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mutual uneasiness. I am sure I have enough to do to be honest, and yet keep well with them both; but they know I love them, and that makes the task less painful, however. Oh, here's the prince of poor coxcombs, the representative of all the better fed than taught! Ho, ho, Tom! whither so gay and so airy this morning?

Enter Tom, singing.

Tom. Sir, we servants of single gentlemen are another kind of people than you domestic ordinary drudges that do business; we are raised above you: the pleasures of board-wages, taverndinners, and many a clear gain, vails, alas! you never heard or dreamt of.

Humph. Thou hast follies and vices enough for a man of ten thousand a-year, though it is but as t'other day that I sent for you to town, to put you into Mr Sealand's family, that you might learn a little before I put you to my young master, who is too gentle for training such a rude thing as you were into proper obedience. You then pulled off your hat to every one you met in the street, like a bashful, great, awkward cub, as you were. But your great oaken cudgel, when you were a booby, became you much better than that dangling stick at your button, now you are a fop, that's fit for nothing except it hangs there to be ready for your master's hand when you are impertinent.

Tom. Uncle Humphrey, you know my master scorns to strike his servants; you talk as if the world was now just as it was when my old master and you were in your youth—when you went to dinner because it was so much a clock, when the great blow was given in the hall at the pantry-door, and all the family came out of their holes, in such strange dresses, and formal faces, as you see in the pictures in our long gallery in the country.

Humph. Why, you wild rogue!

Tom. You could not fall to your dinner, till a formal fellow, in a black gown, said something over the meat, as if the cook had not made it ready enough.

Humph. Sirrah, who do you prate after? despising men of sacred characters! I hope you never heard my young master talk so like a profligate!

Tom. Sir, I say you put upon me when I first came to town about being orderly, and the doctrine of wearing shams to make linen last clean a fortnight, keeping my clothes fresh, and wearing a frock within doors.

Humph. Sirrah, I gave you those lessons, because I supposed, at that time, your master and you might have dined at home every day, and cost you nothing; then you might have made you a good family servant; but the gang you have frequented since at chocolate-houses and taverns, in a continual round of noise and extravagance

Voc. II.

Tom. I don't know what you heavy inmates call noise and extravagance; but we gentlemen, who are well fed, and cut a figure, sir, think it a fine life, and that we must be very pretty fellows, who are kept only to be looked at.

Humph. Very well, sir-I hope the fashion of being lewd and extravagant, despising of decency and order, is almost at an end, since it is arrived persons of your quality.

at

Tom. Master Humphrey, ha, ha! you were an unhappy lad to be sent up to town in such queer days as you were. Why now, sir, the lacquies are the men of pleasure of the age; the top gamesters; and many a laced coat about town, have had their education in our party-coloured regiment. We are false lovers, have a taste of music, poetry, billet-doux, dress, politics, ruin damsels; and when we are weary of this lewd town, and have a mind to take up, whip into our masters' wigs and linen, and marry fortunes. Humph. Hey day!

Tom. Nay, sir, our order is carried up to the highest dignities and distinctions: step but into the Painted Chamber-and, by our titles, you'd take us all for men of quality-then, again, come down to the Court of Requests, and you shall see us all laying our broken heads together, for the good of the nation; and though we never carry a question nemine contradicente, yet this I can say with a safe conscience, (and I wish every gentleman of our cloth could lay his hand upon his heart, and say the same) that I never took so much as a single mug of beer for my vote in all my life.

Humph. Sirrah, there is no enduring your extravagance; I'll hear you prate no longer: I wanted to see you to inquire how things go with your master, as far as you understand them: I suppose he knows he is to be married to-day?

Tom. Ay, sir, he knows it, and is dressed as gay as the sun; but, between you and I, my dear! he has a very heavy heart under all that gaiety. As soon as he was dressed, I retired, but overheard him sigh in the most heavy manner. He walked thoughtfully to and fro in the room, then went into his closet: when he came out, he gave me this for his mistress, whose maid you know

son.

Humph. Is passionately fond of your fine per

Tom. The poor fool is so tender, and loves to hear me talk of the world, and the plays, operas, and ridottees for the winter, the Parks and Bellsize for our summer diversions; and lard! says she, you are so wild-but you have a world of

humour.

Humph. Coxcomb! Well, but why don't you run with your master's letter to Mrs Lucinda, as he ordered you?

Tom. Because Mrs Lucinda is not so easily come at as you think for.

