J. Meg. Pho! Pox! Charles, you shall go.My aunts think you begin to neglect them; and old maids, you know, are the most jealous creatures in life. Frank. Ranger swears they cannot be maids, they are so good-natured. Well, I agree, on condition I may eat what I please, and go away just when I will. J. Meg. Ay, ay, you shall do just what you will. But how shall we do? My post chaise won't carry us all. Frank. My chariot is here; and I will conduct Mr Bellamy. Bel. Mr Meggot, I beg pardon; I cannot possibly dine out of town; I have an engagement early in the evening. J. Meg. Out of town! No, my dear, I live just by. I see one of the dillettanti, I would not miss speaking to for the universe. And so I expect you at three. [Erit. Frank. Ha, ha, ha! and so you thought you had at least fifty miles to go post for a spoonful of macaroni? Bel. I suppose, then, he is just come out of the country? Frank. Nor that neither. I would venture a wager, from his own house hither, or to an auction or two of old dirty pictures, is the utmost of his travels to-day; or he may have been in pursuit, perhaps, of a new cargo of Venetian toothpicks. Bel. A special acquaintance I have made today. Frank. For all this, Bellamy, he has a heart worthy your friendship. He spends his estate freely, and you cannot oblige him more, than by shewing him how he can be of service to you. Bel. Now you say something. It is the heart, Frankly, I value in a man. Frank. Right-and there is a heart even in a woman's breast, that is worth the purchase, or my judgment has deceived me. Dear Bellamy, I know your concern for me; see her first, and then blame me, if you can. Bel. So far from blaming you, Charles, that, if my endeavours can be serviceable, I will beat the bushes with you. Frank. That, I am afraid, will not do. For you know less of her than I: but if, in your walks, you meet a finer woman than ordinary, let her not escape till I have seen her. Wheresoever she is, she cannot long be hid. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I.-St James's Park. Cla. I care not how soon. I long to meet with such a fellow. Our modern beaux are such Enter CLARINDA, JACINTHA, and MRS STRICT-joint-babies in love, they have no feeling; they LAND. Jac. Ay, ay; we both stand condemned out of our own mouths. Cla. Why, I cannot but own, I never had a thought of any man that troubled me but him. Mrs Strict. Then, I dare swear, by this time, you heartily repent your leaving Bath so soon. Cla. Indeed, you are mistaken. I have not had one scruple since. Jac. Why, what one inducement can he have ever to think of you again? Cla. Oh, the greatest of all inducements, curiosity let me assure you, a woman's surest hold over a man, is to keep him in uncertainty. As soon as ever you put him out of doubt, you put him out of your power; but, when once a woman has awaked his curiosity, she may lead hin a dance of many a troublesome mile, without the least fear of losing him at last. Jac. Now do I heartily wish he may have spirit enough to follow, and use you as you deserve. Such a spirit, with but a little knowledge of our sex, might put that heart of yours into a strange flutter. But are entirely insensible either of pain or pleasure, but from their own dear persons; and, according as we flatter, or affront their beauty, they admire or forsake ours: they are not worthy even of our displeasure; and, in short, abusing them is but so much ill-nature merely thrown away. the man of sense, who values himself upon his high abilities, or the man of wit, who thinks a woman beneath his conversation-to see such the subjects of our power, the slaves of our frowns and smiles, is glorious indeed! Mrs Strict. No man of sense or wit either, if he be truly so, ever did, or ever can, think a woman of merit beneath his wisdom to converse with. Jac. Nor will such a woman value herself upon making such a lover uneasy. Cla. Amazing! Why, every woman can give ease. You cannot be in earnest. Mrs Strict. I can assure you she is, and has put in practice the doctrine she has been teaching. Cla. Impossible! Who ever heard the name of love mentioned without an idea of torment? But, pray let us hear. some visit. Enter MIGNIONET. [Rings a bell. must exert yourself. It is the wife's business to | [A rap at the door.] Oh! Heavens! some troublebait the hook for her husband with variety. Virtue alone, by her own native charms, would do, if the men were perfect. But it is otherwise; and, since vice can assume allurements, why should not truth and innocence have additional ornaments also? Mrs Love. I find sir Brilliant told me truth. [Aside. Mrs Bell. Give me leave, ma'am: I have been married, and am a little in the secret. To win a heart is easy; to keep it is the difficulty. After the fatal words for better, for worse,' women relax into indolence, and, while they are guilty of no infidelity, they think every thing safe. But they are mistaken: a great deal is wanting; an address, a vivacity, a desire to please; the agree able contrast; the sense that pleases, the folly that charms-A favourite poet, Prior, has expressed it with delicacy. 