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Ind. That's truly observed. [Aside.] But what's

all this to Bevil?

Isa. This is to Bevil and all mankind. Trust not those who will think the worse of you for your confidence in them; serpents who lie in wait for doves. Won't you be on your guard against those who would betray you? won't you

ing them? Take it from me, fair and natural dealing is to invite injuries; 'tis bleating to escape wolves who would devour you: Such is the world, and such (since the behaviour of one man to myself) have I believed all the rest of the sex, [Aside.

Ind. Well; be not so eager. If he's an ill man, let's look into his stratagems: here is another of them: [Shewing a letter.] here's two hun-doubt those who would contemn you for believdred and fifty pounds in bank-notes, with these words; To pay for the set of dressing-plate which will be brought home to-morrow. Why, dear aunt! now here's another piece of skill for you, which I own I cannot comprehend-and it is with a bleeding heart I hear you say any thing to the disadvantage of Mr Bevil. When he is present, I look upon him as one to whom I owe my life, and the support of it; then, again, as the man who loves me with sincerity and honour. When his eyes are cast another way, and I dare survey him, my heart is painfully divided between shame and love-Oh! I could tell youIsa. Oh! you need not; I imagine all this for you.

Ind. This is my state of mind in his presence; and, when he is absent, you are ever dinning my ears with notions of the arts of men; that his hidden bounty, his respectful conduct, his careful provision for me, after his preserving me from the utmost misery, are certain signs he means nothing but to make I know not what of me.

Isa. Oh! you have a sweet opinion of him truly!

Ind. I have, when I am with him, ten thousand things, besides my sex's natural decency and shame, to suppress my heart, that yearns to thank, to praise, to say it loves him. I say thus it is with me, while I see him; and, in his absence, I am entertained with nothing but your endeavours to tear this amiable image from my heart, and, in its stead, to place a base dissembler, an artful invader of my happiness, my innocence, my honour!

Isa. Ah, poor soul! has not his plot taken? don't you die for him? has not the way he has taken been the most proper with you? Oh ho! he has sense, and has judged the thing right.

Ind. Go on, then, since nothing can answer you; say what you will of him.--Heigh ho!

Isa. Heigh ho! indeed. It is better to say so, as you are now, than as many others are. There are, among the destroyers of women, the gentle, the generous, the mild, the affable, the humble, who all, soon after their success in their designs, turn to the contrary of those characters. I will own to you, Mr Bevil carries his hypocrisy the best of any man living; but still he is a man, and therefore a hypocrite. They have usurped an exemption from shame, from any baseness, any cruelty, towards us. They embrace, without love; they make vows, without conscience of obligation; they are partners, nay, seducers, to the crime, wherein they pretend to be less guilty.

Ind. I will not doubt the truth of Bevil, I will not doubt it: he has not spoken it by an organ that is given to lying: his eyes are all that have ever told me that he was mine. I know his virtue, I know his filial piety, and ought to trust his management with a father, to whom he has uncommon obligations. What have I to be concerned for? My lesson is very short. If he takes me for ever, my purpose of life is only to please him. If he leaves me, (which Heaven avert!) I know he'll do it nobly; and I shall have nothing to do but learn to die, after worse than death has happened to me.

Isa. Aye, do persist in your credulity! flatter yourself that a man of his figure and fortune will make himself the jest of the town, and marry a handsome beggar for love!

Ind. The town! I must tell you, madam, the fools that laugh at Mr Bevil will but make themselves more ridiculous; his actions are the result of thinking, and he has sense enough to make even virtue fashionable.

Isa. O' my conscience he has turned her head! Come, come; if he were the honest fool you take him for, why has he kept you here these three weeks, without sending you to Bristol in search of your father, your family, and your relations?

Ind. I am convinced he still designs it; and that nothing keeps him here but the necessity of not coming to an open breach with his father in regard to the match he has proposed him: besides, has he not writ to Bristol? and has not he advice that my father has not been heard of

there almost these twenty years?

Isa. All sham, mere evasion; he is afraid, if he should carry you thither, your honest relations may take you out of his hands, and so blow up all his wicked hopes at once.

Ind. Wicked hopes! did I ever give him any such?

