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Mrs Bell. Perhaps not: you may still have much in your power.

Mrs Love. My power is at an end. Instead of the looks of affection, and the expressions of tenderness, with which he used to meet me, it is nothing now but cold, averted, superficial civility; while abroad, he runs on in a wild career of pleasure, and, to my deep affliction, has attached himself entirely to another object.

Mrs Bell. And if I had known Mr Lovemore, do you imagine that my advice or persuasion would avail you any thing?

Mrs Love. I had such a fancy. [Aside.] What can I think of her!

Mrs Bell. You are much mistaken. In these cases, friends may interpose; but what can they do? They recommend a wife to the good will, the honour, and generosity of her husband. But when a woman, who should be esteemed and loved, is recommended as an object of compassion, she is humbled indeed: it is all over with her. A wife should recommend herself by the graces of her person, and the variety of her talents. Men will prove false; and, if there is nothing in your complaint, but mere gallantry on his side, I protest, I do not see that your case is so very bad. Mrs Love. Can it be worse, ma'am?

Mrs Bell. A great deal. If his affections, instead of being alienated, had been extinguished, .what would be the consequence?-A downright, sullen, habitual insensibility. From that lethargy of affection, a man is not easily recalled. In all Love's bill of mortality, there is not a more fatal disorder. But this is not the case with Mr Lovemore: by your account, he still has sentiment; and, where there is sentiment, there is room to hope for an alteration. But where the heart has lost its feeling, you have the pain of finding yourself neglected; and for what? The man has grown stupid, and, to the warm beams of wit and beauty, as impenetrable as an ice-house.

Mrs Love. That is not my complaint. I have to do with one, who is too susceptible of impressions from every beautiful object that comes in his way.

Mrs Bell. Why, so much the better. A new idea strikes his fancy. He is inconstant; but, after wavering and fluttering, he may settle at last. Mrs Love. How light she makes of it! she apologizes for him! [Aside. Mrs Bell. And, perhaps, the fault is on the woman's side

Mrs Love. The virtue of my conduct, madam

Mrs Bell. Oh! I would have laid my life you would be at that work. But virtue is not the question at present. I suppose virtue; that is always understood. The fault I mean, is the want of due attention to the art of pleasing. It is there that most women fail. In these times, virtue may be its own reward. Virtue alone cannot please the taste of the age. It is la belle na

ture, virtue embellished by the advantages of art, that men expect now-a-days. That is the whole affair: I would not make myself uncasy, maʼam.

Mrs Love. Not uneasy, when his indifference does not diminish my regard for him! Not uneasy, when the man I dote upon, no longer fixes his happiness at home!

Mrs Bell. Give me leave to speak my mind freely. I have observed, when the fiend jealousy is roused, that women lay out a wonderful deal of anxiety and vexation to no account; when, perhaps, if the truth were known, they should be angry with themselves instead of their

husbands.

Mrs Love. Angry with myself, madam! Calumny can lay nothing to my charge. Mrs Bell. There again, now! that is the folly of us all.

Mrs Love. And after being married so long, and behaving all the time with such an equality! Mrs Bell. Ay, that equality is the rock so many split upon. The men will change. Excuse my freedom. They are so immersed in luxury, that they must have eternal variety in their happiness.

Mrs Love. She justifies him!

[Aside.

Mrs Bell. Your case may not be desperate: I would venture to lay a pot of coffee, that the person, who now rivals you in your husband's affections, does it without your good qualities, and even without your beauty, by the mere force of agreeable talents, and some skill in the art of pleasing.

Mrs Love. I am afraid that compliment

Mrs Bell. If I judge right, you are entitled to it. Let me ask you: Do you know this formidable rival?

Mrs Love. There, I own, I am puzzled.
Mrs Bell. What sort of woman is she?

Mrs Love. Formidable indeed! She has been described to me as one of charming and rare accomplishments.

Mrs Bell. Never throw up the cards for all that. Take my advice, ma'am. You seem to have qualities that may dispute your husband's heart with any body; but the exertion of those amiable qualities, I fear, may be suppressed. Excuse my frankness. You should counteract your rival by the very arts which she employs against you. I know a lady now in your very situation: and what does she do? She consumes herself with unceasing jealousy; whereas, if she would exert but half the pains she uses in teasing herself, to vie with the person who has won her busband from her; to vie with her, I say, in the art of pleasing-for there it is a woman's pride should be piqued-Would she do that, take iny word for it, victory would declare in her favour. You are not without attractions; give them their energy, and you conquer.

Mrs Love. Do you think so, ma'am?

Mrs Bell. Think so! I am sure of it. You

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. Vir- some visit. tue 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 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. Mrs Bell. By no means. Our conversation interesting. I positively will not see my

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-grows able contrast; the sense that pleases, the folly lord. that charms-A favourite poet, Prior, has expressed it with delicacy.

