Mrs. R. Then do you return it like a wife of fifteen months, and be as indifferent as he. Mrs. R. Feel! why, exceeding full of cares. Har. Did you? Mrs. R. I could not sleep for thinking of my coach, my liveries, and my chairmen; the taste of clothes I should be presented in, distracted me for a week; and whether I should be married in white or lilac, gave me the most cruel anxiety. Let. And is it possible that you felt no other Let. Ay, there's the sting! The blooming boy, who left his image in my young heart, is at four and twenty improved in every grace that fixed him there. It is the same face that my memory and my dreams constantly paint-care? ed to me; but its graces are finished, and Hur. And pray, of what sort may your cares every beauty heightened. How mortifying, be, Mrs. Letitia? I begin to foresee now that to feel myself at the same moment his slave, you have taken a dislike to Doricourt. and an object of perfect indifference to him! Let. Indeed, Sir, I have not. Mrs. R. How are you certain that was the case? Did you expect him to kneel down be-An't you a going to be married? and what's fore the lawyer, his clerks, and your father, to make oath of your beauty? Let. No; but he should have looked as if a sudden ray had pierced him! he should have been breathless! speechless! for, oh! Caroline, all this was I? Mrs. R. I am sorry you was such a fool. Can you expect a man, who has courted and been courted by half the fine women in Europe, to feel like a girl from a boarding-school? He is the prettiest fellow you have seen, and in course bewilders your imagination; but he has seen a million of pretty women, child, before he saw you; and his first feelings have been over long ago. Let. Your raillery distresses me; but I will touch his heart, or never be his wife. Mrs. R. Absurd and romantic! If you have no reason to believe his heart pre-engaged, be satisfied; if he is a man of honour, you'll have nothing to complain of. Let. Nothing to complain of? Heavens! shall I marry the man I adore with such an expectation as that? Mrs. R. And when you have fretted yourself pale, my dear, you'll have mended your expectation greatly. Let. [Pausing.] Yet I have one hope. If there is any power whose peculiar care is faithful love, that power I invoke to aid me. Enter MR. HARDY. Har. Well, now, wasn't I right? Ay, Letty! Ay, cousin Rackett! wasn't I right? I knew 'twould be so. He was all agog to see her before he went abroad; and, if he had, he'd have thought no more of her face, may be, than his own. Mrs. R. May be, not half so much. Har. Ay, may be so-but I see into things; exactly as I foresaw, to-day, he fell desperately in love with the wench, he, he, he! Let. Indeed, Sir! how did you perceive it? Har. That's a pretty question! How do I perceive every thing? How did I foresee the fall of corn, and the rise of taxes? How did I know that if we quarrelled with America, Norway deals would be dearer? How did I foretel that a war would sink the funds? How did I forewarn parson Homily, that if he didn't some way or other contrive to get more votes than Rubric, he'd lose the lectureship? How did I- But what the devil makes you so dull, Letitia? I thought to have found you popping about, as brisk as the jacks of your harpsichord. Let. Surely, Sir, it was a very serious occa sion. Har. Pho, pho! girls should never be grave before marriage. How did you feel, cousin, beforehand, ay? Har. Then what's all this melancholy about? more, to a sensible man? and, what's more to all this melancholy for, I say? a young girl, to a handsome man? And what's Mrs. R. Why because he is handsome and sensible, and because she's over head and ears in love with him; all which, it seems, your foreknowledge had not told you a word of. Let. Fy, Caroline! Har. Well, come, do you tell me what's the matter then? If you don't like him, hang the signing and sealing, he sha'n't have ye-and yet I can't say that neither; for you know that estate, that cost his father and me upwards of fourscore thousand pounds, must go all to him if you wont have him: if he wont have you, indeed, 'twill be all yours. All that's clear, engrossed upon parchment, and the poor dear man set his hand to it whilst he was dying.-Ah! said I, I foresee you'll never live to see them come together; but their first son shall be christened Jeremiah, after you, that I promise you.