Humph. Not easily come at! why, sir, are not her father and my old master agreed that she and 4 I

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Mr Bevil are to be one flesh before to-morrow morning?

Tom. It's no matter for that: her mother, it seems, Mrs Sealand, has not agreed to it; and you must know, Mr Humphrey, that, in that family, the grey mare is the better horse.

Humph. What dost thou mean?

Tom. In one word, Mrs Sealand pretends to have a will of her own, and has provided a relation of hers, a stiff starched philosopher, and a wise fool, for her daughter; for which reason, for these ten days past, she has suffered no message nor letter from my master to come near her. Humph. And where had you this intelligence? Tom. From a foolish fond soul, that can keep nothing from me- -one that will deliver this letter, too, if she is rightly managed.

Humph. What, her pretty handmaid, Mrs Phillis?

Tom. Even she, sir. This is the very hour, you know, she usually comes hither, under a pretence of a visit to our housekeeper forsooth, but in reality to have a glance at

Humph. Your sweet face, I warrant you. Tom. Nothing else in nature. You must know, I love to fret and play with the little

wanton

Humph. Play with the little wanton! what

will this world come to!

Tom. I met her this morning in a new manteau and petticoat, not a bit the worse for her lady's wearing; and she has always new thoughts and new airs with new clothes then, she never fails to steal some glance or gesture from every visitant at their house, and is indeed the whole town of coquettes at secondhand.But here she comes; in one motion she speaks and describes herself better than all the words in the world can.

Humph. Then I hope, dear sir! when your own affair is over, you will be so good as to mind your master's with her.

Tom. Dear Humphrey' you know my master is my friend, and those are people I never forget

Humph. Sauciness itself! but I'll leave you to do your best for him. [Exit.

Enter PHILLIS.

slide, to be short-sighted, or stare, to fleer in the face, to look distant, to observe, to overlook, yet all become me; and if I were rich, I could twire and loll as well as the best of them. Oh Tom, Tom! is it not a pity that you should be so great a coxcomb, and I so great a coquette, and yet be such poor devils as we are?

Tom. Mrs Phillis, I am your humble servant for that

Phil. Yes, Mr Thomas, I know how much you are my humble servant, and know what you said to Mrs Judy, upon seeing her in one of her lady's cast manteaus, that any one would have thought her the lady, and that she had ordered the other to wear it till it sat easy--for now only it was becoming to my lady it was only a covering, to Mrs Judy it was a habit. This you said after somebody or other. Oh Tom, Tom! thou art as false and as base as the hest gentleman of them all: but, you wretch! talk to me no more on the old odious subject: don't, I say.

Tom. I know not how to resist your commands, madam. [In a submissive tone, retiring. Phil. Commands about parting are grown mighty easy to you of late.

Tom. Oh, I have her! I have nettled and put her into the right temper to be wrought upon and set a-prating. [Aside.]-Why, truly, to be plain with you, Mrs Phillis, I can take little comfort of late in frequenting your house.

Phil. Pray, Mr Thomas, what is it, all of a sudden, offends your nicety at our house? Tom. I don't care to speak partículars, but I dislike the whole.

Phil. I thank you, sir; I am a part of that whole.

Tom. Mistake me not, good Phillis.
Phil. Good Phillis! saucy enough. But how-

ever

Tom. I say it is, that thou art a part, which gives me pain for the disposition of the whole. You must know, madam, to be serious, I am a man, at the bottom, of prodigious nice honour. You are too much exposed to company at your house. To be plain, I don't like so many that would be your mistress's lovers whispering to

you.

Phil. Don't think to put that upon me. You say this, because I wrung you to the heart when I touched your guilty conscience about Judy.

Tom. Ah, Phillis, Phillis! if you but knew my

Phil. Oh, Mr Thomas, is Mrs Sugarkey at home?---Lard! one is almost ashamed to pass along the streets. The town is quite empty, and nobody of fashion left in it; and the ordinary people do so stare to see any thing dres-heart! sed like a woman of condition, as it were on the same floor with them, pass by. Alas! alas! it is a sad thing to walk! O fortune, fortune!— Tom. What! a sad thing to walk! why, madam Phillis, do you wish yourself lame?

Phil. No, Mr Thomas, but I wish I were generally carried in a coach or chair, and of a fortune neither to stand nor go, but to totter, or

Phil. I know too much ou't.

Tom. Nay, then, poor Crispo's fate and mine are- -therefore, give me leave to say, or sing at least, as he does upon the same occa

sion

Se vedette, &c. [Sings.]