'Above the fixed and settled rules
'Of vice and virtue in the schools,
'The better part should set before 'em
'A grace, a manner, a decorum.'

Mrs Love. But when the natural temperMrs 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 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

mony

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, ma'am, 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

Mrs Bell. Will be happy; I know that is what you are going to say. But he must do homage for it and then I will let it to none but a single gentleman. Do you know any body whom these conditions will suit?

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 be 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.'

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Love. Oh! a matter of fact conversation is insupportable.

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ladyship's most obedient-[Curtsying.] We expected you last night, but you did not come.'He, he, he and so there was sir George and '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!

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Love. Ho, ho! you paint to the life. I see her moving before me in all her airs.

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

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-but sir-I would not play with you for straws; 'don't you know what Hoyle says?—If A and Mrs Bel. But you meet with nothing else. All 'B are partners against C and D, and the game in great spirits about nothing, and not an idea 'nine all, A and B have won three tricks, and among them. Go to Ranelagh, or to what pub- C and D four tricks: C leads his suit, D puts lic place you will, it is just the same. A lady up the king, then returns the suit; A passes, comes up to you;- How charmingly you look! 'C puts up the queen, and B trumps it;' and so -But, my dear m'em, did you hear what hap-A and B, and C and D are bandied about; they pened to us the other night? We were going attack, they defend, and all is jargon and confuhome from the opera—you know my aunt Roly- sion, wrangling, noise, and nonsense; and high Poly? it was her coach. There was she and life, and polite conversation.- -Ha! ha! ha! 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.

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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. ever play, my lord?

Do you

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;

Ꭺ Ꮓ

but from taste, or inclination, no; I never touch a card.

one would almost swear that you have a wife at home who sat for the picture.

Mrs Bel. Oh! very true; I forgot. You dedicate your time to the Muses; a downright rhyming peer. Do you know, my lord, that Iject, from every day's experience-[Aside.] Does am charmed with your song?

Love. Madam, the [Embarrassed.] The compliment-you are only laughing at me- -the sub

Love. Are you?

Mrs Bel. Absolutely; and I really think you would make an admirable Vauxhall poet.

Love. Nay, now you flatter me.

Mrs Bel. No, as I live; it is very pretty. And do you know that I can sing it already? Come, you shall hear how I murder it. I have no voice to-day, but you shall hear me. [Sings.

Attend, all ye fair, and I'll tell you the art,
To bind every fancy with ease in your chains;
To hold in soft fetters the conjugal heart,

And banish from Hymen his doubts and his
pains.

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Love. My poetry is infinitely obliged to you. It grows into sense as you sing it. Your voice, like the cestus of Venus, bestows a grace upon every thing.

Mrs Bel. Oh! fulsome; I sing horridly. [Goes to the glass.] How do I look ?-Don't tell me, my lord: you are studying a compliment, but I am resolved to mortify you; I won't hear it.Well! have you thought of any thing? Let it pass; 'tis too late now. Pray, my lord, how came you to choose so grave a subject as connubial happiness?

Love. Close and particular that question!
[Aside.
Mrs Bel. Juno! Hymen! doubts and pains!

she suspect me?-the subject is common-Bachelor's wives, you know-ha! ha !—And when you inspire the thought; when you are the bright original, it is no wonder that the copy—

Mrs Bel. Horrid! going to harp on the old string. Odious solicitations! I hate all proposals. I am not in the humour. You must release me now: your visit is rather long. I have indulged you a great while. And, besides, were I to listen to your vows, what would become of poor sir Brilliant Fashion?

I have seen

Love. Sir Brilliant Fashion? Mrs Bel. Do you know him? Love. I know whom you mean. him; but that's all. He lives with a strange set, and does not move in my sphere. If he is a friend of yours, I have no more to say. Mrs Bel. Is there any thing to say against him?

Love. Nay, I have no knowledge of the gentleman. They who know him best, don't rate him high. A sort of current coin that passes in this town. You will do well to beware of counterfeits.

Mrs Bel. But this is very alarming—

Enter MIGNIONET, in a violent hurry.

Mign. My dear madam, I am frighted out of my senses. The poor lady-Where are the hartshorn drops?

Love. The lady! what lady?

Mign. Never stand asking what lady. She has fainted away all on a sudden: she is now in strong hysterics; give me the drops. Mrs Bel. I must run to her assistance. Adieu, my lord. I shall be at home in the evening. Mignionet, step this way. Your lordship will excuse me: I shall expect to see you. Come, Mignionet; make haste, make haste.

