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a girl at a boarding-school-Frolicksome! as if marriage was only a licence for two people to play the fool according to law. Methinks, madam, you have a better example of happiness before your face. Here's one has ten times your understanding, and she, you find, has made a different choice.

Char. Lord, sir, how you talk! you don't consider people's tempers. I don't say my lady is not in the right; but then, you know, papa, she's a prude, and I am a coquette; she becomes her character very well, I don't deny it; and I hope you see every thing I do is as consistent with mine. Your wise people may talk what they will, but 'tis constitution governs us all: and be assured, you will no more be able to bring me to endure a man of forty-nine, than you can persuade my lady to dance in church to the organ.

Sir J. Lamb. Why, you wicked wretch, could any thing persuade you to do that?

Chur. Lord, sir, I won't answer for what I might do, if the whim was in my head; besides, you know I always loved a little flirtation.

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Sir J. Lamb. O horrible!-flirtation! My poor sister has ruined her leaving her fortune in her own hand has turned her brain. In short, Charlotte, your sentiments of life are shameful, and I am resolved upon your instant reformation; therefore, as an earnest of your obedience, I shall first insist that you never see young Darnley more; for, in one word, the good and pious doctor Cantwell's the man that I have decreed for your husband.

Char. Ho, ho, ho!

Sir J. Lamb. 'Tis very well; this laugh you think becomes you, but I shall spoil your mirthno more-give me a serious answer.

Char. I ask your pardon, sir: I should not have smiled indeed, could I have supposed it possible that you were serious.

Sir J. Lamb. You'll find me so.

Char. I'm sorry for it; but I have an objection

Char. O madam! I am at my wit's end; not for the little fortune I may lose in disobeying my father, but it startles me to find what a dangerous influence this fellow has over all his actions. Lady Lamb. Here's your brother.

Enter Colonel LAMBERT.

Col. Lamb. Madam, your most obedient.-Well, sister, is the secret out? Who is this pretty fellow my father has picked up for you?

Charl. Even our agreeable doctor. Col. Lamb. You are not serious? Lady Lamb. He's the very man, I can assure you, sir.

Col. Lamb. Confusion! what, would the cormorant devour the whole family? Your ladyship knows he is secretly in love with you too.

Lady Lamb. Fy, fy, colonel.

Col. Lamb. I ask your pardon, madam, if I speak too freely; but I am sure, by what I have seen, your ladyship must suspect something of it.

Lady Lamb. I am sorry any body else has seen it; but I must own his behaviour to me of late, both in private and before company, has been something warmer than I thought became him.

Col. Lamb. How are these opposites to be reconciled? Can the rascal have the assurance to think both points are to be carried?

Charl. Truly, one would not suspect the gentleman to be so termagant.

Col. Lamb. Especially while he pretends to be so shocked at all indecent amours. In the country he used to make the maids lock up the turkey cocks every Saturday night, for fear they should gallant the hens on a Sunday.

Lady Lamb. Oh! ridiculous!

Col. Lamb. Upon my life, madam, my sister told me so.

Charl. I tell you so, you impudent

Lady Lamb. Fy, Charlotte; he only jests with

you.

Charl. How can you be such a monster to stay

to the doctor, sir, that most fathers think a sub-playing the fool here, when you have more reastantial one.

Sir J. Lamb. Name it.

Char. Why, sir, we know nothing of his fortune; he's not worth a groat.

Sir J. Lamb. That's more than you know, madam; I am able to give him a better estate than I am afraid you'll deserve.

Char. How! sir!

son to be frighted out of your wits! You don't know, perhaps, that my father declares he'll settle a fortune upon this fellow too.

Col. Lamb. What do you mean?

Lady Lamb. 'Tis too true; 'tis not three minutes since he said so.

Col, Lamb. Nay, then, it is time indeed his eyes were opened; and give me leave to say,

Sir J. Lamb. I have told you what's my will, madam, 'tis only in your power. and shall leave you to think on't.

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Lady Lamb. What is't you propose?

