think the worse of Darnley-but a father's consent might have clapt a pair of horses more to your coach perhaps, and the want of it may pinch your fortune. Charl. Burn fortune! am not I a fine woman? and have not I twenty thousand pounds in my own hands? Col. Lamb. Yes, sister, but with all your charms, you have had them in your hands almost these four years. Charl. Psha! and have not I had the full swing of my own airs and humours these four years? but if I humour my father, I warrant he'll make it three or four thousand more, with some unlick'd lout-A comfortable equivalent, truly! No, no; let him light his pipe with his consent, if he please. Wilful against wise for a wager. Col. Lamb. Well said; nothing goes to your heart, I find. Charl. No, no; if I must have an ill match, I'll have the pleasure of playing my own game at least. Col. Lamb. But pray, sister, has my father ever proposed any other man to you? Charl. Another man! let me know why you ask, and I'll tell you. Col. Lamb. Why, the last words he said to me were, that he had another man in his head for you. Charl. And who is it? who is it? tell me, dear brother! Col. Lamb. Why, you don't so much as seem surprised. Charl. No; but I'm impatient, and that's as well. very Col. Lamb. Why, how now, sister? know Charl, Why, sure, brother, you little of female happiness, if you suppose the surprise of a new lover ought to shock a woman of my temper-don't you know that I am a coquette? Col. Lamb. If you are, you are the first that ever was sincere enough to own her being so. Charl. To a lover, I grant you: but not to you; I make no more of you than a sister: I can say any thing to you. Col. Lamb. I should have been better pleased if you had not owned it to me-it's a hateful character. Charl. Ay, it's no matter for that; it's violently pleasant, and there's no law against it that I know of. Col. Lamb. Darnley's like to have a hopeful time with you. Charl. Well; but don't you really know who it is my father intends me?" Col. Lamb. Not I, really; but I imagined you might, and therefore thought to advise with you about it. Charl. Nay, he has not opened his lips to me out? yet are you sure he's gone Col. Lamb. You are very impatient to know, methinks; what have you to do to concern yourself about any man but Darnley? Charl. O lud! O lud! Pr'ythee, brother, don't be so wise; if you had an empty house to let, would you be displeased to hear there were two people about it? Besides, to be a little serious, Darnley has a tincture of jealousy in his temper, which nothing but a substantial rival can cure. Col. Lamb. Oh, your servant, madam! now you talk reason. I am glad you are concerned enough for Darnley's faults, to think them worth your ending-ha, ha! say Charl. Concern'd! why, did I that?-look you, I'll deny it all to him-well, if ever I rious with him again- am seCol. Lamb. Here he comes; be as merry with him as you please. Charl. Psha! Darn. My dear colonel, your servant. Col. Lamb. I am glad you did not come sooner; for in the humour my father left me, 'twould not have been a proper time for you to have pressed your affair—I touch'd upon't-but-I'll tell you more presently; in the mean time, lose no ground with my sister. Darn. I shall always think myself obliged to your friendship, let my success be what it willMadam, your most obedient-what have you got there, pray? Charl. [Reading.] Her lively looks a sprightly mind disclose; Quick as her eyes, and as unfix'd as thoseDurn. Pray, madam, what is it? Charl. Favours to none, to all she smiles extends um-um Darn. That is something like, indeed. Col. Lamb. You would say so, if you knew all. Darn. All what! pray what do you mean? Col. Lamb. Have a little patience: I'll tell you immediately. Charl. If to her share some female errors fall, Look on her face-and you'll forget them all. Is not that natural, Mr Darnley? Darn. For a woman to expect, it is indeed. Charl. And can you blame her, when 'tis at the same time a proof of the poor man's passion, and her power? Darn. So that you think the greatest compli ment a lover can make his mistress, is to give up reason to