Isa. Has he ever given you any honest ones? Can you say in your conscience he has ever once offered to marry you?

Ind. No; but by his behaviour I am convinced he will offer it the moment 'tis in his power, or consistent with his honour, to make such a promise good to me.

Isa. His honour!

Ind. I will rely upon it; therefore, desire you will not make my life uneasy by these ungrateful jealousies of one to whom I am and wish to be obliged; for from his integrity alone I have resolved to hope for happiness.

Isa. Nay, I have done my duty; if you won't see, at your peril be it.

me.

Ind. Let it be. This is his hour of visiting [Apart. Isa. Oh! to be sure, keep up your form; do not see him in a bed-chamber. This is pure prudence, when she is liable, whenever he meets her to be conveyed whither he pleases.

[Apart. Ind. All the rest of my life is but waiting till he comes: I live only while I'm with him. [Exit. Isa. Well, go thy way, thou wilful innocent! I once had almost as much love for a man who poorly left me to marry an estate--and I am now, against my will, what they call an old maid | -but I will not let the peevishness of that condition grow upon me-only keep up the suspicion of it, to prevent this creature's being any other than a virgin, except upon proper terms.

[Exit.

Re-enter INDIANA, speaking to a servant. Ind. Desire Mr Bevil to walk in. Design! impossible! a base designing mind could never think of what he hourly puts in practice-and yet, since the late rumour of his marriage, he seems more reserved than formerly--he sends in, too, before he sees me, to know if I am at leisure. Such new respect may cover coldness in the heart-it certainly makes me thoughtful I'll know the worst at once; I'll lay such fair occasions in his way, that it shall be impossible to avoid an explanation for these doubts are insupportable. But see, he comes and clears them all.

Enter BEVIL, Jun.

Bev. Madam, your most obedient. I am afraid I broke in upon your rest last night-'twas very late before we parted, but 'twas your own fault; I never saw you in such agreeable hu

mour.

Ind. I am extremely glad we are both pleased; for I thought I never saw you better company.

Bev. Me, madam! you rally; I said very little.

Ind. But I am afraid you heard me say a great deal; and when a woman is in the talking vein, the most agreeable thing a man can do, you know, is to have patience to hear her.

Bev. Then 'tis pity, madam, you should ever be silent, that we might be always agreeable to one another.

Ind. If I had your talent or power to make my actions speak for me, I might, indeed, be VOL. II.

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Ind. Because esteem is the result of reason, and to deserve it from good sense the height of human glory.-Nay, I had rather a man of honour should pay me that, than all the homage of a sincere and humble love.

Bev. You certainly distinguish right, madam; love often kindles from external merit onlyInd. But esteem arises from a higher source, the merit of the soulBev. True

serve it.

-and great souls only can de[Bowing respectfully. Ind. Now I think they are greater still, that can so charitably part with it.

Bev. Now, madam, you make me vain, since the utmost pride and pleasure of my life is, that I esteem you---as I ought.

Ind. [Aside.] As he ought! still more perplexing! he neither saves nor kills my hope.

Bev. But, madam, we grow grave, methinks--let's find some other subject.Pray how did you like the opera last night?

Ind. First give me leave to thank you for my tickets.

Bev. Oh! your servant, madam.---But pray tell me; you, now, who are never partial to the fashion, I fancy, must be the properest judge of a mighty dispute among the ladies, that is, whether Crispo or Griselda is the more agreeable entertainment.

Ind. With submission, now, I cannot be a proper judge of this question.

Bev. How so, madam? Ind. Because I find I have a partiality for one of them.

Bev. Pray, which is that?

Ind. I do not know--there's something in that rural cottage of Griselda, her forlorn condition, her poverty, her solitude, her resignation, her innocent slumbers, and that lulling dolce sogno that's sung over her, it had an effect upon me, that---In short, I never was so well deceived at any of them.

Bev. Oh! now, then, I can account for the dispute: Griselda, it seems, is the distress of an injured, innocent woman; Crispo that only of a man in the same condition; therefore, the men are mostly concerned for Crispo, and, by a natural indulgence, both sexes for Griselda.