--But come, I say, is the matter? Don't you like him? what Let. I fear, Sir-if I must speak-I fear I was less agreeable in Mr. Doricourt's eyes, than he appeared in mine. him, and he told me he liked you vastly. Har. There you are mistaken; for I asked Don't you think he must have taken a fancy to her? Mrs. R. Why really I think so, as I was not by. not; but, if there is spirit or invention in Let. My dear Sir, I am convinced he has woman, he shall. Har. Right, girl; go to your toilet Let. It is not my toilet that can serve me : but a plan has struck me, if you will not cess. oppose it, which flatters me with brilliant suc Har. Oppose it! Not I, indeed! What is it? doxical; but as he does not like me enough, I Let. Why, Sir-it may seem a little parawant him to like me still less, and will at our next interview endeavour to heighten his indifference into dislike. Har. Who the devil could have foreseen that? Mrs. R. Heaven and earth! Letitia, are you serious? ness of my life demands. like you? Let. Because 'tis much easier to convert a I'm afraid you'll find it a bad maxim. Let. I have the strongest confidence in it. hazard willingly stake my chance for happi- Mrs. R. No, Sir; nothing less than your Enter DORICOURT and SIR GEORGE TOUCHWOOD, Dor. Married, ha, ha, ha! you, whom I heard in Paris say such things of the sex, are in London a married man. Sir G. The sex is still what it has ever been since la petite morale banished substantial virtues; and rather than have given my name to one of your high bred, fashionable dames, I'd have crossed the line in a fire-ship, and married a Japanese. Dor. Yet you have married an English beauty; yea, and a beauty born in high life. Sir G. True; but she has a simplicity of heart and manners, that would have become the fair Hebrew damsels toasted by the patriarchs. Dor. Ha, ha! Why, thou art a downright, matrimonial, Quixote. My life on't, she becomes as mere a town lady in six months, as though she had been bred to the trade. Sir G. Common-common- [Contemptuously.] No, Sir, Lady Frances despises high life so much from the ideas I have given her, that she'll live in it like a salamander in fire. Dor. I'll send thee off to St. Evreux this night, drawn at full length, and coloured after nature. Sir G. Tell him then, to add to the ridicule, that Touchwood glories in the name of husband; that he has found in one Englishwoman more beauty than Frenchmen ever saw, and more goodness than Frenchwomen can conceive. Dor. Well-enough of description. Introduce me to this phoenix; I came on purpose. Sir G. Introduce!-oh, ay, to be sure !-I believe Lady Frances is engaged just now-but another time.-How handsome the dog looks [Aside. to-day! Dor. Another time!-but I have no other time.-'Sdeath! this is the only hour I can command this fortnight. Sir G. I am glad to hear it, with all my soul! [Aside.] So then you can't dine with us to-day? That's very unlucky. Dor. Oh, yes-as to dinner-yes, I can, I believe, contrive to dine with you to-day. Sir G. Pshaw! I didn't think on what I was saying; I meant supper.-You can't sup with us? Dor. Why, supper will be rather more convenient than dinner. But you are fortunateif you had asked me any other night, I could not have come. Sir G. To-night!-'Gad, now I recollect, we are particularly engaged to-night. But tomorrow night Dor. Why, lookye, Sir George, 'tis very plain you have no inclination to let me see your wife at all; so here I sit. [Throws himself on a sofa.] There's my hat, and here are my legs.-Now I sha'n't stir till I have seen her; and I have no engagements; I'll breakfast, dine, and sup, with you, every day this week. Sir G. Was there ever such a provoking wretch! [Aside.] But to be plain with you, Doricourt, I and my house are at your service: but you are a damned agreeable fellow; and the women, I observe, always simper when had rather, you appear. For these reasons, when Lady Frances and I are together, that you should forget that we are acquainted, farther than a nod, a smile, or a how d'ye? Dor. Very well. Sir G. It is not merely yourself, in propria persona, that I object to; but, if you are intimate here, you'll make my house still more the fashion than it is; and it is already so much so, that my doors are of no use to me. I married Lady Frances, to engross her to myself; yet, such is the blessed freedom of modern manners, that in spite of me, her eyes, thoughts, and conversation, are continually divided amongst all the flirts and coxcombs of fashion. Dor. To be sure, I confess that kind of freedom is carried rather too far. "Tis hard one can't have a jewel in one's cabinet, but the whole town must be gratified with its lustre. He sha'n't preach me out of seeing his wife though. [Asize. Sir G. Well, now, that's reasonable. "When you take time to reflect, Doricourt, I always observe you decide right; and therefore I hope— Enter GIBSON. Gib. Sir, my lady desires Sir G. I am particularly engaged. Dor. Oh, Lord, that shall be no excuse in the world. [Leaping from the sofu.] Lead the way, John.