reforming society. I convicted a man of five oaths, as last Thursday was a se'nnight, at the Pewterplatter, in the Borough; and another of three, while he was playing trap-ball in St. George's Fields: I bought this waistcoat out of my share of the money. Old Lady Lamb. But how do you mind your business? Maw. We have lost almost all our customers; because I keeps extorting them whenever they come into the shop. Old Lady Lamb And how do you live? Maw. Better than ever we did: while we were wordly-minded, my wife and I (for I am married to as likely a woman as you shall see in a thousand) could hardly make things do at all; but since this good man has brought us into the road of the righteous, we have always plenty of everything; and my wife goes as well dressed as a gentlewoman. We have had a child too. Old Lady Lamb. Merciful! Maw. And between you and me, Doctor, I believe, Susy's breeding again. Dr. Cant. Thus it is, madam; I am constantly told, though I can hardly believe it, a blessing follows wherever I come. Maw. And yet, if you would hear how the neighbours reviles my wife; saying as how she sets no store by me, because we have words now and then; but, as I says, if such was the case, would she ever have cut me down that there time as I was melancholy, and she found me hanging behind the door; I don't believe there's a wife in the parish would have done so by her husband. Dr. Cant. I believe 'tis near dinner-time; and Sir John will require my attendance. Maw. Oh! I am troublesome; nay, I only come to you, Doctor, with a message from Mrs. Grunt. I wish your ladyship heartily and heartily farewell; Doctor, a good day to you. Old Lady Lamb. Mr. Mawworm, call on me some time this afternoon; I want to have a little private discourse with you; and pray, my service to your spouse. Maw. I will, madam; you are a malefactor to all goodness; I'll wait upon your ladyship; I will, indeed. (Going, returns.) Oh! Doctor, that's true; Susy desired me to give her kind love and respects to you. [Exit. Dr. Cant. Madam, if you please, I will lead you into the parlour. Old Lady Lamb._No, Doctor, my coach waits at the door. Enter SEYWARD. Dr. Cant. Charles, you may lay those papers by again, but in some place where you'll easily find them; for I believe we shall have occasion for them some time this afternoon. Seyw. I'll take care, sir. [Exeunt Doctor and Old Lady Lambert. Occasion for them this afternoon! Then there's no time to be lost; the coast is clear, and this is her chamber. What's the matter with me? The thought of speaking to her throws me into a disorder. There's nobody within, I believe; I'll knock again. [Enter BETTY.] Is your lady busy? Betty. I believe she's only reading, sir. Seyw. Will you do me the favour to let her know, if she's at leisure, I beg to speak with her upon some earnest business? Enter CHARLOTTE. Charl. Who's that? Betty. She's here. Mr. Seyward, madam, desires to speak with you. Charl. Oh! your servant, Mr. Seyward. Here, take this odious Homer, and lay him up again; he tires me. [Exit Betty.] How could the blind wretch make such a horrid fuss about a fine woman, for so many volumes together, and give us no account of her amours? You have read him, I suppose, in the Greek, Mr. Seyward? Seyw. Not lately, madam. Charl. But do you so violently admire him now? Seyw. The critics say he has his beauties, madam; but Ovid has been always my favourite. Charl. Ovid! oh, he is ravishing! Seyw. So art thou, to madness! (Aside.) Charl. Lud! how could one do to learn Greek? Were you a great while about it? Seyw. It has been half the business of my life, madam. Chart. That's cruel now; then you think one could not be mistress of it in a month or two? Seyw. Not easily, madam. Charl. They tell me it has the softest tone for love of any language in the world. I fancy I could soon learn it. I know three words of it already. Seyw. Pray, madam, what are they? Charl. Stay, let me see, oh, ay! Zoe kai psuche. Seyw. I hope you know the English of them, madam? Charl. Oh, lud! I hope there is no harm in it. I'm sure I heard the Doctor say it to my lady. Pray, what is it? Seyw. You must first imagine, madam, a tender lover, gazing on his mistress; and then indeed, they have a softness in them; as thus, Zoe kai psuche! my life! my soul! Charl. Oh! the impudent young rogue! how his eyes spoke too! What the deuce can he want with me? It always run in my head that this fellow had something in him above his condition; I'll know immediately. Well, but your