so little difficulty, that I'll convince the world your chains are not so hard to break as your vanity would tempt you to believe.-I cannot brook the provocation you give.

Vio. This is not to be borne-Insolent! you abandon! you! whom I have so often forbade ever to see me more! Have you not fall'n at my feet? implored my favour and forgiveness? did you not trembling wait, and wish, and sigh, and swear yourself into my heart? Ungrateful man! if my chains are so easily broke as you pretend, then you are the silliest coxcomb living you did not break them long ago; and I must think him capable of brooking any thing, on whom such usage could make no impression.

Isab. [Peeping.] A deuce take your quarrels ! she'll never think on me.

Fel. I always believed, madam, my weakness was the greatest addition to your power; you would be less imperious had my inclination been less forward to oblige you.- You have indeed forbade me your sight, but your vanity even then assured you I would return, and I was fool enough to feed your pride.-Your eyes, with all their boasted charms, have acquired the greatest glory in conquering me-and the brightest passage of your life is wounding this heart with such arms as pierce but few persons of my rank.

[Walks about in a great pet. Vio. Matchless arrogance! True, sir, I should have kept measures better with you, if the conquest had been worth preserving; but we easily hazard what gives us no pain to lose.As for my eyes, you are mistaken if you think they have vanquished none but you: there are men above your boasted rank who have confess'd their power, when their misfortune in pleasing you made them obtain such a disgraceful victory.

among all the footmen in town-nay, if they bal lad you, and cry you about at a halfpenny a-piece -they may without my leave. Vio. Audacious! don't provoke me- -don't: my reputation is not to be sported with [Going up to him] at this rate-no, sir, it is not. [Bursts into tears.] Inhuman Felix!-Oh, Isabella! what a train of ills thou hast brought on me! [Aside. Fel. Ha! I cannot bear to see her weep-a woman's tears are far more fatal than our swords. [Aside.] Oh, Violante-'Sdeath! what a dog am I! Now have I no power to stir.-Dost not thou know such a person as Colonel Briton? Pr'ythee tell me, didst not thou meet him at four this morning upon the Terriero de Passa?

Vio. Were it not to clear my fame, I would not answer thee, thou black ingrate!—but I cannot bear to be reproached with what I even blush to think of, much less to act. By Heaven, I have not seen the Terriero de Passa this day.

Fel. Did not a Scotch footman attack you in the street neither, Violante?

Vio. Yes; but he mistook me for anotheror he was drunk, I know not which. Fel. And do not you know this Scotch colonel?

Vio. Pray ask me no more questions: this night shall clear my reputation, and leave you without excuse for your base suspicions. More than this I shall not satisfy you, therefore pray leave me. Fel. Didst thou ever love me, Violante? Vio. I'll answer nothing- -You was in haste to be gone just now; I should be very well pleased to be alone, sir.

[She sits down, and turns aside. Fel. I shall not long interrupt your contemplation.- -Stubborn to the last. [Aside. Vio. Did ever woman involve herself as I have

Vio. I am so well pleased with your resolution, I don't care how soon you take your leave. But what you mean by the Terriero de Passa at four in the morning I cann't guess.

Fel. No, no, no, not you.—You was not upon the Terriero de Passa at four this morning.

Vio. No, I was not; but if I were, I hope I may walk where I please, and at what hour I please, without asking your leave.

Fel. Oh, doubtless, madam!—and you might meet Colonel Briton there, and afterwards send your emissary to fetch him to your houseand, upon your father's coming in, thrust him into your bed-chamber-without asking my leave. 'Tis no business of mine, if you are exposed

a little nearer to her.] Give me your hand at parting, however, Violante, won't you-[He lays his hand upon her knee several times]—won't youwon't you won't you?

Vio. [Half regarding him.] Won't I do what? Fel. You know what I would have, Violante. Oh, my heart!

Vio. [Smiling.] I thought my chains were easily broke. [Lays her hand into his. Fel. [Draws his chair close to her, and kisses her hand in a rapture.] Too well thou knowest thy strength.- Oh, my charming angel! my heart is all thy own. Forgive my hasty passion'tis the transport of a love sincere. Oh, Violante, Violante!

Don PEDRO within.

Ped. Bid Sancho get a new wheel to my cha riot presently.

Ped. Ay, do; come, let's see this contract, then.

PEDRO'S House.

contract.

Fel. Yes, yes; I'll go I'll go and be married; but sha'n't we take a bottle first?

Ped. No, no,-pray, dear sir, go and be married.

Fel. Very well, very well; [Going] but I insist upon your taking one glass, though.

Ped. No, not now-some other time-consider the lady waits.

Fel. What a cross old fool! First he will, and then he won't; and then he will, and then he won't. [Exit.

Enter Servant.

Enter LISSARDO.

Liss. I wish I could see Flora-methinks I have an hankering kindness after the slut-we must be reconciled.

Enter GIBBY,

Gib. Aw my saul, sir, but Ise blithe to find yee here now.

Liss. Ha, brother! give me thy hand, boy. Gib. No se fast, se ye me- Brether me ne brethers; I scorn a leer as muckle as a thiefe, se ye now, and ye must gang intul this house with me, and justify to Donna Violante's face, that she was the lady that gang'd in here this morn, se ye me, or the deel ha my saul, sir, but ye and I

on you, signior.

Pcd. What the devil does he want? he is not going to be married too— -Bring him up; he's in pursuit of his son, I suppose.

Liss. Justify it to Donna Violante's face, quoth-a! For what? Sure you don't know what you say.