her. Charl. Certainly; for what have your lordly sex to boast of but your understanding, and till that's entirely surrendered to her discretion, whilst the least sentiment holds out against her, a woman must be downright vain to think her conquest completed. Darn. There we differ, madam; for in my opinion, nothing but the most excessive vanity could value or desire such a conquest. Charl. Oh, d'ye hear him, brother! the creature reasons with me; nay, has the effrontery to think me in the wrong too! O lud! he'd make an horrid tyrant-positively I won't have him. Durn. Well; my comfort is, no other man will easily know whether you'll have him or not. Chari. Am I not an horrid vain, silly creature, Mr Darnley? Darn. A little bordering upon the baby, I must own. Charl. Laud! how can you love a body so then? but I don't think you love me tho'-do you? Darn. Yes, faith, I do; and so shamefully, that I'm in hopes you doubt it. Charl. Poor man! he'd fain bring me to rea son. Darn. I would indeed.-Nay, were it but possible to make you serious only when you should be so, I should think you the most amiableCharl. O lud! he's civil Darn. Come, come, you have good sense; use me but with that, and make me what you please. Charl. Laud! I don't desire to make any thing of you, not I. Darn. Don't look so cold upon me; by Heaven, I can't bear it. Charl. Well, now you are tolerable. Darn. Come then, be generous, and swear at least you'll never marry another. Charl. Ah, laud! now you have spoiled all again:-besides, how can I be sure of that, before I have seen this other man my brother spoke to me of? Darn. What riddle's this! Col. Lamb. I told you, you did not know all. To be serious, my father went out but now on purpose to avoid you.-In short, he absolutely retracts his promises; says, he would not have you fool away your time after my sister; and, in plain terms told me, he had another man in his head for her. Darn. Another man! who? what is he? did not he name him? Col. Lamb. No; nor has he yet spoke of him to my sister. Darn. This is unaccountable !-what can have given him this sudden turn? Col. Lamb. Some whim our conscientious doctor has put in his head, I'll lay my life. Darn. He! he can't be such a villain; he professes a friendship for me. Col. Lamb. So much the worse. Darn. But on what pretence, what grounds, what reason? what interest can he have to oppose me? Col. Lamb. Are you really now as unconcerned as you seem to be? Charl. You are a strange dunce, brother you know no more of love than I do of a regiment-You shall see now how I'll comfort himPoor Darnley, ha, ha, ha! Darn. I don't wonder at your good humour, madam, when you have so substantial an opportunity to make me uneasy for life. Charl. O lud! how sententious he is! well, his reproaches have that greatness of soul-the confusion they give is insupportable.-Betty!—is the tea ready? Enter BETTY. Betty. Yes, madam. Charl. Mr Darnley, your servant. [Exit. [BETTY follows. Col. Lamb. So, you have made a fine piece of work on't indeed! Darn. Dear Tom, pardon me if I speak a little freely; I own the levity of her behaviour, at this time, gives me harder thoughts than I once believed it possible to have of her. Col. Lamb. Indeed, my friend, you mistake her. Darn. Nay, nay; had she any real concern for me, the apprehensions of a man's addresses, whom yet she never saw, must have alarmed her to some degree of seriousness. Col. Lamb. Not at all; for let this man be whom he will, I take her levity as a proof of her resolution to have nothing to say to him. Darn. And pray, sir, may I not as well suspect, that this artful delay of her good nature to me now, is meant as a provisional defence against my reproaches, in case, when she has seen this man, she should think it convenient to prefer him? Col. Lamb. No, no; she's giddy, but not capable of so studied a falsehood. Darn. But still, what could she mean by going away so abruptly? Col. Lamb. You grew too grave for her. Col. Lamb. No-if you could, the uneasiness would lie on her side. Darn. Do you then really think she has any thing in her heart for me? Col. Lamb. Ay, marry, sir-Ah! if