business with me, Mr. Seyward? You have something of love in your head, I'll lay my life on't. Seyw. I never yet durst own it, madam. Charl. Why, what's the matter? Seyw. My story is too melancholy to entertain a mind so much at ease as your's. Charl. Oh! I love melancholy stories, of all things. Pray, how long have you lived with your uncle, Mr. Seyward? Seyw. With Doctor Cantwell, I suppose you mean, madam? Charl. Ay. Seyw. He's no uncle of mine, madam. Charl. You surprise me! not your uncle? Seyw. No, madam; but that's not the only character the Doctor assumes, to which he has no right. Charl. Lud! I am concerned for you. Seyw. So you would, madam, if you knew all. Charl. I am already; but if there are any further particulars of your story, pray, let me hear them; and should any services be in my power, I am sure you may command them. Seyw. You treat me with so kind, so gentle a hand, that I will unbosom myself to you. My father madam, was the younger branch of a genteel family in the north; his name, Trueman; but dying while I was yet in my infancy, I was left wholly dependant on my mother; a woman really pious and well-meaning, but-in short, madam, Doctor Cantwell fatally got acquainted with her, and as he is now your father's bosom counsellor, soon became her's. She died, madam, when I was but eight years old; and then I was, indeed, left an orphan. Charl. Poor creature! Lud! I cannot bear it! Seyw. She left Doctor Cantwell her sole heir and executor: but I must do her the justice to say, I believe it was in the confirmation that he would take care of, and do justice to me; and, indeed he has so far taken care of me, that he sent me to a seminary abroad, and for these three years last past has kept me with him. Charl. A seminary! Oh! heavens! but why have you not striven to do yourself justice? Sew. Thrown so young into his power, as I was, unknown and friendless, to whom could I apply for succour? Nay, madam, I will confess, that, on my return to England, I was at first tainted with his enthusiastic notions myself; and, for some Sey. In his ill and insolent humours, madam, he has sometimes the presumption to tell me, that I am the object of his charity; and I own, madam, that I am humbled in my opinion, by his having drawn me into a connivance at some actions, which I can't look back on without horror! Charl. Indeed, you can't tell how I pity you; and depend upon it, if it be possible to serve you, by getting you out of the hands of this monster, I will. Sey. Once more, madam, let me assure you, that your generous inclination would be a consolation to me in the worst misfortunes; and, even in the last moment of painful death, would give my heart a joy. Charl. Your servant, sir. Darn. You have been abroad, I hear? Darn. Might I not say you have been abroad, without giving offence? Charl. And might I not as well say, I was come home, without your being so grave upon it? Darn. Do you know anything that should make me grave? Charl. I know, if you are so, I am the worst person in the world you can possibly show it to. Darn. Nay, I don't suppose you do anything you won't justify. Charl. Oh! then I find I have done something you think I can't justify. Darn. I don't say that neither. Perhaps I am wrong in what I have said; but I have so often used to ask pardon for your being in the wrong, that I am resolved henceforth never to rely on the insolent evidence of my own senses. think this pretty smart speech of your's is very Charl. You don't know, now, perhaps, that I Charl. Lud! the poor unfortunate boy loves dull; but, since that's a fault you can't help, I will me, too! What shall I do with him? Pray, Mr. Sey-not take it ill. Come now, be as sincere on your ward, what paper is that you have in your hand? Is it relative to Sey. Another instance of the conscience and gratitude which animates our worthy Doctor. Charl. You frighten me! Pray what is the purport of it? Is it neither signed nor sealed? Seye. No, madam; therefore to prevent it, by this timely notice, was my business here with you. Your father gave it to the Doctor first, to show his counsel; who having approved it, I understand this evening it will be executed. Charl. But what is it? Sey. It grants to Doctor Cantwell, in present, four hundred pounds per annum, of which this very house is part; and, at your father's death, invests him in the whole remainder of his freehold estate. For you, indeed, there is a charge of four thousand pounds upon it, provided you marry with the Doctor's