-He looks better than he did. Mrs Fore. Nurse, nurse!

Fore. Do you think so, Scandal? Scand. Yes, yes; I hope this will be gone by morning: take it in time. Fore. I hope so.

Enter NURSE.

Mrs Fore. Nurse, your master is not well; put him to bed.

Scand. I hope you will be able to see Valentine in the morning. You had best take a little diacodium and cowslip water, and lie upon your back; may be you may dream.

Fore. I thank you, Mr Scandal; I will. Nurse, let me have a watch-light, and lay the Crumbs of Comfort by me.

Nurse. Yes, sir.

[Exit. Fore. And-hem, hem! I am very faint. Scand. No, no, you look much better. Fore. Do I? And I hope, neither the lord of my ascendant, nor the moon, will be combust; and then, I may do well.

Scand. I hope so-Leave that to me; I will erect a scheme; and, I hope I shall find both Sol and Venus in the sixth house.

Fore. I thank you, Mr Scandal; indeed, that

Mrs Fore. Well; and what use do you hope to make of this project? You don't think that you are ever like to succeed in your design upon me? Scand. Yes, faith, I do; I have a better opinion both of you and myself, than to despair.

Mrs Fore. Did you ever hear such a toad?Hark'ye, devil: do you think any woman honest ? Scand. Yes, several, very honest-they'll cheat a little at cards, sometimes; but that's nothing. Mrs Fore. Pshaw! but virtuous, I mean?

Scand. Yes, faith, I believe some women are virtuous, too; but 'tis, as I believe some men are valiant, through fear-For why should a man court danger, or a woman shun pleasure?

Mrs. Fore. I'll swear you're impudent,
Scand. I'll swear you're handsome.

Mrs Fore. Pish, you'd tell me so, though you did not think so.

Scand. And you'd think so, though I did not tell you so and now I think we know one another pretty well.

Mrs Fore. O Lord! who's here?

Enter MRS FRAIL and BEN.

Ben. Mess, I love to speak my mind-Father has nothing to do with me. Nay, I can't say that neither; he has something to do with me; but what does that signify? If so be, that I ben't minded to be steered by him, 'tis as thof he should strive against wind and tide.

Mrs Frail. Ay, but, my dear, we must keep it secret, till the estate be settled; for, you know, marrying without an estate is like sailing in a ship without ballast.

Ben. He, he, he! why that's true; just so for all the world, it is as like as two cable ropes.

Mrs Frail. And though I have a good portion, you know one would not venture all in one bottom.

Ben. Why, that's true again; for, mayhap, one bottom may spring a leak. You have hit it, indeed; mess, you've nicked the channel.

Mrs Frail. Well, but if you should forsake me after all, you'd break my heart.

Ben. Break your heart? I'd rather the Marygold should break her cable in a storm, as well as I love her. Flesh, you don't think I'm falsehearted, like a landman? A sailor would be honest, thof, mayhap, he has never a penny of money in his pocket. Mayhap, I may not have so fair a face as a citizen or courtier; but, for all that, I've as good blood in my veins, and a heart as sound as a biscuit.

Mrs Frail. And will you love me always? Ben. Nay, an I love once, I'll stick like pitch; I'll tell you that. Come, I'll sing you a song of a sailor.

Mrs Frail. Hold, there's my sister; I'll call

Ben. The song was made upon one of our ship's-crew's wife; our boatswain made the song; mayhap you know her, sir. Before she married, she was called Buxom Joan of Deptford. Scand. I have heard of her. [BEN sings.

BALLAD.

A soldier and a sailor,
A tinker and a tailor,
Had once a doubtful strife, sir,
To make a maid a wife, sir,

Whose name was Buxom Joan.
For now the time was ended,
When she no more intended
To lick her lips at men, sir,
And gnaw the sheets in vain, sir,
And lie o'nights alone.

The soldier swore like thunder,
He loved her more than plunder;
And shewed her many a scar, sir,
That he had brought from far, sir,

With fighting for her sake.
The tailor thought to please her,
With offering her his measure.
The tinker, too, with mettle,
Said he could mend her kettle,

And stop up every leak.

But while these three were prating,
The sailor slily waiting,
Thought if it came about, sir,
That they should all fall out, sir,

He then might play his part:
And just even as he meant, sir,
To loggerheads they went, sir,
And then he let fly at her,
A shot 'twixt wind and water,

That won the fair maid's heart.

Ben. Thus we live at sea; eat biscuit, and drink flip; put on a clean shirt once a quartercome home, and lie with our landladies once a year; get rid of a little money, and then put off with the next fair wind. How d'ye like us?

Mrs Frail. Oh, you are the happiest, merriest men alive!