you could but get her to own that seriously now—Lord, how you could love her! Darn. And so I could, by heaven. Col. Lamb. Well, well; I'll undertake for her; if my father don't stand in the way, we are well enough. Darn. What says my lady? you don't think she's against us? Col. Lamb. I dare say she is not. She's of so soft, so sweet a disposition Darn. Pr'ythee, how came so fine a woman to marry your father, with such a vast inequality of years?" Col. Lamb. Want of fortune, Frank: She was poor and beautiful-he rich and amorous-she made him happy, and he her Darn. A lady Col. Lamb. You shall judge by the symptoms― but hush!—here he comes with my grandmother-step this way, and I'll tell you. [Exeunt Enter Doctor CANTWELL and old Lady LAMBERT, followed by SEYWARD. Dr Cant. Charles, step up into my study; bring down a dozen more of those manuals of devotion, with the last hymns I composed; and, when he calls, give them to Mr Maw-worm; and, do you hear, if any one enquires for me, say I am gone to Newgate, and the Marshalsea, to distribute alms, [Exit SEYWARD. Old Lady Lamb. Well; but, worthy doctor, why will you go to the prisons yourself? cannot you send the money?-Ugly distempers are often catched there have a care of your health-let us keep one good man, at least, amongst us. Dr Cant. Alas, madam, I am not a good man: I am a guilty, wicked sinner, full of iniquity; the greatest villain that ever breathed; every instant of my life is clouded with stains; it is one continued series of crimes and defilements; you do not know what I am capable of; you indeed take me for a good man; but the truth is, I am a worthless creature. Old Lady Lamb. Have you then stumbled? Alas, if it be so, who shall walk upright? What horrid crime have you been hurried into, that calls for this severe self-recrimination? Dr Cant. None, madam, that perhaps humanity may call very enormous; yet am I sure, that my thoughts never stray a moment from celestial contemplations? do they not sometimes, before I am aware, turn to things of this earth? am I not often hasty, and surprised into wrath? nay, the instance is recent; for, last night, being snarled at, and bit by Minxy, your daughter-inlaw's lap-dog, I am conscious I struck the little beast with a degree of passion, for which I have never been able to forgive myself since. Old Lady Lamb. Oh, worthy, humble soul! this is a slight offence, which your suffering and mortifications may well atone for. Dr Cant. No, madam, no; I want to suffer; I ought to be mortified; and I am obliged now to tell you, that, for my soul's sake, I must quit your good son's family; I am pamper'd too much here, live too much at my ease. Old Lady Lamb. Good doctor! Dr Cant. Alas, madam! It is not you that should shed tears; it is I ought to weep; you are a pure woman. Old Lady Lamb. I pure? who, I?—no, no; sinful, sinful! -But do not talk of quitting Old Lady Lamb. Grandson, how do you? Dr Cant. Mr Darnley, I am your most humble stay, and join in the private duties of the family. servant: I hope you and the good colonel will Old Lady Lamb. No, doctor, no; it is too early; the sun has not risen upon them, but I doubt not, the day will come. Dr Cant. I warrant they would go to a play now. Old Lady Lamb. Would they?—I am afraid they would. Darn. Why, I hope it is no sin, madam; if I' am not mistaken, I have seen your ladyship at a play. Old Lady Lamb. Me, sir!-see me at a play! You may have seen the prince of darkness, or some of his imps, in my likeness, perhaps— Darn. Well, but madam Old Lady Lamb. Mr Darnley, do you think I would commit a murder! Dr Cant. No, sir, no; these are not the plants usually to be met with in that rank soil; the seeds of wickedness indeed sprout up every where too fast; but a playhouse is the devil's hot-bed. Col. Lamb. And, yet, doctor, I have known some of the leaders of your tribe, as scrupulous as they are, who have been willing to gather fruit there for the use of the brethren- -as in case of a benefit Dr Cant. The charity covereth the sin; and it may be lawful to turn the wages of abomination to the comfort of the