consent; if not, 'tis added to my lady's jointure; but your brother, madam, is, without conditions, utterly disinherited. Charl. I am confounded! What will become of us! My father now, I find, was serious. Oh! I will this insinuating hypocrite! Let me see,—ay, go this minute. Sir, dare you trust this in my hands for an hour only? Sey. Anything to serve you. (Bell rings.) Charl. Hark! they ring to dinner: pray, sir, step in say I am obliged to dine abroad; and whisper one of the footmen to get a chair immediately; then do you take a proper occasion to slip out after me to Mr. Double's chambers in the Temple; there I shall have time to talk further with [Exeunt Charlotte and Seyward. you. ACT III. SCENE I.-A Dressing-room, with tables and chairs. Enter CHARLOTTE and BETTY. Charl. Has any one been to speak with me, Betty? Betty. Only Mr. Darnley, madam; he said he would call again, and bid his servant stay below, to give him notice when you came home. Charl. You don't know what he wanted? Betty. No, madam; he seemed very uneasy at your being abroad. Charl. Well, go; I'll see him. [Exit Betty.] Ten to one but his wise head has found out something to be jealous of: if he lets me see it, I shall be sure to make him infinitely easy. Here he comes. Enter DARNLEY. Darn. Your humble servant, madam. side, and tell me seriously, is not what real business I had abroad, the very thing you want to be made easy in? Darn. If I thought you would make me easy, I would own it. Chart: Now do we come to the point. To-morrow morning, then, I give you my word, to let you know it all; 'till when, there is a necessity for it being a secret; and I insist upon your believing it. Darn. But pray, madam, what am I to do with private imagination in the meantime? That is not in my power to confine; and sure, you won't be offended, if to avoid the tortures that may give me, I beg you'll trust me with the secret now. Charl. Don't press me; for positively I will not. Darn. Will not! Cannot had been a kinder term. Is my disquiet of so little moment to you? Charl. Of none, while your disquiet dares not trust the assurances I have given you. If you expect I should confide in you for life, don't let me see you dare not take my word for a day; and if you are wise, you'll think so fair a trial a favour. Come, come, there's nothing shows so low a mind, as those grave and insolent jealousies. Darn. However, madam, mine you won't find so low as you imagine; and since I see your tyranny arises from your mean opinion of me, 'tis time to be myself, and disavow your power. You use it now beyond my bearing; not only impose on me to disbelieve my senses, but do it with such an imperious air, as if my manly reason were your slave; and this despicable frame, that follows you, durst shew no signs of life but what you vouchsafe to give it. Charl. You are in the right. Go on; suspect me still; believe the worst you can; 'tis all true; I don't justify myself. Why do you trouble` me with your complaints? If you are master of that manly reason you have boasted, give a manly proof of it; at once resume your liberty; despise me; go off in triumph now, like a king in a tragedy. Darn. Is this the end of all then? And are those tender protestations you have made me (for such I thought them) when, with a kind of reluctance, you gave me something more than hope-what all— oh, Charlotte! all come to this? Charl. Oh, lud! I am growing silly; if I hear on, I shall tell him everything; tis but another struggle, and I shall conquer it. (Aside.) So you are not gone, I see. Darn. Do you then wish me gone, madam Charl. Your manly reason will direct you. Darn. This is too much; my heart can bear no more! What am I rooted here? Enter SEYWARD. Charl. At last I am relieved. Well, Mr. Seyward, is it done? Seyw. I did not stir from the desk till it was entirely finished. Charl. Where's the original? Charl. Very well; that, you know, you must keep; but come, we must lose no time; we will examine this in the next room. Now I feel for him. [Exit. Darn. This is not to be borne. Pray, Mr. Charles, what private business have you with that lady? Seyw. Sir! Darn. I must know, young man. Seyw. Not quite so young, but I can keep a secret, and a lady's too; you'll excuse me, sir! [Exit. Darn. 'Sdeath! I shall be laughed at by everybody; I shall be distracted. This young fellow should repent his pertness, did not this house protect him. This is Charlotte's contrivance to distract me; but, but what? Oh! I have love enough to bear this, and ten times as much. Enter COLONEL LAMBERT. Col Lamb. What !