Mrs Fore. We're beholden to Mr Benjamin for this entertainment. I believe it is late.

Ben. Why, forsooth, an you think so, you had best go to bed. For my part, I mean to toss a can, and remember my sweetheart, before I turn in; mayhap I may dream of her!

Mrs Fore. Mr Scandal, you had best go to bed, and dream, too.

Scand. Why, faith, I have a good lively imagination; and can dream as much to the purpose as another, if I set about it. But dreaming is the poor retreat of a lazy, hopeless, and imperfect lover.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I-VALENTINE'S Lodgings.

Enter SCANDAL and JEREMY. Scand. WELL, is your master ready! does he look madly, and talk madly?

Jer. Yes, sir; you need make no great doubt of that: he, that was so near turning poet yesterday morning, can't be much to seek in playing the inadman to day.

Scand. Would he have Angelica acquainted with the design?

Jer. No, sir, not yet. He has a mind to try whether his playing the madman won't make her play the fool, and fall in love with him; or at least own that she has loved him all this while, and concealed it.

I should be vext to have a trick put upon me !— May I not see him?

Scand. I'm afraid the physician is not willing you should see him yet. Jeremy go in and inquire. [Exit JEREMY.

Ang. Ha! I saw him wink and smile! I fancy a trick. I'll try. [Aside.] I would disguise to all the world, sir, a failing which I must own to you -I fear my happiness depends upon the recovery of Valantine. Therefore, I conjure you, as you are his friend, and as you have compassion on one fearful of affliction, to tell me what I am to hope for-I cannot speak-But you may tell me, for you know what I would ask.

Jer. Like enough, sir: for I told her maid this morning, my master was run stark mad, only for love of her mistress. I hear a coach stop: if it should be she, sir, I believe he would not see her, till he hears how she takes it.

Scand. Well, I'll try her-'tis she; here she

comes.

Enter ANGELICA.

Ang. Mr Scandal, I suppose you don't think it a novelty, to see a woman visit a man at his own lodgings in a morning?

Scand. Not upon a kind occasion, madam. But, when a lady comes, tyrannically, to insult a ruined lover, and make manifest the cruel triumphs of her beauty, the barbarity of it something surprizes me.

Ang. I don't like raillery from a serious face. Pray, tell me what is the matter?

Jer. No strange matter, madam; my master's mad, that's all. I suppose your ladyship has thought him so a great while.

Ang. How d'ye mean! mad?

Jer. Why, faith, madam, he's mad for want of his wits, just as he was poor for want of money. His head is e'en as light as his pockets; and any body, that has a mind to a bad bargain, can't do better than to beg him for his estate.

Ang. If you speak truth, your endeavouring at wit is very unseasonable.

Scand. She's concerned, and loves him!

[Aside.

Ang. Mr Scandal, you can't think me guilty of so much inhumanity, as not to be concerned for a man I must own myself obliged to. Pray, tell me the truth.

Scand. Faith, madam, I wish telling a lie would mend the matter. But this is no new effect of an unsuccessful passion.

Ang. [Aside.] I know not what to think! Yet

your aversion occasioned his distemper.

Ang. Say you so? nay, then I'm convinced : and if I don't play trick for trick, may I never taste the pleasure of revenge! [Aside.]-Acknowledgement of love! I find you have mistaken my compassion, and think me guilty of a weakness I am a stranger to. But I have too much sincerity to deceive you, and too much charity to suffer him to be deluded with vain hopes. Good nature and humanity oblige me to be concerned for him but to love, is neither in my power nor inclination.

:

Scand. Hey, brave woman, i'faith!-Won't you see him then, if he desires it?

Ang. What signifies a madman's desires? besides, 'twould make me uneasy-If I don't see him, perhaps my concern for him may lessenIf I forget him, 'tis no more than he has done by himself; and now the surprise is over, methinks I'm not half so sorry as I was.

Scand. So, faith, good-nature works apace; you were confessing just now an obligation to his love.

Ang. But I have considered that passions are unreasonable and involuntary. If he loves, he can't help it; and if I don't love, I cannot help it: no more than he can help his being a man, or my being a woman; or no more than I can, help my want of inclination to stay longer here.

[Exit.

Scand. Humph!-An admirable composition, faith, this same womankind!

Enter JEREMY.

Jer. What, is she gone, sir?

Scand. Gone? why she was never here, nor any where else; nor I don't know her, if I sce her, nor you neither.

Jer. Good lack! what's the matter now? are any more of us to be mad? Why, sir, my master longs to see her; and is almost mad in good earnest with the joyful news of her being here.

