Bid her be grave, those lips should rebel prove Yet, thus adorn'd with every graceful art There, fix'd in usurpation, should she stand, Such dire encroachments to prevent in time, And moral truth disdains the trickster's mask. ACT I. SCENE I.-A Street. Enter THOMAS; he crosses the Stage; FAG follows, looking after him. Fag. What! Thomas! Sure 'tis he?-What! Thomas! Thomas! Thos. Hey!-Odd's life! Mr. Fag!-give us your hand, my old fellow-servant. 1 Pointing to Tragedy. Fug. Excuse my glove, Thomas :-I'm devilish glad to see you, my lad. Why, my prince of charioteers, you look as hearty!—but who the deuce thought of seeing you in Bath? Thos. Sure, master, Madam Julia, Harry, Mrs. Kate, and the postilion, be all come. Fag. Indeed! Thos. Ay, master thought another fit of the gout was coming to make him a visit; so he'd a mind to gi't the slip, and whip! we were all off at an hour's warning. Fag. Ay, ay, hasty in everything, or it would not be Sir Anthony Absolute! Thos. But tell us, Mr. Fag, how does young master? Odd! Sir Anthony will stare to see the captain here! Fag. I do not serve Captain Absolute now. Thos. Why sure! Fag. At present I am employed by Ensign Beverley. Thos. I doubt, Mr. Fag, you ha'n't changed for the better. Fag. I have not changed, Thomas. Thos. No! Why didn't you say you had left young master? Fag. No.-Well, honest Thomas, I must puzzle you no farther :-briefly then-Captain Absolute and Ensign Beverley are one and the same person. Thos. The devil they are! Fag. So it is indeed, Thomas; and the ensign half of my master being on guard at present-the captain has nothing to do with me. Thos. So, so!-What, this is some freak, I warrant!Do tell us, Mr. Fag, the meaning o't-you know I ha' trusted you. Fag. You'll be secret, Thomas? Thos. As a coach-horse. Fag. Why then the cause of all this is-Love,—Love, Thomas, who (as you may get read to you) has been a masquerader ever since the days of Jupiter. Thos. Ay, ay;-I guessed there was a lady in the case: -but pray, why does your master pass only for an ensign? -Now if he had shammed general indeed Fag. Ah! Thomas, there lies the mystery o' the matter. Hark'ee, Thomas, my master is in love with a lady of a very singular taste: a lady who likes him better as a half pay ensign than if she knew he was son and heir to Sir Anthony Absolute, a baronet of three thousand a year. Thos. That is an odd taste indeed!-But has she got the stuff, Mr. Fag? Is she rich, hey? Fag. Rich!-Why, I believe she owns half the stocks! Zounds! Thomas, she could pay the national debt as easily as I could my washerwoman! She has a lap-dog that eats out of gold,-she feeds her parrot with small pearls, and all her thread-papers are made of bank notes! Thos. Bravo, faith!—Odd! I warrant she has a set of thousands at least:-but does she draw kindly with the captain? Fag. As fond as pigeons. Thos. May one hear her name? Fag. Miss Lydia Languish.-But there is an old tough aunt in the way; though, by-the-by, she has never seen my master-for we got acquainted with miss while on a visit in Gloucestershire. Pall Thos. Well-I wish they were once harnessed together in matrimony.-But pray, Mr. Fag, what kind of a place is this Bath?-I ha' heard a deal of it-here's a mort o' merry-making, hey? Fag. Pretty well, Thomas, pretty well-'tis a good lounge; in the morning we go to the pump-room (though neither my master nor I drink the waters); after breakfast we saunter on the parades, or play a game at billiards; at night we dance; but damn the place, I'm tired of it: their regular hours stupefy me-not a fiddle nor a card after eleven!—However Mr. Faulkland's gentleman and I keep it up a little in private parties;-I'll introduce you there, Thomas-you'll like him much. Thos. Sure I know Mr. Du-Peigne-you know his master is to marry Madam Julia. Fag. I had forgot.