-in raptures! Col. Lamb. Do you know where she is? Darn. Perhaps she'll be less reserved to you, and tell you wherein I have mistaken her. Col. Lamb. Poor Frank! Every plot I lay upon my sister's inclination for you, you are sure to ruin by your own conduct. Darn. I own I have too little temper, and too much real passion, for a modish lover. Col. Lamb. Come, come; make yourself easy once more; I'll undertake for you. If you'll fetch a cool turn in the Park, upon Constitution Hill, in less than half an hour I'll come to you, and make you perfectly easy. I Darn. Dear Tom, you are a friend indeed! have a thousand things,-but you shall find me there. [Exit. Enter CHARLOTTE and SEYWARD. Col. Lamb. How now, sister; what have you done to Darnley? The poor fellow looks as if he had killed your parrot. Charl. Psha! you know him well enough; I've only been setting him a love lesson; it a little puzzles him to get through it at first, but he'll know it all by to-morrow. You will be sure to be in the way, Mr. Seyward, Seyw. Madam, you may depend upon me; I have my full instructions. [Exit. Col. Lamb. O ho! here's the business then; and it seems that Darnley was not to be trusted with it. Ha! ha! and pr'ythee, what is the mighty secret that is transacted between Seyward and you? Charl. That's what he would have known, indeed; but you must know, I don't think it proper to let you tell him either, for all your sly manner of asking. Col. Lamb. Pray take your own time, dear madam; I am not in haste to know, I assure you. Charl. Well, but hold; on second thoughts, you shall know part of this affair between Seyward and me; nay, I give you leave to tell Darnley too, on some conditions: 'tis true, I did design to have surprised you; but now my mind's altered, that's enough. Col. Lamb. Ay, for any mortal's satisfaction, but here comes my lady. Enter LADY LAMBERT. Lady Lamb. Away, away, Colonel and Charlotte, both of you away this instant. Charl. What's the matter, madam? Lady Lamb. I am going to put the Doctor to his trial, that's all. I have considered the proposal you have made me to-day, Colonel, and am convinced it ought not to be delayed an instant: so just now, I told the Doctor in a half-whisper, that I should be glad to have a word in private with him here; and he said he would wait upon me presently; but must I play a traitorous part now, and instead of persuading you to the Doctor, persuade the Doctor against you? Charl. Dear madam, why not? One moment's truce with the prude, I beg of you; don't startle at his first declaration, but let him go on, 'till he shows the very bottom of his ugly heart. Lady Lamb. I warrant you, I'll give a good account of him; but, as I live, here he comes! Charl. Come then, brother, you and I will be commode, and steal off. [Exeunt Charl. and Col. Enter DOCTOR CANTWELL. The Col. listening. Dr. Cant. Here I am, madam, at your ladyship's command; how happy am I that you think me worthy. Lady Lamb. Please to sit, sir. (They sit.) Dr. Cant. Well, but, dear lady-Ha! you can't conceive the joyousness I feel at this so much desired interview. Ah! ah! I have a thousand friendly things to say to you. And how stands your precious health? Is your naughty cold abated yet? I have scarce closed my eyes these two nights with my concern for you. Lady Lamb. Your charity is too far concerned for me. Dr. Cant. Ah! don't say so: don't say so you merit more than mortal man can do for you. Lady Lamb. Indeed you overrate me. Dr. Cant. I speak it from my heart: indeed, indeed, indeed, I do. (Pressing her hand.) Lady Lamb. O dear! you hurt my hand, sir. Dr. Cant. Impute it to my zeal, and want of words for expression: precious soul! I would not harm you for the world; no, it would be the whole business of my life Lady Lamb. But to the affair I would speak to you about. Dr. Cant. Ah! thou heavenly woman! (Placing his hand on her knee.) Lady Lamb. Your hand need not be there, sir. Dr. Cant. I was admiring the softness of this silk. They are indeed come to prodigious perfection in all manufactures: how wonderful is human art! Here it disputes the prize with nature. That all this soft and gaudy lustre should be brought from the labours of a poor worm! Lady Lamb. But our business, sir, is upon another subject. Sir John informs me, that he thinks himself under no obligations to Mr. Darnley, and therefore resolves to give his daughter to you. Dr. Cant. Such a thing has been mentioned, madam; but, to