-I'll attend your lady. [Exit, following GIBSON. Sir G. What devil possessed me to talk about her! Here, Doricourt! [Running after him.] Doricourt!' Enter MRS. RACKETT and MISS OGLE, followed by a Servant. Mrs. R. Acquaint your lady that Mrs. Rackett and Miss Ogle are here. [Exit Servant. Miss O. I shall hardly know Lady Frances, 'tis so long since I was in Shropshire. Mrs. R. And I'll be sworn you never saw her out of Shropshire. Her father kept her locked up with his caterpillars and shells; and loved her beyond any thing but a blue butterfly and a petrified frog! Miss O. Ha, ha, ha!-Well, 'twas a cheap way of breeding her: you know he was very poor, though a lord; and very high spirited, though a virtuoso. In town, her pantheons, operas, and robes de cour, would have swallowed his sea-weeds, moths, and monsters, in six weeks!-Sir George, I find, thinks his wife a most extraordinary creature: he has taught her to despise ever thing like fashionable life, and boasts that example will have no effect on her. Mrs. R. There's a great degree of imperti nence in all that. I'll try to make her a fine lady, to humble him. Miss O. That's just the thing I wish. Enter LADY FRANCES TOUCHWOOD. Lady F. I beg ten thousand pardons, my dear Mrs. Rackett-Miss Ogle, I rejoice to see you: I should have come to you sooner, but I was detained in conversation by Mr. Doricourt. Mrs. R. Pray make no apology; I am quite happy that we have your ladyship in town at last. What stay do you make? Lady F. A short one! Sir George talks with regret of the scenes we have left; and as the ceremony of presentation is over, will, I believe, soon return. Miss O. Sure he can't be so cruel. Does your ladyship wish to return so soon? Lady F. I have not the habit of consulting my own wishes; but I think, if they decide, we shall not return immediately. I have yet hardly formed an idea of London. Mrs. R. I shall quarrel with your lord and master, if he dares to think of depriving us of you so soon. How do you dispose of yourself to-day? Lady F. Sir George is going with me this morning to the mercer's, to choose a silk; and then Mrs. R. Choose a silk for you! Ha, ha, ha! Sir George chooses your laces too, I hope; your gloves, and your pincushions! Lady F. Madam! Mrs. R. I am glad to see you blush, my dear Lady Frances. These are strange homespun ways! If you do these things, pray keep them secret. Lord bless us! If the town should know your husband chooses your gowns! Miss O. You are very young, my lady, and have been brought up in solitude. The maxims you learned among wood nymphs, in Shropshire, wont pass current here, I assure you. Mrs. R. Why, my dear creature, you look quite frightened.-Come, you shall go with us to an exhibition and an auction. Afterwards, we'll take a turn in the Park, and then drive to Kensington; so we shall be at home by four to dress; and in the evening I'll attend you to Lady Brilliant's masquerade. Lady F. I shall be very happy to be of your party, if Sir George has no engagements. Mrs. R. What! do you stand so low in your own opinion, that you dare not trust yourself without Sir George? If you choose to play Darby and Joan, 'my dear, you should have staid in the country;-'tis an exhibition not calculated for London, I assure you. Miss O. What, I suppose, my lady, you and Sir George will be seen pacing it comfortably round the canal, arm in arm, and then go lovingly into the same carriage; dine tête-à-tête, spend the evening at piquet, and so go soberly to bed at eleven-Such a snug plan may do for an attorney and his wife; but, for Lady Frances Touchwood, 'tis as unsuitable as linsey-woolsey, or a black bonnet at the opera! Lady F. These are rather new doctrines to me!-But, my dear Mrs. Rackett, you and Miss Ogle must judge of these things better than I can. As you observe, I am but young, and may have caught absurd opinions.-Here is Sir George! Re-enter SIR GEORGE TOUCHWOOD. Sr G. 'Sdeath, another room full! [Aside. Lady F. My love! Mrs. Rackett and Miss Ogle. Mrs. R. 