Scand. We are all under a mistake. Ask no questions, for I can't resolve you; but I'll inform your master. In the mean time, if our project succeed no better with his father than it does with his mistress, he may descend from his exaltation of madness into the road of common sense, and be content only to be made a fool with other reasonable people. I hear sir Sampson. You know your cue? I'll to your master. [Exit.

Enter SIR SAMPSON and BUCKRAM.. Sir Sam. D'ye see, Mr Buckram, here's the paper signed with his own hand.

Buck. Good, sir. And the conveyance is ready drawn in this box, if he be ready to sign and seal.

Sir Sam. Ready! body o'me, he must be ready his sham sickness sha'nt excuse him----O, here's his scoundrel. Sirrah, where's your master?

Jer. Ah, sir, he's quite gone!

Sir Sam. Gone! what, he's not dead?
Jer. No, sir, not dead.

Sir Sam. What, is he gone out of town? run away? ha! has he tricked me? Speak, varlet. Jer. No, no, sir, he's safe enough, sir, an he were but as sound, poor gentleman! He is indeed here, sir, and not here, sir.

Sir Sam. Hey-day, rascal, do you banter me? sirrah, d'ye banter me?-Speak, sirrah; where is he? for I will find him.

Jer. Would you could, sir; for he has lost himself. Indeed, sir, I have almost broke my heart about himn---I can't refrain tears when I think on him, sir: I'm as melancholy for him as a passing-bell, sir; or a horse in a pond.

Sir Sam. A pox confound your similitudes, sir: -Speak to be understood: and tell me in plain terms what is the matter with him, or I'll crack your fool's skull.

Jer. Ah, you've hit it, sir; that's the matter with him, sir; his skull's cracked, poor gentleman! he's stark mad, sir.

Sir Sam. Mad!

Buck. What, is he non compos?

Jer. Quite non compos, sir.

Buck. Why, then, all's obliterated, sir Sampson. If he be non compos mentis, his act and Ideed will be of no effect; it is not good in law.

Sir Sam. Oons, I won't believe it; let me see hin, sir. Mad! I'll make him find his senses. Jer. Mr Scandal is with him, sir; I'll knock at the door.

Sir Sam. Gads bobs, does he not know? Is he mischievous? I'll speak gently. Val, Val, dost thou not know me, boy? not know thy own father, Val? I am thy own father; and this, honest Brief Buckram, the lawyer.

Fal. It may be so-I did not know you----the world is full. There are people that we do know, and people that we do not know, and yet the sun shines upon all alike. There are fathers that have many children; and there are children that have many fathers--'tis strange ! But I am Honesty, and come to give the world the lie.

Sir Sam. Body o'me, I know not what to say to him!

Val. Why does that lawyer wear black?does he carry his conscience without-side? Lawver, what art thou? dost thou know me?

Buck. O Lord! what must I say?- -Yes, sir. Val. Thou liest; for I am Honesty. 'Tis hard I cannot get a livelihood amongst you. I have been sworn out of Westminster-Hall the first day of every term-Let me see---no matter how long ---But I'll tell you one thing; it is a question that would puzzle an arithmetician, if I should ask him, whether the bible saves more souls in Westminster-Abbey, or damns more in Westster-Hall?---For my part, I am Honesty, and can't tell; I have very few acquaintance.

Sir Sam. Body o' me, he talks sensibly in his madness---Has he no intervals?

Jer. Very short, sir.

Buck. Sir, I can do you no service while he's in this condition. Here's your paper, sir-He may do me a mischief if I stay-The conveyance is ready, sir, if he recover his senses. [Exit. Sir Sam. Hold, hold; don't you go yet. Scand. You'd better let him go, sir; and send for him if there be occasion: for I fancy his presence provokes him more.

Val. Is the lawyer gone? 'Tis well; then we may drink about, without going together by the ears. Heigh ho! what o'clock is it? My father here! your blessing, sir.

Sir Sam. He recovers !---Bless thee, Val !----How dost thou do, boy?

Val. Thank you, sir, pretty well. I have been a little out of order. Won't you please to sit, sir? Sir Sam. Ay, boy. Come, thou shalt sit down by me.

Val. Sir, 'tis my duty to wait.

Sir Sam. How now? what's here to do?

[Starting.

Val. Ha! who's that? Scand. For Heaven's sake, softly, sir, and gently don't provoke him.

Val. Answer me, who's that? and that?

Sir Sam. Let me feel thy hand again, Val. It does not shake-I believe thou canst write, Val? Ha, boy? thou canst write thy name, Val?

Jeremy, step and overtake Mr Buckram; bid him make haste back with the conveyance-quick! [Exit JEREMY. Scand. That ever I should suspect such a heathen of any remorse! [Aside. Sir Sam. Dost thou know this paper, Val? I know thou'rt honest, and wilt perform articles. [Shews him the paper, but holds it out of his reach.]

Val. Pray let me see it, sir; you hold it so far off, that I can't tell whether I know it or no.

Sir Sam. See it, boy? Ay, ay, why thou dost see it 'tis thy own hand, Vally. Why, let me see. I can read it as plain as can be: look you here-[Reads.] The condition of this obligation'-Look you, as plain as can be, so it begins

-And then at the bottom- As witness my hand, VALENTINE LEGEND,' in great lettersWhy, 'tis as plain as the nose on one's face. What, are my eyes better than thine? I believe I can read it farther off yet-let me see

[Stretches his arm as far as he can. Val. Will you please to let me hold it, sir? Sir Sam. Let thee hold it, say'st thou?-Ay, with all my heart-What matter is it who holds it? What need any body hold it ?—I'll put it in | my pocket, Val, and then nobody need hold it[Puts the paper in his pocket.] There, Val: its safe enough, boy. But thou shalt have it as soon as thou hast set thy hand to another paper, little Val.

Enter JEREMY and BUCKRAM.

Val. What, is my bad genius here again? Oh no, 'tis the lawyer, with an itching palm; and he's come to be scratched. My nails are not long enough. Let me have a pair of red hot tongs quickly, quickly; and you shall see me act St Dunstan, and lead the devil by the nose.

Buck. O Lord, let me be gone! I'll not venture myself with a madman. [Runs out. Val. Ha, ha, ha! you need not run so fast. Honesty will not overtake you. Ha, ha, ha! the rogue found me out to be in forma pauperis presently.

Sir Sam. Oons! what a vexation is here! I know not what to do or say, or which way to go. Val. Who's that, that's out of his way? I am Honesty, and can set him right. Hark'ee, friend, the strait road is the worst way you can go. He that follows his nose always, will very often be led into a stink. Probatum est. But what are you for? religion or politics? There's a couple of topics for you, no more like one another than oil and vinegar; and yet these two, beaten together by a state cook, make sauce for the whole nation.

Sir Sam. What the devil had I to do, ever to beget sons? why did I ever marry?

Val. Because thou wert a monster, old boy. The two greatest monsters in the world, are a man and a woman. What's thy opinion?

Sir Sam. Why, my opinion is, that these two monsters, joined together, make yet a greater; that's a man and his wife.

Val. Aha, old Truepenny! sayest thou so? Thou hast nicked it. But it is wonderful strange, Jeremy.

Jer. What is it, sir?

Val. That grey hairs should cover a green head-and I make a fool of my father. What's here? Erra Pater, or a bearded sibyl? If pro phecy comes, Honesty must give place.

[Exeunt VALENTINE and JEREMY.

Enter FORESIGHT, MRS FORESIGHT, and
MRS FRAIL.

Fore. What says he? What did he prophesy? Ha, Sir Sampson! Bless us! how are we?"

Sir Sam. Are we? A pox on your prognostications! Why, we are fools as we used to be. Oons, that you could not foresee that the moon would predominate, and my son be mad! Where's your oppositions, your trines, and your quadrates? Ah! pox on't, that I, who know the world, and men and manners, who don't believe a syllable in the sky and stars, and sun and almanacks, and trash, should be directed by a dreamer, an omen-hunter, and defer business in expectation of a lucky hour! when, body o'me! there never was a lucky hour after the first opportunity. Exit.

Fore. Ah, sir Sampson, Heaven help your head! This is none of your lucky hours- Nemo omnibus horis sapit !- -What, is he gone, and in contempt of science? Ill stars, and unconvertible ignorance attend him!

Scand. You must excuse his passion, Mr Foresight; for he has been heartily vexed. His son is non compos mentis, and thereby incapable of making any conveyance in law; 30 that all his measures are disappointed.

Fore. Ha! say you so? Mrs Frail. What, has my sea-lover lost his anchor of hope, then?

[Aside to MRS FORESIGHT. Mrs Fore. O sister, what will you do with

him?

Mrs Frail. Do with him? Send him to sea again in the next foul weather. He's used to an inconstant element, and won't be surprised to see the tide turned.

Fore. Wherein was I mistaken, not to foresce this? [Considers. Scand. Madam, you and I can tell him something else, that he did not foresee, and more particularly relating to his own fortune. [Aside to MRS FORESIGHT.] You look pretty well, Mr Foresight. How did you rest last night?

Fore. Truly, Mr Scandal, I was so taken up with broken dreams, and distracted visions, that I remember little.

Scand. But would you not talk with Valentine? Perhaps you may understand him; I am apt to