Phil. What, do you think I'm to be fobbed off

with a song?-I don't question but you have sung the same to Mrs Judy, too.

Tom. Don't disparage your charms, good Phillis, with jealousy of so worthless an object; besides, she is a poor hussy; and if you doubt the sincerity of my love, you will allow me true to my interest. You are a fortune, Phillis

SCENE II-BEVIL junior's lodgings. BE-
VIL, junior, reading.

Bev. These moral writers practise virtue after death. This charming vision of Mirza! such an author, consulted in a morning, sets the spirits for the vicissitudes of the day better than the glass does a man's person. But what a day have

Phil. What would the fop be at now? In good time, indeed, you shall be setting up for a for-I to go through! to put on an easy look with an

tune!

Tom. Dear Mrs Phillis! you have such a spirit that we shall never be dull in marriage, when we come together. But I tell you, you are a fortune, and you have an estate in my hands.

[He pulls out a purse, she eyes it. Phil. What pretence have I to what is in your hands, Mr Thomas?

Tom. As thus: there are hours, you know, when a lady is neither pleased nor displeased, neither sick nor well, when she lolls or loiters, when she is without desires, from having more of every thing than she knows what to do with. Phil. Well, what then?

Tom. When she has not life enough to keep her bright eyes quite open to look at her own dear image in the glass.

Phil. Explain thyself, and don't be so fond of thy own prating.

Tom. There are also prosperous and good natured moments, as when a knot or a patch is happily fixed, when the complexion particularly flourishes.

aching heart! If this lady, my father urges me to marry, should not refuse me, my dilemma is insupportable. But why should I fear it? Is not she in equal distress with me? Has not the letter I have sent her this morning confessed my inclination to another? Nay, have I not moral assurances of her engagements, too, to my friend Myrtle? It's impossible but she must give in to it; for sure to be denied is a favour any man may pretend to. It must be so. Well, then, with the assurance of being rejected, I think Í may confidently say to my father, I am ready to marry her-then, let me resolve upon (what I am not very good at) an honest dissimulation.

Enter TOM.

Tom. Sir John Bevil, sir, is in the next room. Bev. Dunce! why did you not bring him in? Tom. I told him, sir, you were in your closet. Bev. I thought you had known, sir, it was my duty to see my father any where.

[Going himself to the door. Tom. The devil's in my master! he has always more wit than I have. [Aside.

BEVIL, junior, introducing SIR JOHN. Bev. Sir, you are the most gallant, the most complaisant of all parents. Sure 'tis not a com pliment to say, these lodgings are yours. Why would you not walk in, sir?

Sir J. Bev. I was loath to interrupt you unsea> sonably on your wedding-day.

Bev. One to whom I am beholden for my birth-day might have used less ceremony.

Phil. Well, what then? I have not patience! Tom. Why, then-or on the like occasionswe servants, who have skill to know how to time business, see, when such a pretty folded thing as this [Shews a letter.] may be presented, laid, or dropped, as best suits the present humour. And, madam, because it is a long wearisome journey to run through all the several stages of a lady's temper, my master, who is the most reasonable man in the world, presents you this to bear your charges on the road. [Gives her the purse. Phil. Now, you think me a corrupt hussy? Tom. O fy! I only think you'll take the letter. Phil. Nay, I know you do; but I know my own innocence: I take it for my mistress's sake. Tom. I know it, my pretty one! I know it. Phil. Yes, I say I do it, because I would not Bev. I assure you, sir, there was no insolence have my mistress deluded by one who gives noin it upon the prospect of such a vast fortune's be proof of his passion: but I'll talk more of this asing added to our family, but much acknowledgeyou see me on my way home. No, Tom; I as- ment of the lady's great desert. sure thee I take this trash of thy master's not for the value of the thing, but as it convinces me he has a true respect for my mistress. I remember a verse to the purpose:

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Sir J. Bev. Well, son, I have intelligence you have writ to your mistress this morning. It would please my curiosity to know the contents of a wedding-day letter, for courtship must then be over.

Sir J. Bev. But, dear Jack, are you in earnest in all this? and will you really marry her?

Bev. Did I ever disobey any command of yours, sir? nay, any inclination that I saw you bent upon?

Sir J. Bev. Why, I can't say you have, son: but, methinks, in this whole business you have not been so warm as I could have wished you;

you have visited her, it is true; but you have not been particular. Every one knows you can say and do as handsome things as any man; but you have done nothing but lived in the general, being complaisant only.