'Give you joy, Sir George-We came to rob you of Lady Frances for a few hours. Sir G. A few hours. Lady F. Oh, yes! I am going to an exhibition, and an auction, and the Park, and Kensington, and a thousand places!--It is quite ridiculous, I find, for married people to be always together. We shall be laughed at ! Sir G. I am astonished!-Mrs. Rackett, what does the dear creature mean? Mrs. R. Mean, Sir George !-What she says, I imagine. Miss O. Why, you know, Sir, as Lady Frances had the misfortune to be bred entirely in the country, she cannot be supposed to be versed in fashionable life. Sir G. No; Heaven forbid she should !— If she had, Madam, she would never have been my wife. Mrs. R. Are you serious? Sir G. Perfectly so.-I should never have had the courage to have married a well-bred fine lady. Miss O. Pray, Sir, what do you take a fine lady to be, that you express such fear of her? [Sneeringly. Sir G. A being easily described, Madam, as she is seen every where but in her own house. She sleeps at home, but she lives all over the town. In her mind, every sentiment gives place to the lust of conquest, and the vanity of being particular. The feelings of wife and mother are lost in the whirl of dissipation. If she continues virtuous, 'tis by chance-and if she preserves her husband from ruin, 'tis by her dexterity at the card table!-Such a woman I take to be a perfect fine lady. Mrs. R. And you I take to be a slanderous cynic of two and thirty.-Twenty years hence, one might have forgiven such a libel!Now, Sir, hear my definition of a fine lady :— she is a creature for whom nature has done much, and education more; she has taste, elegance, spirit, understanding. In her manner she is free, in her morals nice. Her behaviour is undistinguishingly polite to her husband and all mankind;-her sentiments are for their hours of retirement. In a word, a fine lady is the life of conversation, the spirit of society, the joy of the public !—Pleasure follows wher ever she appears, and the kindest wishes attend her slumbers.-Make haste, then, my dear Lady Frances, commence fine lady, and force your husband to acknowledge the justness of my picture. Lady F. I am sure 'tis a delightful one. How can you dislike it, Sir George? You painted fashionable life in colours so disgusting, that I thought I hated it; but, on a nearer view, it seems charming. I have hitherto lived in obscurity; 'tis time that I should be a woman of the world. I long to begin ;my heart pants with expectation and delight! Mrs. R. Come, then, let us begin directly. I am impatient to introduce you to that society which you were born to ornament and charm. Lady F. Adieu, my love!-We shall meet again at dinner. [Going. Sir G. Sure, I am in a dream-Fanny! Sir G. Will you go without me? Mrs. R. Will you go without me!-Ha, ha, ha! what a pathetic address! Why, sure you would not always be seen side by side, like | ing!- -had your gown been of another colour, two beans upon a stalk. Are you afraid to I should have said the prettiest thing you ever trust Lady Frances with me, Sir? heard in your life. Sir G. Heaven and earth! with whom can a man trust his wife, in the present state of society? Formerly there were distinctions of character amongst ye; every class of females had its particular description! grandmothers were pious, aunts discreet, old maids censorious! but now, aunts, grandmothers, girls, and maiden gentlewomen, are all the same creature; a wrinkle more or less is the sole difference between ye. Mrs. R. That maiden gentlewomen have lost their censoriousness is surely not in your catalogue of grievances. Sir G. Indeed it is-and ranked amongst the most serious grievances.-Things went well, Madam, when the tongues of three or four old virgins kept all the wives and daughters of a parish in awe. They were the dragons that guarded the Hesperian fruit; and I wonder they have not been obliged by act of parliament to resume their function. Mrs. R. Ha, ha, ha! and pensioned, I suppose, for making strict inquiries into the lives and conversations of their neighbours. Sir G. With all my heart, and empowered to oblige every woman to conform her conduct to her real situation. You, for instance, are a widow; your air should be sedate, your dress grave, your deportment matronly and in all things an example to the young women growing up about you !-Instead of which you are dressed for conquest, think of nothing but ensnaring hearts; are a coquette, a wit, and a fine lady. Mrs. R. Bear witness to what he says! A coquette, a wit, and a fine lady! Who would have expected an eulogy from such an ill-natured mortal?