deal sincerely with you, that is not the happiness I sigh after; there is a soft and serious excellence for me, very different from what your step-daughter possesses. Lady Lamb. Well, sir, pray be sincere, and open your heart to me. Dr. Cant. Open my heart! Can you then, sweet lady, be yet a stranger to it? Has no action of my life been able to inform you of my real thoughts? Lady Lamb. Well, sir; I take all this, as I suppose you intend it, for my good, and spiritual welfare. Dr. Cant. Indeed I mean you cordial service. Lady Lamb. I dare say you do. You are above the low, momentary views of this world. Dr. Cant. Why, I should be so: and yet, alas! I find this mortal clothing of my soul is made like other men's, of sensual flesh and blood, and has its | frailties. Lady Lamb. We all have those; but your's are well corrected by your divine and virtuous contemplations. Dr. Cant. Alas! madam; my heart is not of stone. I may resist; call all my prayers, my fastings, tears, and penance, to my aid; but yet I am not an angel. I am still but a man; and virtue may strive, but nature will be uppermost. I love you then, madam. Lady Lamb. (They rise.) Hold, sir! Suppose I now should let my husband, your benefactor, know the favour you design him. Dr. Cant. You cannot be so cruel! Lady Lamb. Nor will, on this condition; that you instantly renounce all claim and title to Charlotte, and use your utmost interest with Sir John, to give her, with her full fortune, to Mr. Darnley. COLONEL LAMBERT advances between them. Col. Lamb. Villain! monster! perfidious and ungrateful traitor! Your hypocrisy, your false zeal is discovered; and I am sent here, by the hand of insulted heaven, to lay you open to my father, and expose you to the world. Dr. Cant. Ha! Lady Lamb. O! unthinking Colonel ! Col. Lamb. Well, sir, what have you to say for yourself? Dr. Cant. I have nothing to say to you, Colonel, nor for you; but you shall have my prayers. Col. Lamb. Why, you profligate hypocrite! Do you think to carry off your villainy with that sanctified air? Dr. Cant. I know not what you mean, sir. I have been in discourse here with my good lady, by permission of your worthy father. Col. Lamb. Dog! did my father desire you to talk of love to my lady? Dr. Cant. Call me not dog, Colonel! I hope we are both brother Christians. Yes, I will own I did beg leave to talk to her of love; for, alas! I am but a man! yet if my passion for your dear sister, which I cannot control, be sinful Lady Lamb. (Aside to the Colonel.) Your noise, I perceive, is bringing up Sir John. Manage with him as you will, at present; I will withdraw; for I have an after-game to play, which may yet put this wretch effectually into our power. [Exit. Enter SIR JOHN LAMBERT. Sir J. Lamb. What uproar is this? Col. Lamb. Nothing, sir! nothing! only a little broil of the good Doctor's here. You are well rewarded for your kindness; and he would fain pay it back, with triple interest, to your wife: in short, sir, I took him here in the very fact of making a criminal declaration of love to my lady. Dr. Cant. Why, why, Sir John, would you not let me leave your house? I knew some dreadful method would be taken to drive me hence.-O! be not angry, good Colonel: but indeed, and indeed, you use me cruelly. Sir J. Lamb. Horrible, wicked creature!— Doctor, let me hear it from you. Dr. Cant. Alas! sir, I am in the dark as much as you; but it should seem, for what purpose he best knows, your son hid himself somewhere hereabouts; and while I was talking to my lady, rushed in upon us. You know the subject, sir, on which I was to entertain her; and I might speak of my love to your daughter, with more warmth than perhaps I ought; which the Colonel overhearing, might possibly imagine I was addressing my lady herself; for I will not suspect, no, heaven forbid! I will not suspect that he would intentionally forge a falsehood to dishonour me. Sir J. Lamb. Now, vile detractor of all virtue! is your outrageous malice confounded? What he tells you is true; he has been talking to my lady by my consent; and what he said, he said by my orders. Good man, be not concerned; for I see through their vile designs. Here, thou curse of my life, if thou art not lost to conscience, and all sense of honour, repair the injury you have attempted, by confessing your rançour, and throwing yourself at his feet. Dr. Cant. Oh, Sir John!