Col. Lamb. Why, if this fellow, which I'm sure of, is really in love with you, give him a fair opportunity to declare himself, and leave me to make my advantage of it.

Lady Lamb. Ishould be loth to do a wrong thing. Charl. Dear madam, it is the only way in the world to expose him to my father.

Lady Lamb. I'll think of it.

Col. Lamb. Pray do, madam; but in the mean time I must leave you-poor Darnley stays for me at the Smyrna, and will sit upon thorns till I bring him an account of his new rival.

Charl. Well, well, get you gone then; here is my grandmother, and, after the affront you offered this morning to the doctor, she will not be able to bear the sight of you. [Exit Col.

Enter Old Lady LAMBERT. Lady Lamb. This is kind, madam; I hope your ladyship's come to dine with us.

Old Lady Lamb. Oh, don't be afraid! only in my way from Tottenham Court, I just called to see whether any dreadful accident happened to the family since I was here last.

Lady Lamb Accident, did your ladyship say? Old Lady Lamb. I shall be sorry, daughter, but not surprised, when I hear it; for there are goings on under this roof that will bring temporal punishments along with them.

Lady Lamb. Indeed, madam, you astonish me! Old Lady Lamb. We'll drop the subject; and I beg leave to address myself to you, Miss Charlotte: I see you have a bit of lace upon your neck; I desire to know what you wear it for.

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Charl. Wear it for, madam! it's the fashion.

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Dr Cunt. Alas! the dear good lady, I will kiss her hand!-but what advice can she give me? The riches of this world, sir, have no charms for me; I am not dazzled with their false glare; and · Old Lady Lamb. In short, I have been at my was I, I repeat it, to accept of the trust you want linen-draper's to-day, and have brought you some to repose in me, Heaven knows, it would only thick muslin, which I desire you will make hand-be lest the means should fall into wicked hands, kerchiefs of--for I must tell you that slight covering is indecent, and gives much offence.

who would not lay it out as I should do, for the glory of heaven, and the good of my neighbour.

Lady Lamb. Indecent, did your ladyship say? Old Lady Lamb. What is the matter, son? Old Lady Lamb. Yes, daughter-in-law. Doc- Dr Cant. Nothing, madam, nothing.—But tor Cantwell complains to me that he cannot sit you were witness how the worthy colonel treated at table, the sight of her bare neck disturbs him me this morning-Not that I speak it on my own so; and he's a good man, and knows what inde-account--for to be reviled is my portion. cency is.

Chart. Yes, indeed; I believe he does, better than any one in this house. But you may tell the doctor from me, madam, that he is an impudent coxcomb, a puppy, and deserves to have his bones broke.

Old Lady Lamb. Fy, Charlotte, fy! He speaks but for your good, and this is the grateful return you make.

Charl. Grateful return, madam!-how can you be so partial to that hypocrite?-The doctor is one of those who start at a feather.-Poor good man! yet he has his vices of the graver sort

Old Lady Lamb. Come, come; I wish you would follow his precepts, whose practice is conformable to what he teaches Virtuous man! -Above all sensual regards, he considers the world merely as a collection of dirt and pebblestones.-How has he weaned me from temporal connections! My heart is now set upon nothing sublunary; and, I thank Heaven, I am so insensible to every thing in this vain world, that I could see you, my son, my daughters, my bro thers, my grandchildren, all expire before me; and mind it no more than the going out of so inany snuffs of candle.

Sir J. Lamb. O the villain! the villain! Dr Cant. Indeed, I did not think he had so hard a nature.

Old Lady Lamb. Ah! your charitable heart knows not the rancour that is in his.-His wicked sister too has been here this moment abusing this good man.

Dr Cant. O sir, 'tis plain, 'tis plain; your whole family are in a combination against ineyour son and daughter hate me; they think I stand between them and your favour; and indeed it is not fit I should do so; for, fallen as they are, they are still your children, and I am an alien, an intruder, who ought in conscience to retire and heal those unhappy breaches.

Old Lady Lamb. See, if the good man does not wipe his eyes!