[Exit with MIGNIONET. Love. I hope the lady has not overheard me? What a villain am I to carry on this scheme against so much beauty, innocence, and merit! And to wear this badge of honour for the darkest purposes! And, then, my friend, sir Brilliant, will it be fair to supplant him? Prithee, be quiet, my dear conscience! none of your meddling!-don't interrupt a gentleman in his pleasures.Don't you know, my good friend, that love has no respect for persons, but soars above all laws of honour and of friendship? No reflection; have her I must, and that quickly, too, or she will discover all. Besides, this is iny wife's fault: why does she not make home agreeable? I am willing to be happy; I could be constant to her, but she is not formed for happiness.

What the devil is Madam Fortune about now? [Sir BRILLIANT sings within.] Sir Brilliant, by all that's infamous! Confusion! no place to hide me? no escape! The door is locked. Mignionet, Mignionet, open the door.

Mig. [Within.] You must not come in here. Love. What shall I do? This star, and this ribbon will bring me to disgrace. Away with this tell-tale evidence! [Takes off the ribbon.]Go, thou blushing devil, and hide thyself for [Puts it in his pocket.

ever.

Enter SIR BRILLIANT, singing. Sir Bril. Mrs Bellmour, I have such a story for you. How! Lovemore?

Love. Your slave, sir Brilliant; your slave. [Hiding the star with his hat. Sir Bril. I did not think you had been acquainted here.

Love. You are right. I came in quest of you. I saw the lady. I was drawn hither by mere curiosity. We have had some conversation; and I made it subservient to your purposes. I have been giving a great character of you.

Sir Bril. You are always at the service of your friends. But what's the matter? what are you fumbling about? [Pulls the hat. Love. 'Sdeath! have a care: don't touch me. [Puts his handkerchief to his breast. Sir Bril. What the devil is the matter? Love. Oh! keep off-[dside.] Here's a business. Taken in the old way: let me pass-I have had a fling at lord Etheridge: he will be out of favour with the widow: I have done you that good. Racks and torments, my old complaint! [Wanting to pass him. Sir Bril What complaint? You had better sit down.

Love. No, no; air, the air. I must have a surgeon. A stroke of a tennis-ball! My lord Rackett's unlucky left-hand. Let me pass.There is something formning here. [Passes him.] To be caught is the devil. [Aside.] Don't mention my name. You will counteract all I have said. Oh! torture, torture! I will explain to you another time. Sir Brilliant, yours. I have served your interest-Oh! there is certainly something forming. [Exit. Sir Bril. What does all this mean? So, so, Mrs Lovemore's suspicions are well-founded.The widow has her private visits, I see. Yes, yes; there is something forming here.

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Mrs Bel. Is unseasonable, and yours is so now. How can you tease me?

Sir Bril. I thought as much. There are some things that may require to be discussed between

us.

Mrs Bel. Reserve them all for another time: I can't hear you now. You must leave me.There is a lady taken ill in the next room.

Sir Bril. And here has been a gentleman taken ill in this room.

Mrs Bell. How troublesome! you must be gone. Do you dispute my will and pleasure? Fly this moment!

Sir Bril. But, madam-Nay, if you insist upon it[Goes. Mrs Bell. But, sir! I will be absolute you must leave me. [Puts him out.] There, and now I'll make sure of the door.

Enter MRS LOVEMORE, leaning on MIGNIONET. Mign. This way, madam: here is more air in this room.

Mrs Bell. How do you find yourself? Pray, sit down.

I

Mrs Love. My spirits were too weak. could not support it any longer; such a scene of perfidy!

Mrs Bell. You astonish me! what perfidy? Mrs Love. Perfidy of the blackest dye; I told you that you were acquainted with my husband? Mrs Bel. Acquainted with your husband!

[Angrily. Mrs Love. A moment's patience-Yes, madam, you are acquainted with him. The base man, who went hence but now

Mrs Bell. Sir Brilliant Fashion?

Mrs Love. No; your lord Etheridge, as he calls himself

Mrs Bell. Lord Etheridge? What of him, pray?

Mrs Love. False, dissembling man! he is my husband, madam: not lord Etheridge, but plain Mr Lovemore; my Mr Lovemore.

Mrs Bel. And has he been base enough to assume a title to ensnare me to my undoing? Mign. [Going.] Well, for certain, I believe the devil's in me: I always thought him a sly one. [Exit.

Mrs Love. To see him carrying on this dark design-to see the man whom I have ever esteeined and loved-the man whom I must still love-esteem him, I fear, I never can-to see him before my face with that artful treachery! it was too much for sensibility like mine; I felt the shock too severely, and I sunk under it.

Mrs Bel. I am ready to sink this moment with amazement! I saw him, for the first time, at old Mrs Loveit's. She introduced him to me. The appointment was of her own making.

Mrs Love. You know Mrs Loveit's character,, I suppose?

Mrs Bell. The practised veteran! Could I

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