--for my sake-I will throw myself at the Colonel's feet; nay, if that will please him, he shall tread on my neck. Sir J. Lamb. What! mute, defenceless, hardened in thy malice? Col. Lamb. I scorn the imputation, sir; and with the same repeated honesty avow (however cunningly he may have devised this gloss) that you are deceived. What I tell you, sir, is true; these eyes, these ears, were witnesses of his audacious love, without the mention of my sister's name ;directly, plainly, grossly tending to abuse the honour of your bed. Sir J. Lamb. Villain! this instant leave my sight, my house, my family, for ever! Dr. Cant. Hold, good Sir John: I am now recovered from my surprise; let me then be an humble mediator. On my account, this must not be: I grant it possible, your son loves me not; but you must grant it too, as possible, he might mistake me; to accuse me then, was but the error of his virtue: you ought to love him, and thank him for his watchful care. Sir J. Lamb. Hear this, perverse and reprobate! Could'st thou wrong such more than mortal virtue? Col. Lamb. Wrong him! The hardened impudence of this painted charity Sir J. Lamb. Peace, graceless infidel! life to gain you from the clutches of that wretch, I could die to reconcile my duty to your favour; yet, on the terms his villainy offers, it is merit to refuse it :-but, sir, I'll trouble you no more; today is his, to-morrow may be mine. Col. Lamb. No, sir; though I would hazard [Exit. Sir J. Lamb. Come, my friend; we'll go this instant, and sign the settlement; for that wretch ought to be punished, who, I now see, is incorrigible, and given over to perdition. Dr. Cant. And do you think I take your estate with such views? No, sir, I receive it, that I may have an opportunity to rouse his mind to virtue, by showing him an instance of the forgiveness of injuries; the return of good for evil! Sir J. Lamb. O, my dear friend! my stay and my guide! I am impatient 'till the affair is concluded. Dr. Cant. The will of heaven be done in all things. Sir J. Lamb. Poor dear man! [Exeunt. ACT IV. SCENE I-A Parlour in Sir John Lambert's house. Charl. And all passed without the least suspicion? Seyw. Sir John signed it with such earnestness, and the Doctor received it with such seeming reluctance, that neither had the curiosity to examine a line of it. Charl. Well, Mr. Seyward, whether it succeeds to our ends or not, we have still the same obligation to you. You saw with what friendly warmth my brother heard your story; and I don't in the least doubt his being able to do something for you. Seyw. What I have done, my duty bound me to; but pray, madam, give me leave, without offence, to ask you one innocent question. Charl. Freely. Seyw. Have you never suspected, that in all this affair, I have had some secret, stronger motives than barely duty? Charl. Yes. But have you been in no apprehension I should discover that motive? Seyw. Pray pardon me; I see already I have gone too far. Charl. Not at all; it loses you no merit with me; nor is it in my nature to use any one ill that loves me, unless I loved that one again; then, indeed, there might be danger. Come, don't look grave; my inclinations to another shall not hinder me paying every one what's due to their merit: I shall, therefore, always think myself obliged to treat your misfortunes and your modesty with the utmost tenderness. Sey. Your good opinion is all I aim at. Charl. Ay, but the more I give it you, the better you'll think of me still; and then I must think the better of you again, and you the better of me upon that too; and so, at last, I shall think seriously, and you'll begin to think ill of me: but I hope, Mr. Seyward, your good sense will prevent all this. Seyw. I see my folly, madam, and blush at my presumption. I humbly take my leave. [Exit. Charl. Well, he's a pretty young fellow after all; and the very first, sure, that ever heard reason against himself with so good an understanding. Lud! how one may live and learn! I could not believe that modesty in a young fellow could have been so amiable; and though I own there is, I know not what, of dear delight in indulging one's vanity with them, yet, upon serious reflection, I must confess, that truth and sincerity have a thousand charms beyond it. I believe I had as good confess all this to Darnley, and e'en make up the bustle with him too; but then he will so tease one for instances of real inclination-O gad! I can't bear the thought on't; and yet we must come together too. Well, nature knows the way to be sure, and so I'll e'en trust to her for it. Enter LADY LAMBERT. Lady Lamb. Dear Charlotte, what will become of