Dr Cant. Oh, Heavens! the thought of their ingratitude wounds me to the quick-but I'll remove this eye-sore-here, Charles !

Enter SEYWARD.

Sir J. Lamb. For goodness sakeDr Cant. Bring me that writing I gave you to I lay up this morning.

Sir J. Lamb. Make haste, good Charles; it shall be signed this moment. [Exit SEYWARD. Dr Cant. Not for the world, Sir John-every

Charl. Upon my word, madam, it is a very humane disposition you have been able to arrive at, and your family is much obliged to the doc-minute tends to corroborate my last intentions tor for his instructions.

I must not, will not take it, with the curses of

Old Lady Lamb. Well, child, I have nothing your children.

Sir J. Lamb. But, consider, doctor-shall my wicked son then be heir to my lands, before repentance has entitled him to favour?-No, let him depend upon you, whom he has wronged; perhaps, in time he may reflect upon his father's justice, and be reconciled to your rewarded virtues. If Heaven should at last reclaim him, in you, I know, he still would find a fond forgiving father.

Dr Cant. The imagination of so blest an hour softens me to a tenderness I cannot support!

Old Lady Lamb. Oh! the dear good man! Sir J. Lamb. With regard to my daughter, doctor, you know she is not wronged by it: because, if she proves not obstinate, she may still be happy.

Old Lady Lamb. Yes, but the perverse wretch slights the blessing you propose for her.

Dr Cant. We must allow, madam, female modesty a time, which often takes the likeness of distaste: the commands of your good son might too suddenly surprise her-Maids must be gently dealt with-and might I humbly advise―

Sir J. Lamb. Any thing you will; you shall govern me and her.

Dr Cant. Then, sir, abate of your authority, and let the matter rest a while.

Sir J. Lamb. Suppose we were to get my wife to speak to her? women will often hear from their own sex what, sometimes, even from the man they like, will startle them.

Dr Cant. Then, with your permission, sir, I will take an opportunity of talking to my lady. Sir J. Lamb. She's now in her dressing room; I'll go and prepare her for it. [Exit. Dr Cant. You are too good to me, sir-too bountiful.

Enter SEYWARD.

Seyw. Sir, Mr Maw-worm is without, and would be glad to be permitted to speak with you. Old Lady Lamb. Oh, pray, doctor, admit him; I have not seen Mr Maw-worm this great while; he's a pious man, tho' in a humble estate; desire the worthy creature to walk in.

Enter MAW-WORM.

-How do you do, Mr Maw-worm?

Maw. Thank your ladyship's axing-I'm but deadly poorish, indeed; the world and I can't agree I have got the books, doctor and Mrs Grunt bid me give her service to you, and thanks you for the eighteen-pence.

Dr Cant. Hush, friend Maw-worm! not a word more; you know I hate to have my little charities blaz'd about a poor widow, madam, to whom I sent my mite.

Old Lady Lamb. Give her this.

[Offers a purse to MAW-WORM. Dr Cant. I'll take care it shall be given up to her. [Puts it up. Old Lady Lamb. But what is the matter with you, Mr Maw-worm?

Max. I don't know what's the matter with

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me I'm a breaking my heart--I think its a sin to keep a shop.

Old Lady Lamb. Why, if you think it a sin, indeed-pray what's your business?

Maw. We deals in grocery, tea, small beer, charcoal, butter, brick-dust, and the like. Old Lady Lamb. Well; you must consult with your friendly director here.

Maw. I wants to go a preaching.
Old Lady Lamb. Do you?

Maw. I'm almost sure I have had a call.
Old Lady Lamb. Ay!

Maw. I have made several sermons already; I does them extrumpery, because I cann't write; and now the devils in our alley says, as how my head's turned.

Old Lady Lamb. Ay, devils indeed--but don't you Inind them.

Maw. No, I don't-I rebukes them, and preaches to them whether they will or not. We lets our house in lodgings to single men; and sometimes I gets them together, with one or two of the neighbours, and makes them all cry.

Old Lady Lamb. Did you ever preach in public?