'Above the fixed and settled rules Mrs Love. But when the natural temper Mrs Bell. Oh! the natural temper must be forced. Home must be made a place of pleasure to the husband. How is that to be done? That equality, which you talk of, is a sameness that palls and wearies. A wife should throw infinite variety into her manner. She should, as it were, multiply herself, and be, as it were, sundry different women, on different occasions. The tender, the affectionate, the witty, the silent, all in their turns, all shifting the scene, and she succeeding to herself as quick as lightning. And this I take to be the whole mystery; the way to keep a man. But I beg your pardon. I go on too fast: you will think me the giddiest creature. Mrs Love. Quite the reverse, ma'am; you are very obliging! Mrs Bell. I have tired myself and you, too.But pray, may I now inquire, who was so kind as to intimate that I am acquainted with Mr Lovemore? Mrs Love. It was a mere mistake. I have given you a great deal of trouble. You will excuse my frankness: I had heard that his visits were frequent here. Mrs Bell. His visits frequent here! My lady Constant could not tell you so? Mrs Love. She told me quite the contrary. She knows your amiable qualities, and does you justice. Mrs Bell. The accident is lucky! it has procured me the honour of your acquaintance. And I suppose you imagined that I had robbed you of Mr Lovemore's heart?-Scandal will be buzzing about. I can laugh at every thing of that sort. Mrs Bell. I am not at home. Go, and give an answer. Mig. It is lord Etheridge, ma'am: he is coming up stairs. The servants did not know you had changed your mind. Mrs Bell. Was ever any thing so cross? Tell his lordship I have company; I am busy; I am not well; any thing; don't let him come in. Make haste, dispatch: I won't see him. Mrs Love. I beg I may not hinder you: I shall take my leave. Our conversation grows interesting. I positively will not see my lord. Mrs Bell. By no means. Mrs Love. I can't agree to that. You must see his lordship. I can step into another room. Mrs Bell. Will you be so good? You will find something to amuse you in that cabinet. [Points to a door in the back scene.] We must talk farther. My lord shan't stay long. Mrs Love. Nay, but if you stand upon cere monv Mrs Bell. Very well: I'll contrive it. This is a lover of mine. A lover and a husband are the same thing. Perhaps it will divert you to hear how I manage him. I hear him on the stairs. Make haste: Mignionet, shew the way. [MRS LOVE. and MIG. go out at the back scene. Mrs Bell. Let me see how I look to receive him. [Runs to her glass. Enter LOVEMORE, with a star and garter, as LORD ETHERidge. Love. A heavenly image in the glass appears, To that she bends, to that her eyes she rears, Repairs her smiles Mrs Bell. Repairs her smiles, my lord! You are satirical this morning. Pray, my lord, are my features out of repair, like an old house in the country, that wants a tenant ? Love. Nay, now, you wrest my words from their visible intention. You can't suppose that I impute to such perfect beauty the least want of repair, whatever may be the case, maʼam, with regard to the want of a tenant? Mrs Bell. Oh! then your opinion is, that I want a tenant? And perhaps you think I am going to put up a bill to signify to all passers-by, that here is a mansion to be let, inquire of the widow Bellmour? I like your notion; I don't think it would be a bad scheme. Shall I try it? Love. A palace needs no such invitation. Its natural beauty attracts admiring eyes. But who can bid up to the price? The person who is able to do it conditions will suit? Mrs Bell. Will be happy; I know that is what' ladyship's most obedient-[Curtsying.] We exyou are going to say. But he must do homage pected you last night, but you did not come.-for it and then I will let it to none but a single 'He, he, he and so there was sir George and gentleman. Do you know any body whom these the rest of us; and so, turning the corner of 'Bond-street, the brute of a coachman-I humbly thank your grace [Curtsies.]—the brute of a coachinan overturned us, and so my aunt Roly-Poly was frightened out of her wits; and/ lady Betty has had her nerves again. Only think! such accidents !-I am glad to see you look so well; a l'honneur;' he, he, he! Love. Ho, ho! you paint to the life. I see her moving before me in all her airs. Love. Those conditions, ma'am. -[Aside.] What the devil does she mean? I am not detected, I hope?