Ind. So that judgment, you think, ought to be for one, though fancy and complaisance have got ground for the other. Well, I believe you will never give me leave to dispute with you on any 4 K

subject, for I own Crispo has its charms for me, too, though, in the main, all the pleasure the best opera gives us, is but a keen sensation.---Methinks, 'tis pity the mind can't have a little more share in the entertainment.--The music is certainly fine; but, in my thoughts, there's none of your composers come up to old Shakespeare and Otway.

Bev. How, madam! why, if a woman of your sense were to say this in a drawing-room

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When the gentleman pleases. [After a sonata is played, BEVIL jun. waits on the master to the door, &c.]

Bev. You smile, madam, to see me so complaisant to one whom I pay for his visit. Now, I own, I think it not enough barely to pay those whose talents are superior to our own (I mean such talents as would become our condition if we had them); methinks we ought to do something more than barely gratify them for what they do at our command, only because their fortune is below us.

Ind. You say I smile; I assure you it was a smile of approbation; for, indeed, I cannot but think it the distinguishing part of a gentleman to make his superiority of fortune as easy to his inferiors as he can.-Now, once more to try him. [Aside.]——I was saying just now, I believe you would never let me dispute with you, and I dare say it will always be so: however, I must have your opinion upon a subject which created a debate between my aunt and me just before you came hither; she would needs have it, that no man ever does any extraordinary kindness or service to a woman but for his own sake.

Bev. Well, madam! indeed I can't but be of her mind.

Ind. What, though he should maintain and support her, without demanding any thing of her on her part!

Bev. Why, madam, is making an expence in the service of a valuable woman, (for such I must suppose her) though she should never do him any favour, nay, though she should never know who did her such survice, such a mighty heroic business?

Ind. Certainly! I should think he must be a man of an uncoinmon mould.

Bev. Dear madam! why so? 'tis but at best a better taste in expence. To bestow upon one, whom he may think one of the ornaments of the whole creation; to be conscious that, from his superfluity, an innocent, a virtuous spirit is supported above the temptations, the sorrows of life; that he sees satisfaction, health, and gladness in her countenance, while he enjoys the happiness of seeing her (as that I will suppose, too, or he must be too abstracted, too insensible) I say, if he is allowed to delight in that prospect, alas! what mighty matter is there in all this?

Ind. No mighty matter in so disinterested a friendship!

Bev. Disinterested! I can't think him so. Your hero, madam, is no more than what every gentleman ought to be, and, I believe, very many are he is only one who takes more delight in reflections, than in sensations; he is more pleased with thinking than eating; that's the utmost you can say of him.-Why, madam, a greater expence than all this, men lay out upon an unnecessary stable of horses.

Ind. Can you be sincere in what you say?
Bev. You may depend upon it. If you know
any such man, he does not love dogs inordinately?
Ind. No, that he does not.

Bev. Nor cards, nor dice?
Ind. No.

Bev. Nor bottle companions?
Ind. No.

Bev. Nor loose women?

Ind. No; I am sure he does not.

Bev. Take my word, then, if your admired hero is not liable to any of these kind of demands, there's no such pre-eminence in this as you imagine: nay, this way of expence you speak of, is what exalts and raises him that has a taste for it; and, at the same time, his delight is incapable of satiety, disgust, or penitence.

Ind. But still I insist, his having no private interest in the action makes it prodigious, almost incredible.

Bev. Dear madam! I never knew you more mistaken. Why, who can be more au usurer than he, who lays out his money in such valuable purchases? If pleasure be worth purchasing, how great a pleasure is it to him who has a true taste of life, to ease an aching heart; to see the human countenance lighted up into smiles of joy, on the receipt of a bit of ore, which is superfluous, and otherwise useless, in a man's own pocket! What could a man do better with his cash? This is the effect of a humane disposition, where there is only a general tie of nature and common necessity; what, then, must it be, when we serve an object of merit, of admiration!

Ind. Well, the more you argue against it, the more I shall admire the generosity.

Bev. Nay-then, madam, 'tis time to fly, after a declaration that my opinion strengthens my adversary's argument-I had best hasten to my appointment with Mr Myrtle, and be gone while we are friends, and-before things are brought to an extremity.[Exit carelessly.

Enter ISABELLA.

Isa. Well, madam, what think you of him now, pray?