us? Charl. Pray explain, madam. he Lady Lamb. In spite of all I could urge, has consented that the Doctor shall this minute come, and be his own advocate with you. Charl. I'm glad on't; for the beast must come like a bear to the stake. I'm sure he knows I shall bait him. Lady Lamb. No matter for that; he presses it, to keep Sir John still blind to his wicked design upon me; therefore, I come to give you notice, that you might be prepared to receive him. Our Charl. I'm obliged to your ladyship. meeting will be a tender scene, no doubt on't. Lady Lamb. I think I hear the Doctor coming up stairs. My dear girl, at any rate, keep your temper. I shall expect you in my dressing-room, to tell me the particulars of your conduct. [Exit. Charl. He must have a great deal of impudence, to come in this manner to me. Enter BETTY, introducing DR. CANTWELL. Betty. Dr. Cantwell desires to be admitted, madam. Charl. Let him come in.-Your servant, sir.Give us chairs, Betty, and leave the room. [Exit Betty.]-Sir, there's a seat.-What can that ugly cur say to me? He seems a little puzzled. (Aside.) Dr. Cant. (They sit.) Lookye, young lady! I am afraid, notwithstanding your good father's favour, I am not the man you would desire to be alone with upon this occasion. Charl. Your modesty is pleased to be in the right. Dr. Cant. I'm afraid, too, notwithstanding all my endeavours to the contrary, that you entertain a pretty bad opinion of me. Charl. A worse, sir, of no mortal breathing. Dr. Cant. Which opinion is immoveable? Charl. No rock so firm! Dr. Cant. I am afraid, then, it will be a vain pursuit, when I solicit you, in compliance with my worthy friend's desire, and my own inclinations, to become my partner in that blessed estate, in which we may be a comfort and support to each other. Charl. I would die rather than consent to it. Dr. Cant. In other words, you hate me. Charl. Most transcendently! Dr. Cant. Well, there is sincerity, at least, in your confession: you are not, I see, totally deprived of all virtue; though, I must say, I never could perceive in you but very little. Charl. Oh, fie! you flatter me! Dr. Cant. No; I speak it with sorrow, because you are the daughter of my best friend. But how are we to proceed, now? Are we to preserve temper? Charl. Oh, never fear me, sir! I shall not fly out; being convinced that nothing gives so sharp a point to one's aversion as good breeding; as, on the contrary, ill manners often hide a secret inclination. Dr. Cant. Well, then, young lady, be assured, so far am I from the unchristian disposition of returning injuries, that your antipathy to me causes no hatred in my soul towards you; on the contrary, I would willingly make you happy, if it may be done according to my conscience, with the interest of heaven in view. Charl. Why, I can't see, sir, how heaven can be any way concerned in a transaction between you and me. Dr. Cant. When you marry any other person, my consent is necessary. Charl. So I hear, indeed!-But pray, Doctor, how could your modesty receive so insolent a power, without putting my poor father out of countenance with your blushes? Dr. Cant. I sought it not; but he would crowd it in among other obligations. He is good-natured; and I foresaw it might serve to pious purposes. Charl. I don't understand you. Dr. Cant. I take it for granted, that you would marry Mr. Darnley. Am I right? Charl. Once in your life, perhaps, you are. Dr. Cant. Nay, let us be plain. Would you marry him? Charl. You're mighty nice, methinks. Well, I would. Dr. Cant. Then I will not consent. Dr. Cant. My conscience will not suffer me. I know you to be both luxurious and worldlyminded; and you would squander upon the vanities of the world, those treasures which ought to be better laid out. Charl. Hum! I believe I begin to conceive you. Dr. Cant. If you can think of any project to satisfy my conscience, I am tractable. You know there is a considerable moiety of your fortune which goes to my lady, in case of our disagreement. Charl. That's enough, sir. You think we should have a fellow-feeling in it. At what sum do you rate your concurrence to my inclinations? That settled, I am willing to strike the bargain. Dr. Cant. What do you think of half? Charl. How! two thousand pounds! (Rises.) Dr. Cant. Why, you know, you gain two thousand pounds; and really, the severity of the times for the poor, and my own stinted pittance, which cramps my charities, will not suffer me to require less. (Rises.) Charl. But how is my father to be brought into this? |