-To be sure, ma'am, those conditions-And- -none but single gentlemen will pre sume to Mrs Bell. And then it must be a lease for life. But that will never do; nobody will be troubled with it. I shall never get it off my hands; do you think I shall, my lord? Love. There must be very little taste left, if you have not a number of bidders. You know the ambition of my heart; you know I am devoted to you, upon any terms, even though it were to he bought with life. Mrs Bell. Heavens! what a dying swain you are! And does your lordship mean to be guilty of matrimony? Lord! what a question have I asked! To be sure, I am the giddiest creature. My lord, don't you think me a strange madcap? Love. A vein of wit, like yours, that springs at once from vivacity and sentiment, serves to exalt your beauty, and give animation to every charm. Mrs Bel. Upon my word, you have said it finely! But you are in the right, my lord. Your pensive melancholy beauty is the most insipid thing in nature. And yet, we often see features without a mind; and the owner of them sits in the room with you, like a inere vegetable, for an hour together, till, at last, she is incited to the violent exertion of, Yes, sir'- I fancy not, 'ma'am,' and then a matter of fact conversation! Miss Beverly is going to be married to Captain • Shoulder-knot—My lord Mortgage has had another tumble at hazard-Sir Harry Wilding has 'lost his election-They say short aprons are 'coming into fashion.' Love. Oh! a matter of fact conversation is insupportable. Mrs Bel. But you meet with nothing else. All in great spirits about nothing, and not an idea among them. Go to Ranelagh, or to what public place you will, it is just the same. A lady comes up to you;- How charmingly you look! -But, my dear m'em, did you hear what happened to us the other night? We were going 'home from the opera—you know my aunt RolyPoly? it was her coach. There was she and lady Betty Fidget--What a sweet blonde! How do you do, my dear? [Curtsying as to another going by. My lady Betty is quite recovered; we were all frightened about her; but doctor Snake-root was called in; no, not doctor Snakeroot, Doctor Bolus; and so he altered the course of the medicines, and so my lady Betty is purely now. Well, there was she, and my aunt, and sir George Bragwell-a pretty man sir George!-finest teeth in the world!Your VOL. II. Mrs Bel. With this conversation their whole stock is exhausted, and away they run to cards. Quadrille has murdered wit! Love. Ay, and beauty, too. Cards are the worst enemies to a complexion: the small pox is not so bad. The passions throw themselves into every feature: I have seen the countenance of an angel changed, in a moment, to absolute defor mity: the little loves and graces that sparkled in the eye, bloomed in the cheek, and smiled about the mouth, all wing their flight, and leave the face, which they before adorned, a prey to grief, to anger, malice, and fury, and the whole train of fretful passions. Mrs Bel. And the language of the passions is sometimes heard upon those occasions. Love. Very true, madam; and if, by chance, they do bridle and hold in a little, the struggle they undergo is the most ridiculous sight in nature. I have seen a huge oath quivering on the pale lip of a reigning toast for half an hour together, and an uplifted eye accusing the gods for the loss of an odd trick. And then, at last, the whole room in a babel of sounds. My lord, you flung away the game.-Sir George, why did not you rough the spade?-Captain Hazard, why did not you lead through the honours?-Madam, 'it was not the play-Pardon me, sir—but madam ́ —but sir—I would not play with you for straws; 'don't you know what Hoyle says?- -If A and 'B are partners against C and D, and the game 'nine all, A and B have won three tricks, and 'C and D four tricks: C leads his suit, D puts up the king, then returns the suit; A passes, C puts up the queen, and B trumps it;' and so A and B, and C and D are bandied about; they attack, they defend, and all is jargon and confusion, wrangling, noise, and nonsense; and high life, and polite conversation.- -Ha! ha! ha! Mrs Bel. Ha! ha! the pencil of Hogarth could not do it better. And yet one is dragged to these places. One must play sometimes. We must let our friends pick our pockets now and then, or they drop our acquaintance. Do you ever play, my lord? Love. Play, ma'am? [Aside.] What does she mean? I must play the hypocrite to the end of the chapter.- -Play?-Now and then, as you say, one must, to oblige, and from necessity; 42 Re-enter LUCETTA. Luc. Sir! If he should suspect, and search [Aside. me now, I'm undone. Strict. She is a sly girl, and may be serviceable. [Aside.] Lucetta, you are a good girl, and have an honest face. I like it. It looks as if it carried no deceit in it-Yet, if she should be false, she can do me most harm. [Aside. Luc. Pray, sir, speak out. Strict. [Aside.] No; she is a woman, and it is the highest imprudence to trust her. Luc. I am not able to understand you. Strict. I am glad of it. I would not have you understand me. Luc. Then, what did you call me for?