Ind. I protest I begin to fear he is wholly disinterested in what he does for me. On my heart, he has no other view but the mere pleasure of doing it, and has neither good or bad designs upon me!

Isa. Ah, dear niece, don't be in fear of both; I'll warrant you, you will know time enough that he is not indifferent.

Ind. You please me when you tell me so; for if he has any wishes towards me, I know he will not pursue them but with honour.

Isa. I wish I were as confident of one as the other. I saw the respectful downcast of his eye when you catched him gazing at you during the music. He, I warrant, was surprised, as if he had been taken stealing your watch. Oh! the undissembled guilty look!

Ind. But did you observe any thing really? I thought he looked most charmingly graceful. How engaging is modesty in a man, when one knows there is a great mind within! So tender a confusion, and yet, in other respects, so much himself! so collected, so dauntless, so determined!

Isa, Ah, niece! there is a sort of bashfulness which is the best engine to carry on a shameless purpose. Some men's modesty serves their wickedness, as hypocrisy gains the respect due to piety. But I will own to you, there is one hopeful symptom, if there could be such a thing as a disinterested lover; but till-till—till— Ind. Till what?

Isa. Till I know whether Mr Myrtle and Mr Bevil are really friends or foes-and that I will be convinced of before I sleep; for you shall not be deceived. [Erit ISABELLA.

Ind. I'm sure I never shall, if your fears can guard me. In the mean time, I'll wrap myself up in the integrity of my own heart, nor dare to doubt of his.

As conscious honour all his actions steers,
So conscious innocence dispels my fears.

[Exit.

SCENE I.-SEALAND'S house.

ACT III.

Tom. I should perhaps have been stupidly above her, had I not been her equal; and, by not being her equal, never had opportunity of being her slave. I am my master's servant for hire; I am my mistress's from choice, would she but approve my passion.

Phil. I think it is the first time I ever heard you speak of it with any sense of anguish—if you really do suffer any.

Tom. Ah, Phillis! can you doubt, after what you have seen?

Phil. I know not what I have seen, nor what I have heard; but, since I am at leisure, you may tell me when you fell in love with me, how you fell in love with me, and what you have suffered, or are ready to suffer, for me.

Enter Toм, meeting PHILLIS. Tom. Well, Phillis! What! with a face as if you had never seen me before?What a work have I to do now! She has seen some new visitant at their house, whose airs she has catched, and is resolved to practise them upon me. Numberless are the changes she'll dance through, before she'll answer this plain question, videlicet, Have you delivered my master's letter to your lady? Nay, I know her too well to ask an account of it in an ordinary way; I'll be in my airs as well as she. [Aside.]-Well, madam, as unhappy as you are at present pleased to make me, I would not in the general be any other than what I am; I would not be a bit wiser, a bit Tom. Oh, the unmerciful jade! when I'm in richer, a bit taller, a bit shorter, than I am at haste about my master's letter-but I must go this instant. [Looking stedfastly at her. through it. [Aside.]—Ah! too well I rememPhil. Did ever any body doubt, master Tho-ber when, and how, and on what occasion, I was mas, but that you were extremely satisfied with first surprised. It was on the first of April, one your sweet self? thousand seven hundred and fifteen, I came into Mr Sealand's service; I was then a hobble-dehoy, and you a pretty little tight girl, a favourite handmaid of the housekeeper.- -At that time, we neither of us knew what was in us. I remember, I was ordered to get out of the window, one pair of stairs, to rub the sashes clean-the person employed on the inner side was your charming self, whom I had never seen before.

Tom. I am, indeed. The thing I have least reason to be satisfied with, is my fortune; and I am glad of my poverty; perhaps, if I were rich, I should overlook the finest woman in the world, that wants nothing but riches to be thought so. Phil. How prettily was that said! But I'll have a great deal more before I'll say one word.

[Aside.

Phil. I think I remember the silly accident.What made ye, you oaf, ready to fall' down into

the street?