righteous. Col. Lamb. Ha, ha, ha! been a long time a frequenter of our modern conventicles, where, it seems, she got acquainted with this sanctified pastor. His disciples believe him a saint, and my poor father, who has been for some time tainted with their pernicious principles, has been led into the same snare. Darn. Ha! here's your sister again. Enter CHARLOTTE and Doctor CANTWELL. Charl. You'll find, sir, I will not be used thus; nor shall your credit with my father protect your insolence to me. Col Lamb. What's the matter? Char. Nothing; pray be quiet-I don't want you-stand out of the way-how durst you bolt with such authority into my chamber, without giving me notice? Darn. Confusion! Col. Lamb. Hold-if my father won't resent this, 'tis then time enough for me to do it. Dr. Cant. Compose yourself, madam; I came by your father's desire, who being informed that you were entertaining Mr Darnley, grew impatient, and gave his positive commands that you attend him instantly, or he himself, he says, will fetch you. Darn. Ay, now the storm is rising. Dr. Cant. So, for what I have done, madam, I had his authority, and shall leave him to answer you. Charl. 'Tis false. He gave you no authority to insult me; or, if he had, did you suppose I would bear it from you? What is it you presume upon? Your function? Does that exempt you from the manners of a gentleman? Dr. Cant. Shall I have an answer to your father, lady? Charl. I'll send him none by you. Charl. A saucy puppy! [Exit. at the accident; what a ridiculous figure must she make-ha, ha, ha! Charl. Hah! you're as impudent as he, I think. Darn. Now, dear Tom, speak to her before she goes. Charl. What does he say, brother? Col. Lamb. Why, he wants to have me speak to you, and I would have him do it himself." Charl. Ay, come do, Darnley; I am in a good humour now. Darn. Oh, Charlotte, my heart is bursting— Charl. Well, well, out with it then. Darn. Your father now, I see, is bent on parting us-nay, what's worse, perhaps, will give you to another-I cannot speak-imagine what I want from you Charl. Well-O lud! one looks so silly though when one is serious—O gad!—In short, I cannot get it out. Col. Lamb. I warrant you; try again. Charl. O lud-well-if one must be teased, then-why he must hope, I think. Darn. Is it possible?- -thus Col. Lamb. Buz-not a syllable: she has done very well. I bar all heroics; if you press it too far, I'll hold six to four she's off again in a moment. Darn. I'm silenced. Charl. Now am I on tiptoe to know what odd fellow my father has found out for me. Darn. I'd give something to know him. Charl. He's in a terrible fuss at your being here, I find. Col. Lamb. 'Sdeath! here he comes. Sir JOHN LAMBERT enters hastily; and, looking sternly at DARNLEY, takes CHARLOTTE under his arm, and carries her off. Col. Lamb. Sowell said, doctor. 'Tis he, I am sure, has blown this fire: what horrid Col. Lamb. Pray, sister, what has the fellow hands is our poor family fallen into! and how done to you? Charl. Nothing. Darn. I beg you would tell us, madam. Charl. Nay, no great matter-but I was sitting tarelessly in my dressing room-a-a fastening my garter, with my face just towards the door; and this impudent cur, without the least notice, comes bounce in upon me-and my devilish hoop happening to hitch in the chair, I was an hour before I could get down my petticoats. Darn. The rogue must be corrected. the rogue seems to triumph in his power!— How little is my father like himself! By nature open, just, and generous; but this vile hypocrite drives his weak passions like the wind; and I foresee, at last, something fatal will be the consequence. Darn. Not if, by speedily detecting him, you take care to prevent it. Col. Lamb. Why, I have a thought that might expose him to my father; and, in some unguarded hour, we may yet, perhaps, surprise this lurking thief without his holy vizor. [Exeunt. SCENE I. ACT II. An Ante-Chamber in Sir JOHN LAMBERT'S House. SEYWARD, with a Writing in his Hand. Sey. 'Tis so- -I have long suspected where his zeal would end; in the making of his private fortune. But then, to found it on the ruin of his patron's children!