-Valour to a soldier, wisdom to a judge, or glory to a prince, is not more than such a character to a woman. Miss O. Sir George, I see, languishes for the charming society of a century and a half ago; when a grave'squire, and a still graver dame, surrounded by a sober family, formed a stiff group, in a mouldy old house, in the corner of a park. Mrs. R. Delightful serenity! Undisturbed by any noise but the cawing of rooks, and the quarterly rumbling of an old family coach on a state visit; with the happy intervention of a friendly call from the parish apothecary, or a curate's wife. Sir G. And what is the society of which you boast?-a mere chaos, in which all distinction of rank is lost in a ridiculous affectation of ease. In the same select party, you will often find the wife of a bishop and a sharper, of an earl and a fiddler. In short, 'tis one universal masquerade, all disguised in the same habits and manners. Enter GIBSON. Gib. Mr. Flutter. [Exit. Sir G. Here comes an illustration. Now I defy you to tell, from his appearance, whether Flutter is a privy councellor or a mercer, a lawyer or a grocer's 'prentice. Enter FLUTTER. Flut. Oh, just which you please, Sir George; so you don't make me a lord mayor. Ah, Mrs. Rackett-Lady Frances, your most obedient; you Icok-now hang me, if that's not provok Miss O. Pray, give it us. Flut. I was yesterday at Mrs. Bloomer's. She was dressed all in green; no other colour to be seen but that of her face and bosom. "So," says 1, "My dear Mrs. Bloomer! you look like a carnation just bursting from its pod." Sir G. Wasn't that pretty? And what said her husband? Flut. Her husband! why, her husband laughed, and said, a cucumber would have been a better simile. Sir G. But there are husbands, Sir, who would rather have corrected than amended your comparison; I, for instance, should consider a man's complimenting my wife as an impertinence. Flut. Why, what harm can there be in compliments? Sure they are not infectious; and if they were, you, Sir George, of all people breathing, have reason to be satisfied about your lady's attachment; every body talks of it: that little bird there, that she killed out of jealousy, the most extraordinary instance of affection that ever was given. Lady F. 1 kill a bird through jealousy! heavens! Mr. Flutter, how can you impute such a cruelty to me? Sir G. I could have forgiven you if you had. Flut. Oh! what a blundering fool!-No, no -now I remember-'twas your bird, Lady Frances-that's it, your bullfinch, which Sir George, in one of the refinements of his pas sion, sent into the wide world to seek its fortune. He took it for a knight in disguise. Lady F. Is it possible? Oh, Sir George, could I have imagined it was you who de prived me of a creature I was so fond of? Sir G. Mr. Flutter, you are one of tho e busy, idle, meddling people, who, from mere vacuity of mind, are the most dangerous inmates in a family. You have neither feelings nor opinions of your own; but like a glass in a tavern, bear about those of every blockhead who gives you his; and, because you mean no harm, think yourselves excused, though broken friendships, discords, and murders, are the consequences of your indiscretions. Flut. [Taking out his tablets.] Vacuity of mind!What was next? I'll write down this sermon; 'tis the first I have heard since my grandmother's funeral. Miss O. Come, Lady Frances, you see what a cruel creature your loving husband can be; so let us leave him. Sir G. Madam, Lady Frances shall not go. Lady F. Shall not, Sir George?—This is the first time such an expression [Weeping. Sir G. My love! my life! Lady F. Don't imagine I'll be treated like a child; denied what I wish, and then pacified with sweet words. Miss O. [Apart.] The bullfinch! that's an excellent subject; never let it down. of every pleasure, as well as of my sweet bird Lady F. I see plainly you would deprive me -out of pure love!-Barbarous man! Sir G. 'Tis well, Madam ;-your resentment of that circumstance proves to me, what I did not before suspect, that you are deficient both in tenderness and understanding. Tremble to think the hour approaches, in which you would give worlds for such a proof of my love. Go, Madam, give yourself to the public; abandon your heart to dissipation, and see if, in the Lady F. He is really angry; I cannot go. Mrs. R. Not go! foolish creature! you are arrived at the moment which, sometime or other, was sure to happen, and every thing depends on the use you make of it. Miss O. Come, Lady Frances don't hesitate; the minutes are precious. Lady F. I could find in my heart!