Tom. You know not, I warrant you-you could not guess what surprised me-you took no delight when you immediately grew wanton in your conquest, and put your lips close, and breathed upon the glass; and, when my lips approached, a dirty cloth you rubbed against my face, and hid your beauteous form; when I again drew near, you spit, and rubbed, and smiled, at my undoing. Phil. What silly thoughts you men have! Tom. We were Pyramus and Thisbe-but ten times harder was my fate: Pyramus could peep only through a wall; I saw her, saw my Thisbe, in all her beauty, but as much kept from her as if a hundred walls between; for there was more, there was her will against me.-Would she but relent!—Oh, Phillis! Phillis! shorten my torment, and declare you pity me.

Phil. Oh, Tom! you grow wanton and sensual, as my lady calls it: I must not endure it. Oh, foh! you are a man, an odious, filthy, male creature! you should behave, if you had a right sense, or were a man of sense, like Mr Cimberton, with distance and indifference; or, let me sec, some other becoming hard word, with seeming in-in--advertency, and not rush on as if you were seizing a prey. But hush!--the ladies are coming,- -Good Tom, don't kiss me above once, and be gone.-Lard! we have been fooling and toying, and not considered the main business of our masters and mistresses.

Tom. Why, their business is to be fooling and toying, as soon as the parchments are ready.

Phil. Well remembered-Parchments-my lady, to my knowledge, is preparing writings between her coxcomb cousin, Cimberton, and my mistress, though my master has an eye to the parchments already prepared between your masPhil. I believe 'tis very sufferable; the pain ister, Mr Bevil, and my mistress; and I believe not so exquisite, but that you may bear it a little longer.

Tom. Oh, my charming Phillis! if all depended on my fair one's will, I could with glory suffer-but, dearest creature! consider our miserable state.

Phil. How! miserable!

Tom. We are miserable to be in love, and under the command of others than those we love with that generous passion in the heart, to be sent to and fro on errands, called, checked, and rated for the meanest trifles--Oh, Phillis! you don't know how many china cups and glasses my passion for you has made me break: you have broken my fortune as well as my heart.

Phil. Well, Mr Thomas, I cannot but own to you that I believe your master writes, and you speak, the best of any men in the world. Never was a woman so well pleased with a letter, as my young lady was with his; and this is an an[Gives him a letter.

swer to it.

Tom. This was well done, my dearest ! Consider, we must strike out some pretty livelihood for ourselves, by closing their affairs: it will be nothing for them to give us a little being of our own, some small tenement out of their large possessions: whatever they give us, it will be more than what they keep for themselves: one acre with Phillis, would be worth a whole country without her.

Phil. Oh, could I but believe you! Tom. If not the utterance, believe the touch, of my lips. [Kisses her. Phil. There's no contradicting you. How closely you argue, Tom!

Tom. And will closer, in due time; but I must hasten with this letter, to hasten towards the possession of you then, Phillis, consider how I must be revenged (look to it!) of all your skittishness, shy looks, and, at best, but coy compliances.

my mistress herself has signed and sealed in her heart to Mr Myrtle.-Did I not bid you kiss me but once, and be gone? But I know you won't be satisfied.

Tom. No, you smooth creature! how should I? [Kisses her hand.

Phil. Well, since you are humble, or so cool, as to ravish my hand only, I'll take my leave of you like a great lady, and you a man of quality. [They salute formally.

Tom. Pox of all this state!

[Offers to kiss her moze closely. Phil. No, pr'ythee, Tom, mind your business. We must follow that interest which will take, but endeavour at that which will be most for us, and we like most.—Oh, here is my young mistress! [Toм taps her neck behind, and kisses his fingers.] Go, ye liquorish fool! [Exit Toм.

Enter LUCINDA.

Luc. Who was that you were hurrying away? Phil. One that I had no mind to part with." Luc. Why did you turn him away, then?

Phil. For your ladyship's service; to carry your ladyship's letter to his master. I could hardly get the rogue away.

Luc. Why, has he so little love for his master? Phil. No; but he has so much love for his mistress.

Luc. But I thought I heard him kiss you: why do you suffer that?

Phil. Why, madam, we vulgar take it to be a sign of love. We servants, we poor people, that have nothing but our persons to bestow or treat for, are forced to deal and bargain by way of sample; and therefore, as we have no parchments or wax necessary in our agreements, we squeezo with our hands, and seal with our lips, to ratify vows and promises.

Luc. But can't you trust one another, without such earnest down?

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