my own senses.

Char. You don't know now perhaps that I think this pretty smart speech of yours is very dull; but, since that's a fault you can't help, I will not take it ill; come now, be as sincere on your side, and tell me seriously-Is not what real business I had abroad the very thing you want to be made easy in?

Darn. If I thought you would make me easy, I would own it.

Char. Now we come to the point.-To-morrow morning then I give you my word, to let you know it all; till then, there is a necessity for its being a secret; and I insist upon your believing it.

Darn. But pray, Madam, what am I to do with private imagination in the mean time? that is not in my power to confine; and sure you wont be offended, if, to avoid the tortures that may give me, I beg you'll trust me with the secret now.

Char. Don't press me; for, positively, I will

not.

Darn. Will not-cannot had been a kinder term-Is my disquiet of so little moment to you?

Char. Of none, while your disquiet dares not trust the assurances I have given you. If you expect I should confide in you for life, don't let me see you dare not take my word for a day; and, if you are wise, you'll think so fair a trial a favour.-Come, come, there's nothing shows so low a mind, as those grave and insolent jealousies.

Darn. However, Madam, mine you wont find so low as you imagine; and since I see your tyranny arises from your mean opinion of me, 'tis time to be myself, and disavow your power; you use it now beyond my bearing; not only impose on me to disbelieve my senses, but do it with such an imperious air, as if my manly reason were your slave; and this des picable frame that follows you,' durst show no signs of life but what you vouchsafe to give it. Char. You are in the right: go on-suspect me still-believe the worst you can 'tis all true-I don't justify myself.-Why do you trouble me with your complaints? if you are master of that manly reason you have boasted, give a manly proof of it; at once resume your Liberty; despise me; go off in triumph now, like a king in a tragedy.

Darn. Is this the end of all then? and are those tender protestations you have made me (for such I thought them) when, with a kind reluctance, you gave me something more than hope-what all-Oh, Charlotte! all come to this?

you.

Col. L. What, is Charlotte in her airs again?
Darn. I know not what she is.

Col. L. Do you know where she is?
Darn. Retired this moment to her chamber

with the young fellow there-the doctor's nephew.

Col. L. Why, you are not jealous of the doctor, I hope?

Darn. Perhaps she'll be less reserved to you, and tell you wherein I have mistaken her.

Col. L. Poor Frank! every plot I lay upon my sister's inclination for you, you are sure to ruin by your own conduct.

Darn. I own I have too little temper, and too much real passion, for a modish lover.

Col. L. Come, come! make yourself easy once more; I'll undertake for you: if you'll fetch a cool turn in the Park, upon Constitution hill, in less than half an hour I'll come to you, and make you perfectly easy.

Darn. Dear Tom, you are a friend indeed! I have a thousand things—but you shall find [Exit.

me there.

Enter CHARLOTTE and SEYWARD.

Col. L. How now, sister; what have you done to Darnley? the poor fellow looks as if he had killed your parrot.

Char. Pshaw! you know him well enough! I've only been setting him a love lesson; it a little puzzles him to get through it at first, but he'll know it all by to-morrow-you will be sure to be in the way, Mr. Seyward.

Sey. Madam, you may depend upon me; I have my full instructions. [Exit.

Col. L. O, ho! here's the business then; and it seems Darnley was not to be trusted with it; ha, ha!-and, pr'ythee, what is the mighty secret that is transacting between Seyward and you?

Char. That's what he would have known, indeed; but you must know, I don't think it proper to let you tell him neither, for all your sly manner of asking.

Col. L. Pray take your own time, dear Madam; I am not in haste to know, I assure

Enter LADY LAMBERT.

silk. They are indeed come to prodigious perfection in all manufactures: how wonderful is human art! Here it disputes the prize with nature; that all this soft and gaudy lustre should be wrought from the labours of a poor worm!

Lady L. But our business, Sir, is upon another subject; Sir John informs me, that he thinks himself under no obligations to Mr. Darnley, and therefore resolves to give his daughter to you.

Dr. C. Such a thing has been mentioned, Madam; but to deal sincerely with you, that is not the happiness I sigh after; there is a soft and serious excellence for me, very different from what your step-daughter possesses. Lady L. Well, Sir, pray be sincere, and open your heart to me.

Dr. C. Open my heart! can you then, sweet lady, be yet a stranger to it? has no action of my life been able to inform you of my real thoughts?

welfare.

Dr. C. Indeed, I mean your cordial service. Lady L. I dare say you do: you are above the low, momentary views of this world.