-I shudder at the villainy. What desperation may a son be driven to, so barbarously disinherited!-Besides, his daughter, fair Charlotte, too, is wronged; wronged in the tenderest point: for so extravagant is this settlement, that it leaves her not a shilling, unless she marries with the doctor's consent, which is intended, by what I have heard, as an expedient to oblige her to marry the doctor himself.—Now, 'twere but an honest part to let Charlotte know the snare that's laid for her. This deed's not signed and may be yet prevented. It shall be so. -Yes, charming creature-I adore you. And, though I am sensible my passion is without hope, I may indulge it thus far, at least; I may have the merit of serving you, and perhaps the pleasure to know you think yourself obliged by me. Enter Sir JOHN, Lady LAMBERT, and CHAR LOTTE. Sir J. Lamb. Oh, Seyward, your uncle wants you, to transcribe some hymns. Seyw. Sir, I'll wait on him. [Exit. Charl. A pretty well-bred fellow that. Sir J. Lamb. Ay, ay: but he has better qualities than his good breeding. Charl. He's always clean, too. Sir J. Lamb. I wonder, daughter, when you will take notice of a man's real merit. Humph!-well bred and clean, forsooth! Would not one think now she was describing a cox- comb? When do you hear my wife talk at this rate? and yet she is as young as your fantastical ladyship. Lady Lamb. Charlotte is of a cheerful temper, my dear; but I know you don't think she wants discretion. Sir J. Lamb. Mind what I say to vou. wonderful man, I say, first, in his public character, is religious, zealous, and charitable. Char. Very well, sir. Sir J. Lamb. In his private character, sober. [Stifling a laugh. Sir J. Lamb. What is it you sneer at, madam? -You want one of your fine gentlemen rakes, I suppose, that are snapping at every woman they meet with? Char. No, no, sir; I am very well satisfiedI-I should not care for such a sort of a man, no more than I should for one that every woman was ready to snap at. Sir J. Lamb. No; you'll be secure from jealousy; he has experience, ripeness of yearshe is almost forty-nine. Your sex's vanity will have no charms for him. Char. But all this while, sir, I don't find that he has charms for our sex's vanity. How does he look? Is he tall, well made? Does he dress, sing, talk, laugh, and dance well? Has he good hair, good teeth, fine eyes? Does he keep a chaise, coach, and vis-a-vis? Has he six prancing ponies? Does he wear the Prince's uniform, and subscribe to Brookes's? Sir J. Lamb. Was there ever so profligate a creature! What will this age come to! Lady Lamb. Nay, Charlotte, here I must be against you. Now you are blind indeed. A woman's happiness has little to do with the pleasure her husband takes in his own person. Sir J. Lamb. Right. · Lady Lamb. It is not how he looks, but how he loves, is the point. Sir J. Lamb. Good again. Lady Lamb. And a wife is much more secure that has charms for her husband, than when the husband has only charms for her. Sir J. Lamb. Admirable! Go on, my dear. Lady Lamb. Do you think a woman of five Sir J. Lamb. I shall try that presently; and you, my dear, shall judge between us. In short, daughter, your course of life is but one continual round of playing the fool to no purpose; and therefore I am resolved to make you think seri-and-twenty may not be much happier with an ously, and marry. Char. That I shall do before I marry, sir, you may depend upon it. Sir J. Lamb. Um-That I am not so sure of; but you may depend upon my having thought seriously, and that's as well; for the person I intend you, is, of all the world, the only man who can make you truly happy. Char. And of all the world, sir, that's the only man I'll positively marry. honest man of fifty, than the finest woman of fifty with a young fellow of five-and-twenty? Sir J. Lamb. Mark that. Char. Ay, but when two five-and-twenties come together!-dear papa, you must allow they have a chance to be fifty times as pleasant and frolick some. Sir J. Lamb. Frolicksome! Why, you sensual idiot, what have frolics to do with solid happiness? I am ashamed of you-Go, you talk worse than |