Bev. As I am ever prepared to marry if you bid me, so I am ready to let it alone if you will have me.

HUMPHREY enters, unobserved.

Sir J. Bev. Look you there now? Why, what am I to think of this so absolute and so indifferent a resignation?

Bev. Think that I am still your son, sir. Sir, you have been married, and I have not; and you have, sir, found the inconvenience there is when a man weds with too much love in his head. I have been told, sir, that at the time you married, you made a mighty bustle on the occasion-there was challenging and fighting, scaling walls-locking up the lady-and the gallant under an arrest, for fear of killing all his rivals. Now, sir, I suppose, you having found the ill consequence of these strong passions and prejudices in preference of one woman to another, in case of a man's becoming a widower

Sir J. Bev. How is this?

Bev. I say, sir, experience has made you wiser in your care of me; for, sir, since you lost my dear mother, your time has been so heavy, so lonely, and so tasteless, that you are so good as to guard me against the like unhappiness, by marrying me prudentially, by way of bargain and sale; for, as you well judge, a woman, that is espoused for a fortune, is yet a better bargain if she dies; for then a man well enjoys what he did marry, the money, and is disencumbered of what he did not marry, the woman.

Sir J. Bev. But, pray, sir, do you think Lucinda, then, a woman of such little merit?

Bev. Pardon me, sir; I don't carry it so far, neither; I am rather afraid I shall like her too well; she has, for one of her fortune, a great many needless, and superfluous good qualities.

Sir J. Bev. I am afraid, son, there's something I don't see yet-something that's smothered under all this raillery.

Bev. Not in the least, sir. If the lady is dressed and ready, you see I am. I suppose the lawyers are ready, too?

Enter HUMPHREY,

Humph. Sir, Mr Sealand is at the coffee-house, and has sent to speak with you.

Sir J. Bev. Oh! that's well! then I warrant the lawyers are ready. Son, you'll be in the way, you say

Bev. If you please, sir, I'll take a chair, and go to Mr Sealand's, where the young lady and I will wait your leisure.

Sir J. Bev. By no means- -the old fellow will be so vain if he sees

Bev. Aye-but the young lady, sir, will think me so indifferent

Humph. Aye-there you are right—press your readiness to go to the bride-he won't let you. [Aside to BEV.

Ber. Are you sure of that? [Aside to HUMPH. Humph. How he likes being prevented! [Aside.

Sir J. Bev. No, no; you are an hour or two too early. [Looking on his watch.

Bev. You'll allow me, sir, to think it too late to visit a beautiful, virtuous, young woman, in the pride and bloom of life, ready to give herself to my arms, and to place her happiness or misery for the future, in being agreeable or displeasing to me.- -Call a chair.

Sir J. Bev. No, no, no, dear Jack! Besides, this Sealand is a moody old fellow. There's no dealing with some people, but by managing with indifference. We must leave to him the conduct of this day; it is the last of his commanding his daughter.

Bev. Sir, he cannot take it ill, that I am impa

tient to be hers.

Sir J. Bev. Pray, let me govern in this matter. You cannot tell how humoursome old fellows are. There's no offering reason to some of them, especially when they are rich. If my son should see him before I've brought old Sealand into better temper, the match would be impracticable.

Aside.

Humph. Pray, sir, let me beg you to let Mr Bevil go. See whether he will not.-[Aside to SIR JOHN.]-[Then to BEVIL.]—Pray, sir, command yourself; since you see my master is positive, it is better you should not go.

Bev. My father commands me as to the object of my affections, but I hope he will not as to the warmth and height of them.

Sir J. Bev. So, I must even leave things as I found them, and, in the mean time, at least keep old Sealand out of his sight. Well, son, I'll go myself, and take orders in your affair-You'll be in the way, I suppose, if I send to you———I'll leave your old friend with you-Humphrey, don't let him stir, d'ye hear. Your servant, your servant.

[Exit SIR JOHN.

Humph. I have a sad time on't, sir, between you and my master-I see you are unwilling, and I know his violent inclinations for the match. I must betray neither, and yet deceive you both, for your common good. Heaven grant a good end of this matter! but there is a lady, sir, that gives your father much trouble and sorrowYou'll pardon me.

Bev. Humphrey, I know thou art a friend to both, and in that confidence I dare tell thee That lady-is a woman of honour and virtue.— You may assure yourself I never will marry without my father's consent; but, give me leave to

bles of value, to his wife, to be educated as his own adopted daughter.