Char. Dear Madam, why not? one moment's truce with the prude, I beg of you; don't startle at his first declaration, but let him go on, till he shows the very bottom of his ugly

heart.

Lady L. I warrant you, I'll give a good account of him-but as I live, here he comes! Char. Come then, brother, you and I will be commode, and steal off.

[Exit CHAR. and COL. L. who listens.

Enter DOCTOR CANTWELL.

Dr. C. Here I am, Madam, at your ladyship's command; how happy am I that you think me worthy

Lady L. Please to sit, Sir.

Dr. C. Well but, dear lady, ha! you can't conceive the joyousness I feel at this so much desired interview. Ah, ah! I have a thousand friendly things to say to you: and how stands your precious health? is your naughty cold abated yet? I have scarce closed my eyes these two nights with my concern for you.

Lady L. Your charity is too far concerned for me.

Dr. C. Ah! don't say so; don't say so; you merit more than mortal man can do for you. Lady L. Indeed, you overrate me.

Dr. C. I speak it from my heart: indeed, indeed, indeed I do.

Lady L. O dear! you hurt my hand, Sir. Dr. C. Impute it to my zeal, and want of words for expression: precious soul! I would not hurt you for the world: no, it would be the whole business of my life

Lady L. But to the affair I would speak to you about.

Dr. C. Ah! thou heavenly woman!
Lady L. Your hand need not be there, Sir.
Dr. C. I was admiring the softness of this

Dr. C.. Why, I should be so; and yet, alas! I find this mortal clothing of my soul is made like other men's, of sensual flesh and blood, and has its frailties.

Lady. L. We all have those, but yours are well corrected by your divine and virtuous contemplations.

Dr. C. Alas! Madam, my heart is not of stone: I may resist, call all my prayers, my fastings, tears, and penance, to my aid; but yet, I am not an angel; I am still but a man; and virtue may strive, but nature will be uppermost. I love you then, Madam.

let my husband, your benefactor, know the Lady L. Hold, Sir! suppose I now should favour you design him?

Dr. C. You cannot be so cruel!

Lady L. Nor will, on this condition; that instantly you renounce all claim and title to Charlotte, and use your utmost interest with Sir John, to give her, with her full fortune, to Mr. Darnley.

Enter COLONEL LAMBERT.

Col. L. Villain! monster! perfidious and ungrateful traitor! your hypocrisy, your false zeal, is discovered; and I am sent here, by the hand of insulted Heaven, to lay you open to my father, and expose you to the world. Dr. C. Ha!

Lady L. O, unthinking colonel!

Col. L. Well, Sir, what have you to say for yourself?

Dr. C. I have nothing to say to you, colonel, nor for you-but you shall have my

prayers.

Col. L. Why, you profligate hypocrite! do you think to carry off your villany with that sanctified air?

Dr. C. I know not what you mean, Sir; 1 have been in discourse here with my good lady, by permission of your worthy father.

Col. L. Dog! did my father desire you to talk of love to my lady?

Dr. C. Call me not dog, colonel: I hope we are both brother Christians.-Yes, I will own I did beg leave to talk to her of love; for, alas! I am but a man; yet if my passion for your dear sister, which I cannot control be sinful

Lady L. Your noise, I perceive, is bringing up Sir John; manage with him as you will at present: I will withdraw, for I have an aftergame to play, which may yet put this wretch effectually into our power. [Exit.

Enter SIR JOHN LAMBERT. Sir J. What uproar is this? Col. L. Nothing, Sir, nothing; only a little broil of the good doctor's here-You are well rewarded for your kindnesses; and he would fain pay it back with tripple interest to your wife in short, I took him here in the very fact of making a criminal declaration of love to my lady.

Dr. C. Why, why Sir John, would you not let me leave your house? I knew some dreadful method would be taken to drive me hence -O, be not angry, good colonel: but indeed, and indeed, you use me cruelly.

Sir J. Horrible, wicked creature!-Doctor, let me hear it from you.

Dr. C. Alas, Sir, I am in the dark as much as you; but it should seem, for what purpose he best knows, your son hid himself hereabouts; and while I was talking to my lady, rushed in upon us-you know the subject, Sir, on which I was to entertain her; and I might speak of my love for your daughter with more warmth than, perhaps, I ought; which the colonel overhearing, he might possibly imagine I was addressing my lady herself; for I will not suspect, no Heaven forbid, I will not suspect that he would intentionally forge a falsehood to dishonour me.