-If he should be in love with my face, it would be rare [Aside. sport. Strict. Tester, ay, Tester is the proper person. [Aside.] Lucetta, tell Tester I want him. Luc. Yes, sir. Mighty odd, this! It gives me time, however, to send Buckle with this letter to his master. [Aside. Erit. Strict. Could I but be once well satisfied that my wife had really finished me, I believe I should be as quiet as if I were sure to the contrary: but, whilst I am in doubt, I am mis erable. Strict. Well, well: I believe you honest. [Shuts the door. Luc. What can be at the bottom of all this? [Aside. Strict. So; we cannot be too private. Come hither, hussy; nearer yet. Luc. Lord, sir! You are not going to be rude? I vow I will call out. Strict. Hold your tongue-Does the baggage laugh at me? She does; she mocks me, and will reveal it to my wife; and her insolence upon it will be more insupportable to me than cuckoldom itself. [Aside.] I have not leisure now, Lucetta-Some other time--Hush! Did not the bell ring? Yes, yes; my wife wants you. Go, go, go to her. [Pushes her out.] There is no hell on earth like being a slave to suspicion. [Exit. SCENE IV.--The Piazza, Covent-Garden. Enter BELLAMY and JACK MEGGOT. Bel. Nay, nay, I would not put your family into any confusion. J. Meg. None in life, my dear, I assure you. I will go and order every thing this instant for her reception. Bel. You are too obliging, sir; but you need not be in this hurry, for I am in no certainty when I shall trouble you; I only know, that my Jacintha has taken such a resolution. J. Meg. Therefore, we should be prepared; for, when once a lady has such a resolution in her head, she is upon the rack till she executes it. 'Foregad, Mr Bellamy, this must be a girl of fire. J. Meg. I'll be as secret as a debauched prude Frank. Whose sanctity every one suspects. Jack, Jack, 'tis not in thy nature; keeping a secret is worse to thee than keeping thy accounts. But to leave fooling, listen to me both, that I may whisper it into your ears, that echo may not catch the sinking sound-I cannot tell who she is, faith-Tol de rol, lol J. Meg. Mad! mad! very mad! Frank. All I know of her is, that she is a charming woman, and has given me liberty to visit her again-Bellamy, 'tis she, the lovely she! Bel. So I did suppose. Enter RANGER. Ran. Why-Hey!-is there never a wench to be got for love or money? Bel. Pshaw! Ranger here? Ran. Yes, Ranger is here, and perhaps does not come so impertinently as you may imagine. Faith! I think I have the knack of finding out secrets. Nay, never look so queer-Here is a letter, Mr Bellamy, that seems to promise you better diversion than your hugging one another. Bel. What do you mean? Ran. Do you deal much in these paper-to [Aside.kens? [TO FRANK. J. Meg. Poor Charles! for Heaven's sake, Mr Bellamy, persuade him to go to his chamber, whilst I prepare every thing for you at home. Adieu. [Aside to BEL.] B'ye Charles; ha, ha, [Exit. Frank. Oh, love! thou art a gift worthy of a god, indeed! dear Bellamy, nothing could add to my pleasure, but to see my friend as deep in love as I am. ha! Bel. I shew my heart is capable of love, by the friendship it bears to you. Bel. Oh, the dear kind creature! it is from herself. [To FRANK. Ran. What, is it a pair of laced shoes she wants? or have the boys broke her windows? Bel. Hold your profane tongue! Frank. Nay, prithee, Bellamy, don't keep it to yourself, as if her whole affections were contained in those few lines. Ran. Prithee, let him alone to his silent raptures. But it is as I always said-your grave men ever are the greatest whoremasters. Bel. I cannot be disobliged now, say what you will. But how came this into your hands? 'Ran. Your servant Buckle and I changed commissions; he went on my errand, and I came on his. Frank. The light of friendship looks but dim before the brighter flame of love: love is the spring of cheerfulness and joy. Why, how dull and phlegmatic do you shew to me now! whilst I am all life; light as feathered Mercury-You, dull and cold as earth and water; I, light and warm as air and fire. These are the only ele-to ments in love's world! Why, Bellamy, for shame! get thee a mistress, and be sociable. Bel. Frankly, I am now going to Frank. Why that face now? Your humble servant, sir. My flood of joy shall not be stopped by your melancholy fits, I assure you. [Going. Bel. Stay, Frankly; I beg you stay. What would you say now, if I really were in love? Frank. Why, faith, thou hast such romantic notions of sense and honour, that I know not what to say. Bel. To confess the truth, then, I am in love. Frank. And do you confess it as if it were a sin? Proclaim it aloud; glory in it; boast of it' as your greatest virtue; swear it with a lover's oath, and I will believe you. Bel. Why, then, by the bright eyes of her I love Bel. 'Sdeath! I want him this very instant. Bel. Twelve o'clock! oh, the dear hour! deed. Ran. How is this? Bel. Nay, I know not how myself-she says at the bottom-Your servant has full instructions from Lucetta how to equip me for my ex'pedition. I will not trust myself home with you to-night, because I know it is inconvenient; therefore, I beg you would procure me a lodg ing; it is no matter how far off my guardian's." Yours, JACINTHA. Ran. Carry her to a bagnio, and there you may lodge with her. Frank. Why, this must be a girl of spirit, faith! Bel. And beauty equal to her sprightliness. I love her, and she loves me. She has thirty thousand pounds to her fortune. Ran. The devil she has! Ran. Nor does ar jone thing like any other woman, I suppose? |