—and yet I wont give up neither.-If I should in this instance, he'll expect it for ever. [Exit with MRS. RACKETT. Miss O. Now you act like a woman of spirit. [Exit. Flut. A fair tug, by Jupiter-between duty and pleasure!-Pleasure boats, and off we go, To triumphe! [Exit. SCFNE II.-An Auction Room: Busts, Pictures, &c. SILVERTONGUE discovered, with Company, 1 Lady. Hey-day, Mr. Silvertongue! what, nobody here?" Sil. Oh, my lady, we shall have company enough in a trice; if your carriage is seen at my door, no other will pass it, I am sure. 1 Lady. Familiar monster! [Aside.] That's a beautiful Diana, Mr Silvertongue; but, in the name of wonder, how came Acteon to be placed on the top of a house? Sil. That's a David and Bathsheba, Ma'am. 1 Lady. Oh, I crave their pardon!-I remember the names, but know nothing of the story. Enter more Company. 1 Gent. Was not that Lady Frances Touchwood, coming up with Mrs. Rackett? 2 Gent. I think so; yes, it is, faith-Let us go nearer. Enter LADY FRANCES TOUCHWOOD, Mrs. 3 Gent. Any thing worth notice to-day? 2 Gent. The model of a city! What city? Sil. That I have not been able to discover; but call it Rome, Pekin, or London, 'tis still a city; you'll find in it the same jarring interests, the same passions, the same virtues, and the same vices, whatever the name. Lady F. I wish Sir George was here.This man follows me about, and stares at me in such a way, that I am quite uneasy. [LADY FRANCES and MISS OGLE come forward, followed by COURTALL. Miss O. He has travelled, and is heir to an immense estate; so he is impertinent, by parent. Court. You are very cruel, ladies. Miss Ogle-you will not let me speak to you. to this little scornful beauty, she has frowned As me dead fifty times. Lady F. Sir-I am a married woman. Court. A married woman! a good hint. [Confused. [Aside.] "Twould be a shame if such a charm ing woman was not married. But I see you are a Daphne just come from your sheep and your meadows, your crook and your waterfalls. Pray now who is the happy Damon, to whom you have vowed eternal truth and constancy? Miss O. 'Tis Lady Frances Touchwood, Mr. Courtall, to whom you are speaking. Court. Lady Frances! By Heaven, that's Saville's old flame. [Aside.] I beg your ladyship's pardon. I ought to have believed, that such beauty could belong only to your name -a name I have long been enamoured of; because I knew it to be that of the finest woman in the world. [MRS. RACKETT comes forward. Lady F. [Apart.] My dear Mrs. Rackett, I am so frightened! Here's a man making love to me, though he knows I am married. Mrs. R. Oh, the sooner for that, my dear; don't mind him.last night, Mr. Courtall? Was you at the Cassino Court. I looked in.-"Twas impossible to stay. Nobody there but antiques. You'll be at Lady Brilliant's to-night, doubtless. Mrs. R. Yes, I go with Lady Frances. [To MISS OGLE. Mrs. R. Come, Ma'am; [Looking at her fly to Kensington, we sha'n't find a soul there. Watch.] 'tis past one. I protest, if we don't Lady F. Wont this gentleman go with us? Court. [Looking surprised.] To be sure; you make me happy, Madam, beyond description. Mrs. R. Oh, never mind him—he'll follow. [Exeunt LADY FRANCES, MRS. RACKETT, But 'tis always so; your reserved ladies are ACT III. SCENE I.-MR. HARDY'S. Mrs. R. Come, prepare, prepare; your lover is coming. sence at dinner was a severe mortification to Let. My lover! confess now that my abhim. his appetite; he ate as if he was hungry, and Mrs. R. I can't absolutely swear it spoiled drank his wine as though he liked it. Let. What was the apology? Mrs. R. That you were ill;-but I gave him a hint that your extreme bashfulness could not support his eye. Let. If I comprehend him, awkwardness and in a woman; so expect to see me transformed bashfulness are the last faults he can pardon into the veriest maĺkin. Mrs. R. You persevere then? Let. Certainly. I know the design is a rash Doricourt mine by all the tenderest ties of one, and the event important;-it either makes never to be his wife will afflict me less than to passion, or deprives me of him for ever; and be his wife, and not be beloved. Mrs. R. So you wont trust to the good old maxim,- -Marry first, and love will follow ? guinea, that good fortune might follow." The Let. As readily as I would venture my last |