Humph. Fortune here seemed again to smile on her.

say, too, this declaration does not come up to a promise that I will take whomsoever he pleases. Humph. Come, sir; I wholly understand you : you would engage my services to free you from this woman whom my master intends you, to make way in time for the woman you have real-for, in his height of fortune, this captain, too, her ly a mind to.

Bev. Honest Humphrey! You have always been an useful friend to my father and myself; I beg you to continue your good offices, and don't let us come to the necessity of a dispute; for, if we should dispute, I must either part with more than life, or lose the best of fathers.

Humph. My dear master! were I but worthy to know this secret, that so near concerns you, my life, my all, should be engaged to serve you. This, sir, I dare promise, that I am sure I will, and can, be secret: your trust, at worst, but leaves you where you were; and, if I cannot serve you, I will at once be plain, and tell you

So.

Bev. That's all I ask. Thou hast made it now my interest to trust thee. Be patient, then, and hear the story of my heart.

Humph. I am all attention, sir.

Bev. You may remember, Humphrey, that, in my last travels, my father grew uneasy at my making so long a stay at Toulon.

Humph. I remember it; he was apprehensive some woman had laid hold of you.

Bev. Only to make her frowns more terrible!

benefactor, unfortunately was killed at sea, and, dying intestate, his estate fell wholly to an advocate, his brother, who, coming soon to take possession, there found, among his other riches, this blooming virgin at his mercy.

Humph. He durst not, sure, abuse his power? Bed. No wonder if his pampered blood was fired at the sight of her. In short, he loved;" but, when all arts and gentle means had failed to move, he offered, too, his menaces in vain, denouncing vengeance on her cruelty, demanding her to account for all her maintenance from her childhood, seized on her little fortune as his own inheritance, and was dragging her by violence to prison, when Providence at the instant interposed, and sent me, by miracle, to relieve her.

Humph. Twas Providence, indeed! but pray, sir, after all this trouble, how came this lady at last to England?

Bev. The disappointed advocate, finding she had so unexpected a support, on cooler thoughts descended to a composition, which I, without her knowledge, secretly discharged.

Humph. That generous concealment made the obligation double.

Bev. Having thus obtained her liberty, I prevailed, not without some difficulty, to see her safe to England, where we no sooner arrived, but my father, jealous of my being imprudently engaged, immediately proposed this other fatal match, that hangs upon my quiet.

Humph. I find, sir, you are irrecoverably fixed upon this lady.

Bev. His fears were just; for, there, I first saw this lady she is of English birth: her father's name was Danvers, a younger brother of an ancient family, and originally an eminent merchant of Bristol, who, upon repeated misfortunes, was reduced to go privately to the Indies. In this retreat, Providence again grew favourable to his industry, and, in six years time, restored him to his former fortunes. On this, he sent directions over, that his wife and little family should follow him Bev. As my vital life dwells in my heartto the Indies. His wife, impatient to obey such and yet you see what I do to please my father; welcome orders, would not wait the leisure of a walk in this pageantry of dress, this splendid coconvoy, but took the first occasion of a singlevering of sorrow— -But, Humphrey, you have ship; and, with her husband's sister only, and your lesson. this daughter, then scarce seven years old, un- Humph. Now, sir, I have but one material dertook the fatal voyage: for here, poor crea-questionture, she lost her liberty and life: she and her family, with all they had, were unfortunately taken by a privateer from Toulon. Being thus made a prisoner, though, as such, not ill-treated, yet the fright, the shock, and the cruel disappointment, seized with such violence upon her unhealthy frame, she sickened, pined, and died

at sea.

Bev. Ask it freely.

Humph. Is it then your own passion for this secret lady, or hers for you, that gives you this aversion to the match your father has proposed you?

Bev. I shall appear, Humphrey, more romantic in my answer, than in all the rest of my story; for, though I dote on her to death, and have no little reason to believe she has the same thoughts for me, yet, in all my acquaintance and utmost privacies with her, I never once directly told her that I loved.

Humph. Poor soul! Oh, the helpless infant! Bev. Her sister yet survived, and had the care of her; the captain, too, proved to have humanity, and became a father to her; for, having himself married an English woman, and being child- Humph. How was it possible to avoid it? less, he brought home into Toulon this her little Bev. My tender obligations to my father have countrywoman, this orphan, I may call her, pre-laid so inviolable a restraint upon my conduct, senting her, with all her dead mother's movea- that, till I have his consent to speak, I am de

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