-But, Thomas, you must polish a little-indeed you must.-Here now-this wig! What the devil do you do with a wig, Thomas?-None of the London whips of any degree of ton wear wigs now. Thos. More's the pity! more's the pity! I say.-Odd's life! when I heard how the lawyers and doctors had took to their own hair, I thought how 'twould go next :-odd rabbit it! when the fashion had got foot on the bar, I guessed 'twould mount to the box!-but 'tis all out of character, believe me, Mr. Fag: and look'ee, I'll never gi’ up mine the lawyers and doctors may do as they will. Fag. Well, Thomas, we'll not quarrel about that. Thos. Why, bless you, the gentlemen of the professions ben't all of a mind-for in our village now, thoff Jack Gauge, the exciseman, has ta'en to his carrots, there's little Dick the farrier swears he'll never forsake his bob, though all the college should appear with their own heads! Fag. Indeed! well said, Dick !—but hold-mark! mark! Thomas. Thos. Zooks! 'tis the captain.-Is that the Lady with him? Fag. No no, that is Madam Lucy, my master's mistress's maid. They lodge at that house-but I must after him to tell him the news. Thos. Odd! he's given her money!-Well, Mr. Fag Fag. Good-bye, Thomas. I have an appointment in Gyde's porch this evening at eight; meet me there, and we'll make a little party. [Exeunt severally. SCENE II.-A Dressing-room in MRS. MALAPROP'S Lodgings. LYDIA sitting on a sofa, with a book in her hand. Lucy, as just returned from a message. Lucy. Indeed, ma'am, I traversed half the town in search of it! I don't believe there's a circulating library in Bath I han't been at. Lyd. And could not you get The Reward of Constancy? Lucy. No, indeed, ma'am. Lyd. Nor The Fatal Connexion? Lucy. No, indeed, ma'am. Lyd. Nor The Mistakes of the heart? Lucy. Ma'am, as ill luck would have it, Mr. Bull said Miss Sukey Saunter had just fetched it away. Lyd. Heigh-ho! Did you inquire for The Delicate Distress? Lucy. Or, The Memoirs of Lady Woodford? Yes, indeed, ma'am. I asked everywhere for it; and I might have brought it from Mr. Frederick's, but Lady Slattern Lounger, who had just sent it home, had so soiled and dog's-eared it, it wa'n't fit for a Christian to read. Lyd. Heigh-ho! Yes, I always know when Lady Slattern has been before me. She has a most observing thumb; and, I believe, cherishes her nails for the convenience of making marginal notes.-Well, child, what have you brought me? Lucy. Oh! here, ma'am.-[Taking books from under her cloak and from her pockets.] This is The Gordian Knot,—and this Peregrine Pickle. Here are The Tears of Sensibility, and Humphrey Clinker. This is The Memoirs of a Lady of Quality, written by Herself, and here the second volume of The Sentimental Journey. Stame Lyd. Heigh-ho!-What are those books by the glass? Lucy. The great one is only The Whole Duty of Man, where I press a few blonds, ma'am. Lyd. Very well-give me the sal volatile. Lyd. Hold-here's some one coming-quick! see who it is. [Exit Lucy.] Surely I heard my cousin Julia's voice. Re-enter LUCY. Lucy. Lud! ma'am, here is Miss Melville. Lyd. Is it possible?— Enter JULIA. [Exit Lucy. Lyd. My dearest Julia, how delighted am I!-[Embrace.] How unexpected was this happiness! Jul. True, Lydia-and our pleasure is the greater.But what has been the matter?-you were denied to me at first! Lyd. Ah, Julia, I have a thousand things to tell you! -But first inform me what has conjured you to Bath?— Is Sir Anthony here? Jul. He is we are arrived within this hour-and I suppose he will be here to wait on Mrs. Malaprop as soon as he is dressed. Lyd. Then before we are interrupted, let me impart to |