Maw. I got up on Kennington Common the last review day, but the boys threw brick-bats at me, and pinned crackers to my tail; and I have been afraid to mount ever since.

Old Lady Lamb. Do you hear this, doctor! throw brick-bats at him, and pin crackers to his tail! can these things be stood by?

Maw. I told them so-says I, I does nothing clandecently; I stand here contagious to his majesty's guards, and I charges you upon your apparels not to mislist me.

Old Lady Lamb. And it had no effect?

Maw. No more than if I spoke to so many postesses; but if he advises me to go a preaching, and quit my shop, I'll make an excressance farther into the country.

Old Lady Lamb. An excursion, you would say. Maw. I am but a sheep, but my bleatings shall be heard afar off, and that sheep shall become a shepherd: nay, if it be only, as it were, a shepherd's dog, to bark the stray lambs into the fold.

Old Lady Lamb. He wants method, doctor. Dr Cant. Yes, madam, but there is matter; and I despise not the ignorant,

Maw. He's a saint-till I went after him, I was little better than the devil; my conscience was tanned with sin like a piece of neat's leather, and had no more feeling than the sole of my shoe; always a roving after fantastical delights: I used to go every Sunday evening to the Three Hats at Islington; it's a public-house; mayhap your ladyship may know it: I was a great lover of skittles too, but now I can't bear them.

Old Lady Lamb. What a blessed reformation! Maw. I believe, doctor, you never know'd as how I was instigated one of the stewards of the reforming society. I convicted a man of five oaths, as last Thursday was se'nnight, at the Pewter Platter, 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 worldly 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 every thing; 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 ever she 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.

Muw. 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.

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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 an 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.

Churl. But do you so violently admire him now?

[Aside.

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! Charl. Lord! 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.

Charl. 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 two words of it al

Old Lady Lamb. Mr Maw-worm, call on me some time this afternoon; I want to have a lit-ready. tle 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. Dr Cant. Madam, if you please, I will lead you into the parlour.

[Exit.

Old Lady Lamb. No, doctor, my coach waits at the door; I only called upon the business you know of; and partly indeed to see how you did, after the usage you had met with; but I have struck the wretch out of my will for it.

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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 ladypray, 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 thusZoe 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?

Seyw. I have startled her !she muses!

Charl. 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 yours.

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.

Seya. 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. Lord! I am concerned for you. Seyw. So you would, madam, if you knew all. Chart. I am already; but if there are any farther particulars of your story, pray let me hear them; and should any services be in my power, I am sure you may command them.

Seya. 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, Truemanbut dying while I was yet in my infancy, I was left wholly dependent 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 hers; for his hypocrisy had so great an effect on her weak spirit, that he entirely led and managed her at his pleasure. She died, madam, when I was but eight years old; and then I was indeed left an orphan.

Charl. Poor creature!-Lord! 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; who, young as I was, I yet remember to have heard her recommend to him on her death-bed: 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 strove to do yourself justice?

Charl. But how has the wretch dared to treat you?

Seyw. 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 cannot look back on without horror!

Charl. Indeed you cannot 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.

Seyw. 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. Lord! the poor unfortunate boy loves me too-what shall I do with him?-Pray, Mr Seyward, what paper's that you have in your hand? Is it relative to

Seyw. 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?----Seya. 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 shew his counsel; who, having approved it, I understand this evening it will be executed.

Charl. But what is it?

Seyw. 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 seriousOh, this insinuating hypocrite!Let me see ay-I will go this minute. Sir, dare you trust this in my hands for an hour only?

Seyzo. Thrown so young into his power as I was-unknown and friendless, but through his means, 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 time, as much imposed upon by him as others; till, by degrees, as he found it necessary to make use of, or totally discard me (which last he did not think prudent to do,) he was obliged to unveil himself to me in his proper colours-And I be lieve I can inform you of some parts of his private character, that may be the means of detect-ther with you. ing one of the wickedest impostors that ever practised upon credulity.

[Bell rings.

Seyw. Any thing to serve youCharl. 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 fur

[Exeunt.

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