Sir J. Now, vile detracter of all virtue! is your outrageous malice confounded? what he tells you is true; he has been talking to my lady by my consent, and what he said was by my orders-Good man! be not concerned; for I see through their vile design-Here, thou curse of my life, if thou art not lost to conscience and all sense of honour, repair the injury you have attempted, by confessing your rancour, and throwing yourself at his feet.

Dr. C. Oh, Sir John! for my sake-I will throw myself at the colonel's feet; nay, if that will please him, he shall tread on my neck.

Sir J. What, mute, defenceless, hardened in thy malice.

Col. L. 1 scorn the imputation, Sir; and with the same repeated honesty avow (however cunningly he may have devised this gloss,) that you are deceived-what I tell you, Sir, is true-these eyes, these ears, were witnesses of his audacious love, without the mention of my sister's name! directly, plainly, grossly tending to abuse the honour of your bed.

Sir J. Villain! this instant leave my sight, my house, my family, for ever.

Dr. C. Hold, good Sir John; I am now recovered from my surprise; let me then be an humble mediator-on my account this must not be-1 grant it possible your son loves me not; but you must grant it too as possible, he might mistake me; to accuse me then, was but the error of his virtue; you ought to love him, thank him, for his watchful care.

Sir J. O'miracle of charity!

Dr. C. Come, come; such breaches must not be betwixt so good a son and father; forget, forgive, embrace him, cherish him, and let me bless the hour I was the occasion of so sweet a reconcilement.

Sir J. Hear this, perverse and reprobate! Oh! couldst thou wrong such more than moral virtue ?

Col. L. Wrong him! the hardened impudence of this painted charity

Sir J. Peace, graceless infidel!

Col. L. No, Sir; though I would hazard life to gain you from the clutches of that wretch; could die to reconcile my duty to your favour; yet, on the terms his villany offers, it is merit to refuse it but, Sir, I'll trouble you no more; to-day is his, to-morrow may be mine. [Exit.

Sir J. Come, my friend, we'll go this instant and sign the settlement; for that wretch ought to be punished, who I now see is incorrigible, and given over to perdition.

Dr. C. And do you think I take your estate with such view ?-No, Sir-I receive it that I may have an opportunity to rouse his mind to virtue, by showing him an instance of the forgiveness of injuries; the return of good for evil!

Sir J. O, my dear friend! my stay and my guide! I am impatient till the affair is concluded. Dr. C. The will of Heaven be done in all things.

Sir J. Poor, dear, man!

ACT IV.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I.-A Parlour at SIR JOHN
LAMBERT'S.

Enter CHARLOTTE and SEYWARD.
Char. You were a witness, then?
Sey. I saw it signed, sealed, and delivered,
Madam.

Char. And all passed without the least suspicion?

Sey. Sir John signed it with such earnestness, and the doctor received it with such seeming reluctance, that neither had the curiosity to examine a line of it.

Char. Well, Mr. Seyward, whether it succeeds to our ends or not, we have still the same obligations to you.-You saw with what friendly warmth my brother heard your story; and I don't in the least doubt his being able to do something for you.

Sey. What I have done, my duty bound me to; but pray, Madam, give me leave, without offence, to ask you one innocent question. Char. Freely.

Sey. Have you never suspected, that in all this affair, I have had some secret, stronger motive, than barely duty?

Char. Yes.-But have you been in no apprehensions I should discover that motive? Sey. Pray, pardon me; I see already I have gone too far.

Char. Not at all; it loses you no merit with me; nor is it my nature to use any one ill that loves me, unless I loved that one again: then, indeed, there might be danger. Come, don't look grave; my inclinations to another shall not hinder me paying every one what's due to their merit: I shall therefore always think myself obliged to treat your misfortunes and your modesty with the utmost tenderness.

Sey. Your good opinion is all I aim at.

Char. Ay; but the more I give it you, the better you'll think of me still; and then I must think the better of you again; and then you the better of me, upon that too; and so at last I shall seriously, and you'll begin to think ill of me. But I hope, Mr. Seyward, your good sense will prevent all this.

Sey. I see my folly, Madam, and blush at

my presumption. Madam, I humbly take my leave. [Exit. Char. Well, he's a pretty young fellow after all, and the very first, sure, that ever heard reason against himself with so good an understanding.

Enter LADY LAMBERT.

Lady L. Dear Charlotte, what will become of us? The tyranny of this subtle hypocrite is insupportable. He has so fortified himself in Sir John's opinion, by this last misconduct of your brother, that I begin to lose my power with him.

Char. Pray, explain, Madam.

Lady L. In spite of all I could urge, he has consented that the doctor shall this minute come, and be his own advocate.

Char. I'm glad on't; for the beast must come like a bear to the stake. I'm sure, he knows I shall bait him.

Lady L. No matter for that; he presses it, to keep Sir John still blind to his wicked design upon me.-Therefore I come to give you notice, that you might be prepared to receive him.

Char. I'm obliged to your ladyship. Our meeting will be a tender scene, no doubt on't. Lady L. But I think I hear the doctor coming up stairs. My dear girl, at any rate, keep your temper. I shall expect you in my dressing-room, to tell me the particulars of your conduct. [Exit.

Char. He must have a great deal of impudence, to come in this manner to me.

Enter BETTY.

fly out, being convinced that nothing gives so sharp a point to one's aversion as good breeding; as, on the contrary, ill manners often hide a secret inclination.

Dr. C. Well then, young lady, be assured so far am I from the unchristian disposition of returning injuries, that your antipathy to me causes no hatred in my soul towards you; on the contrary, I would willingly make you happy, if it may be done according to my conscience, with the interest of heaven in view.

Char. Why, I can't see, Sir, how heaven can be any way concerned in a transaction between you and me.

Dr. C. When you marry any other person, my consent is necessary.

Char. So I hear, indeed!--but pray, doctor, how could your modesty receive so insolent a power, without putting my poor father out of countenance with your blushes?

Dr. C. I sought it not; but he would crowd it among other obligations. He is good natured; and I foresaw it might serve to pious purposes.

Char. I don't understand you.

Dr. C. I take it for granted, that you would marry Mr. Darnley. Am I right?

Chur. Once in your life, perhaps, you may. Dr. C. Nay, let us be plain. Would you marry him?

I

Char. You're mighty nice, methinks. Well, would.

Dr. C. Then I will not consent.
Char. You wont?

Dr. C. My conscience will not suffer me. I know you to be both luxurious and worldlyminded; and you would squander upon the

Char. Let him come in.

Enter DOCTOR CANTWELL. Your servant, Sir.-Give us chairs, Betty, and leave the room.-[Exit BETTY.]-Sir, there's a seat-What can the ugly cur say to me?-he seems a little puzzled.

Dr. C. Lookye, young lady, I am afraid, notwithstanding your good father's favour, I am not the man you would desire to be alone with upon this occasion.

Char. Your modesty is pleased to be in the right.

Dr. C. I'm afraid too, notwithstanding all my endeavours to the contrary, that you entertain a pretty bad opinion of me.

Char. A worse, Sir, of no mortal breathing.
Dr. C. Which opinion is immoveable.
Char. No rock so firm.

Dr. C. I am afraid then it will be a vain pursuit, when I solicit you, in compliance with my worthy friend's desire and my own inclinations, to become my partner in that blessed estate in which we may be a comfort and support to each other.

Char. I would die rather than consent to it.
Dr. C. In other words, you hate me.
Char. Most transcendently.

Dr. C. Well, there is sincerity at least in your confession: you are not, I see, totally deprived of all virtue, though must say I never could perceive in you but very little. Char. Oh, fy! you flatter me.

Dr. C. No, I speak it with sorrow, because you are the daughter of my best friend. But how are we to proceed now? are we to preserve temper?

Char. Oh! never fear me, Sir, I shall not

ought to be better laid out.

Char. Hum!-I believe I begin to conceive you.

Dr. C. If you can think of any project to satisfy my conscience, I am tractable. You know there is a considerable moiety of your fortune which goes to my lady in case of our disagreement.

Char. That's enough, Sir.-You think we should have a fellow-feeling in it. At what sum do you rate your concurrence to my inclinations? that settled, I am willing to strike the bargain.

Dr. C. What do you think of half?
Char. How! two thousand pounds?

Dr. C. Why, you know you gain two thousand pounds; and really the severity of the times for the poor, and my own stinted pittance, which cramps my charities, will not suffer me to require less.

Char. But how is my father to be brought into this?

Dr. C. Leave that to my management. Char. And what security do you expect for the money?

Dr. C. Oh! Mr. Darnley is wealthy

when

I deliver my consent in writing, he shall lay it down to me in bank-bills.

Chur. Pretty good security! On one proviso though.

Dr. C. Name it.

Char. That you immediately tell my father, that you are willing to give up your interest to Mr. Darnley.

Dr. C. Hum!-stay-I agree to it; but in the mean time, let me warn you, child, not to expect to turn that, or what has now passed between us, to my confusion, by sinister construction, or evil representation to your father.