Gib. Troth de I, sir, as weel as yee de: therefore come along, and make na mair words about it.

Liss. Why, what the devil do you mean? Don't you consider you are in Portugal?-Is the fellow mad?

Gib. Fellow! Ise none of yer fellow, sir; and gin the place were hell, I'd gar ye do me justice. LISSARDO going.] Nay, the deel a feet ye gang. [Lays hold of him, and knocks. Liss. Ha! Don Pedro himself: I wish I were [Aside.

fairly off.

Enter Don PEDRO.

Ped. How now? What makes you knock so loud?

Gib. Gin this be Don Pedro's house, sir, I would speak with Donna Violante, his daughter. Ped. Ha! what is it you want with my daughter, pray?

Gib. An' she be your daughter, an' lik your honour, command her to come out, and answer for herself now, and either justify or disprove what this chield told me this morn.

de

Liss. So, here will be a fine piece of work. [Aside. Ped. Why, what did he tell you, ha? Gib. By my saul, sir, Ise tell you aw the truth, -My master got a pratty lady upon the-how call❜t-Passa-here, at five this morn, and he gar me watch her heam—and in troth I lodg'd her here; and meeting this ill-favour'd thiefe, se ye me, I speered wha she was-and he tald me her name was Donna Violante, Don Pedro de Mendosa's daughter.

Ped. Ha! my daughter with a man, abroad at five in the morning! Death, hell, and furies! By Saint Anthony, I'm undone.

Gib. Wounds, sir! ye put yer saint intul bonny company.

married?

Isab. Really so, my lord. Lop. And who are you, sir? Col. An honest North-Briton by birth, and a colonel by commission, my lord. Lop. An heretic! the devil!

[Holding up his hands. Ped. She has played you a slippery trick, indeed, my lord.-Well, my girl, thou hast been to see thy friend married-next week thou shalt have a better husband, my dear. [To VIOLANTE.

Fel. Next week is a little too soon, sir; I hope to live longer than that.

Ped. What do you mean, sir? You have not made a rib of my daughter too, have you?

Vio. Indeed but he has, sir: I know not how, but he took me in an unguarded minute-when

my thoughts were not over-strong for a nunnery, father.

Lop. Your daughter has play'd you a slippery trick too, signior.

Ped. But your son shall never be the better

for't, my lord; her twenty thousand pounds were left on certain conditions, and I'll not part with a shilling.

Lop. But we have a certain thing, call'd law, shall make you do justice, sir.

Ped. Well, we'll try that-My lord, much good may it do you with your daughter-in-law.

[Exit.

Lop. I wish you much joy of your rib. [Exit.

Enter FREDERICK.

Fel. Frederick, welcome!-I sent for thee to be partaker of my happiness, and pray give me leave to introduce you to the cause of it.

Fred. Your messenger has told me all, and I sincerely share in all your happiness.

Col. To the right about, Frederick; wish thy friend joy.

Fred. I do with all my soul-and, madam, I congratulate your deliverance.-Your suspicions are clear'd now, I hope, Felix ?

Fel. They are, and I heartily ask the colonel pardon, and wish him happy with my sister; for love has taught me to know that every man's happiness consists in choosing for himself.

Liss. After that rule I fix here. [To FLORA. Flo. That's your mistake: I prefer my lady's service, and turn you over to her that pleaded right and title to you to-day.

Liss. Choose, proud fool! I sha'n't ask you

twice.

Gib. What say ye now, lass-will ye ge yer hond to poor Gibby?-What say you; will you dance the reel of Bogie with me?

at your word; and though our wooing has been Inis. That I may not leave my lady, I take you short, I'll by her example love you dearly. [Music plays. Fel. Hark, I hear the music; somebody has done us the favour to call them in.

[A country dance. Gib. Wounds, this is bonny music!--How caw ye that thing that ye pinch by the craig, and tickle the weamb, and make it cry grum, grum? Fred. Oh! that's a guitar, Gibby.

Fel. Now, my Violante, I shall proclaim thy virtues to the world.

Let us no more thy sex's conduct blame,
Since thou'rt a proof, to their eternal fame,
That man has nò advantage, but the name,
[Exeunt omnes,

CUSTOM, with all our modern laws combin'd,
Has given such power despotic to mankind,
That we have only so much virtue now
As they are pleas'd in favour to allow;
Thus, like mechanic work, we're us'd with scorn,
And wound up only for a present turn.
Some are for having our whole sex enslav'd,
Affirming we've no souls, and cann't be sav'd; *
But were the women all of my opinion,
We'd soon shake off this false, usurp'd dominion;
We'd make the tyrants own that we cou'd prove
As fit for other bus'ness as for love.
Lord! what prerogative might we obtain,
Could we from yielding a few months refrain!
How fondly would our dangling lovers dote!
What homage would be paid to petticoat!
'Twou'd be a jest to see the change of fate;
How might we all of politics debate,

Promise and swear what we ne'er meant to do,
And, what's still harder, Keep our Secrets too.
Ay, marry! Keep a Secret, says a beau,
And sneers at some ill-natur'd wit below;
But, faith, if we should tell but half we know,
There's many a spruce young fellow in this place
Would never more presume to shew his face.
Women are not so weak, whate'er men prate;
How many tip-top beaux have had the fate
T' enjoy from mamma's Secrets their estate!
Who, if her early folly had been known,
Had rid behind the coach that's now their own.
But here the wondrous Secret you discover,-
A lady ventures for a friend-a lover.
Prodigious! for my part, I frankly own,
I'd spoil'd the Wonder, and the woman shown: