at home, if it conduces to your happiness, maʼam; and Sir Bashful, I take it, will dine at home for the contrary reason.

Sir Bash. Madam, I will dine at home, or I will dine abroad, for what reason I please, and it is my pleasure to give no reason for either.Lovemore! [Looks at him, and smiles. Love. [Aside to Sir BASHFUL.] Bravo!-What a blockhead it is!

Mrs Love. As you have your chariot at the door, Mr Lovemore, if you have no objection, I will send away my chair, and you may do me the honour of a place in your carriage.

Love. The honour will be very great to me, but-so many places to call at. If I had known this sooner- -You had better keep your chair. Sir Bash. [Aside.] Cunning! cunning! he would not be seen in his chariot with her for the world. He has more discretion than I have.

Lady Cons. Mrs Lovemore, since you have, at last, ventured to come abroad, I hope you will think it a change for the better. You are too domestic. I shall expect now to see you often: and, apropos, I am to have a route to-morrow evening; if you will do me the honour of your company

Sir Bash. A route to-morrow evening! you have a route every evening, I think. Learn of Mrs Lovemore; imitate her example, and don't let me have your hurricane monthis all the year round in my house.-Hip! [dside.] Lovemore, how do you like me?

Love. [Aside to Sir BASHFUL.] You improve upon it every time. But I am loitering here as if I had nothing to do.-My Lady Constant, I have the honour to wish your ladyship a good morning. Sir Bashful, yours-madam.

[Bows gravely to Mrs LOVEMORE, hums a tune, and exit.

Sir Bash. [Aside.] He knows how to play the game. I'll try what I can do. Mrs Lovemore, I have the honour to wish you a good morning. Madam

[Bows gravely to Lady CONSTANT, hums a tune, and exit,

Mrs Love. Two such husbands!

Lady Cons. As to my swain, I grant you: Mr Lovemore is, at least, well-bred; he has an un derstanding, and may, in time, reflect. Sir Bash ful never qualifies himself with the smallest tincture of civility.

Mrs Love. If civility can qualify the draught, I must allow Mr Lovemore to have a skilful hand. But there is no end to his projects. Every day opens a new scene. Another of his intrigues is come to light. I came to consult with your dyship. I know you are acquainted with the W dow Bellmour.

Lady Cons. The Widow Bellmour! I know her perfectly well.

Mrs Love. Not so well, perhaps, as you may imagine. She has thrown out the lure for my wild gallant, and, in order to deceive me―

Lady Cons. My dear, you must be mistaken. Who tells you this?

Mrs Love. Oh! I can trust to my intelligence. Sir Brilliant Fashion, by way of blind to me, has been this morning drawing so amiable a picture of the lady

Lady Cons. Sir Brilliant's authority is not al ways the best, but in this point you may trust to him.

Mrs Love. But when you have heard all the circumstances

Lady Cons. Depend upon it, you are wrong. I know the Widow Bellmour. Her turn of cha racter, and way of thinking

Mrs Love. Excuse me, madam. You decide without hearing me.

Lady Cons. All scandal, take my word for it. However, let me hear your story. We'll adjourn to my dressing-room, if you will; and I promise to confute all you can say. I would have you know the Widow Bellmour: you will be in love with her. My dear madam, have not you a tinge of jealousy?-Beware of that malady. If you see things through that medium, I shall give you up. That jaundice of the mind, whose colours strike On friend and foe, and paint them all alike. [Exeunt.

SCENE I.-An Apartment at the Widow BELLMOUR'S: Several Chairs, a Toilette, a Bookcase, and a Harpsichord, disposed up and down. MIGNIONET. [Putting things in order.] Mig. I don't well know what to make of this same Lord Etheridge. He is coming here again to-day, I suppose: all this neatness, and all this care must be for him. Well, it does not signify: [Arranging the chairs.] there is a pleasure in obeying Madam Bellmour. She is a sweet lady, that's the truth of it. 'Twere a pity if any of these men, with their deceitful arts, should draw her into a snare. But she knows them all. They

must rise early who can outwit her. [Settling the Toilette.]

Enter Mrs BELLMOUR, reading. Oh! blest with temper, whose unclouded ray Can make to-morrow cheerful as to-day; She who can own a sister's charms, and hear Sighs for a daughter with unwounded ear; That never answers till a husband cools, And if she rules him, never shews she rules. Sensible, elegant Pope!

Charms by accepting, by submitting sways, Yet has her humour most, when she obeys. [Seems to read an

Mign. Lord love my mistress! always so charming, so gay, and so happy!

Mrs Bell. These exquisite characters of women! they are a sort of painter's gallery, where one sees the portraits of all one's acquaintance, and sometimes we see our own features too. Mignionet, put this book in its place.

Mign. Yes, ma'am; and there's your toilette looks as elegant as hands can make it.

Mrs Bell. Does it? I think it does. You have some taste. Apropos, where is my new song?— Oh! here it is: I must make myself mistress of it. [Plays upon the harpsichord, and sings a little.] I believe I have conquered it. [Rises, and goes to her toilette.] This hair is always torinenting me, always in disorder: this lock must be for ever gadding out of its place. I must and will subdue it. Do you know, Mignionet, that this is a pretty song? It was writ by my Lord Etheridge. My lord has a turn. [Sings a little.] I must be perfect before he comes. [Hums the tune. Do you know that I think my lord is one of those men who may be endured?"

Mign. Yes, ma'am, I know you think so,
Mrs Bell. Do you?

Mign. And if I have any skill, ma'am, you are not without a little partiality for his lordship.

There's some mystery at the bottom, I'll be sworn there is; and so you'll find at last.—Dear heart, ma'am, if you are determined not to listen, what signifies my living with you? At this rate, I am of no service to you.

Mrs Bell. There ;-I have conquered my song. [Runs to her glass.] How do I look to-day? The eyes do well enough, I think. And so, Mignionet, you imagine I shall play the fool, and marry my Lord Etheridge?

Mign. You have it through the very heart of you: I see that.

Mrs Bell. Do you?-I don't know what to say to it. Poor Sir Brilliant Fashion! if I prefer his rival, what will become of him?-I won't think

about it.

Enter POMPEY.

Mrs Bell. What's the matter, Pompey? Pom. A lady in a chair desires to know if your ladyship is at home?

Mrs Bell. Has the lady no name?

Pom. Yes; I fancies she has, ma'am ; but she did not tell it.

Mrs Bell. How awkward!—well, shew the la dy up stairs.

Mign. Had not you better receive her in the drawing-room, ma'am? I have not half done my business here.

Mign. You'll be caught, ma'am, I see that. To be sure, my lord has a quality-air, and can make himself agreeable. But what of that? You know but very little of him. Is a man's character known in three or four weeks time? [Mrs BELLMOUR hums a tune.] Do, my dear madam, mind what I say: I am at times very considerate. I make my remarks, and I see very plainly-Lord, ma'am, what am I doing? I am talking to you for your own good, and you are all in the air, and no more mind me, no, no more than if I was nothing at all.

Mrs Bell. [Continues humming a tune.] You talk wonderfully well upon the subject; but, as I know how the cards lie, and can play the best of the game, and as I have a song to amuse me, one is inclined to give musical nonsense the preference.

Mign. I assure you, ma'am, I am not one of those servants, that bargain for their mistress's inclinations: but you are going to take a leap in the dark. What does my Lord Etheridge mean, with his chair always brought into the hall, and the curtains close about his ears? Why does not be come like himself, and not care who sees him?

Enter Mrs LOVEMORE.

Mrs Love. [Disconcerted.] I beg pardon for this intrusion.

Mis Bell. Pray walk in, ma'am. Mignionet, reach a chair. [Mrs LOVEMORE crosses the stage, and they salute each other with an air of distant civility.]

Mrs Love. I am afraid this visit from one who has not the honour of knowing you

Mrs Bell. Oh, make no apology, ma'am.-Mignionet, you may withdraw. [Exit MIGNIONET. Mrs Love. It may appear extraordinary that a stranger thus intrudes upon you;-but a parti cular circumstance determined me to take this liberty. I hope you will excuse the freedom.

Mrs Bell. You do me honour, ma'am: pray no excuses. A particular circumstance, you say?

Mrs Love. I shall appear, perhaps, very ridicu lous, and, indeed, I am afraid I have done the most absurd thing! but a lady of your acquaint ance-you know my Lady Constant, ma'am? Mrs Bell. Extremely well.

Mrs Love. She has given you such an amiable character for benevolence and a certain elegant way of thinking, entirely your own, that I flatter myself, if it is in your power, you will be gener ous enough to afford me your assistance.

Mrs Bell. Lady Constant is very obliging Make a trial of me, ma'am, and if I can be of ang

use

described to me as one of charming and rare accomplishments.

Mrs Bell. Never throw up the cards for all that. Take my advice, ma'am.-You seem to have qualities that may dispute your husband's heart with any body; but the exertion of those amiable qualities, I fear, may be suppressed. Excuse my frankness. You should counteract your rival by the very arts which she employs against you. I know a lady now in your very situation: and what does she do? She consumes herself with unceasing jealousy; whereas, if she would exert but half the pains she uses in teasing herself, to vie with the person who has won her husband from her; to vie with her, I say, in the art of pleasing-for there it is a woman's pride should be piqued Would she do that, take my word for it, victory would declare in her favour. You are not without attractions; give them their energy, and you conquer.

Mrs Love. Do you think so, ma'am?

Mrs Bell. Think so! I am sure of it. You must exert yourself. It is the wife's business to bait the hook for her husband with variety. Virtue alone, by her own native charms, would do if the men were perfect. But it is otherwise; and, since vice can assume allurements, why should not truth and innocence have additional ornaments also?

Mrs Love. I find Sir Brilliant told me truth.

[Aside. Mrs Bell. Give me leave, ma'am: I have been married, and am a little in the secret. To win a heart is easy; to keep it is the difficulty. After the fatal words for better, for worse,' women relax into indolence, and while they are guilty of no infidelity, they think every thing safe. But they are mistaken: a great deal is wanting; an address, a vivacity, a desire to please; the agreeable contrast; the sense that pleases, the folly that charms-A favourite poet, Prior, has expressed it with delicacy.

Above the fixed and settled rules
Of vice and virtue in the schools,
The better part should set before 'em
A grace, a manner, a decorum.

Mrs Love. But when the natural temperMrs Bell. Oh! the natural temper must be forced. Home must be made a place of pleasure to the husband. How is that to be done? That equality, which you talk of, is a sameness that palls and wearies. A wife should throw infinite variety into her manner. She should, as it were, multiply herself, and be, as it were, sundry dif ferent women on different occasions. The tender, the affectionate, the witty, the silent, all in their turns, all shifting the scene, and she succeeding to herself as quick as lightning. And this I take to be the whole mystery; the way to keep a man. But I beg your pardon. I go on too fast: you will think me the giddiest creature

Mrs Love. Quite the reverse, ma'am; you are very obliging

Mrs Bell. I have tired myself and you too.

But pray, may I now inquire, who was so kind as to intimate that I am acquainted with Mr Lovemore?

Mrs Love. It was a mere mistake. I have given you a great deal of trouble. You will excuse my frankness: I had heard that his visits were frequent here.

Mrs Bell. His visits frequent here! My Lady Constant could not tell you so?

Mrs Love. She told me quite the contrary. She knows your amiable qualities, and does you justice.

Mrs Bell. The accident is lucky! it has procured me the honour of your acquaintance. And I suppose you imagined that I had robbed you of Mr Lovemore's heart?-Scandal will be buzzing about. I can laugh at every thing of that sort. [A rap at the door.] Oh! Heavens! some trouble[Rings a bell

some visit.

Enter MIGNIONET.

Mrs Bell. I am not at home. Go, and give an

answer.

Mign. It is Lord Etheridge, ma'am: he is coming up stairs. The servants did not know you had changed your mind.

Mrs Bell. Was ever any thing so cross? Tell his lordship I have company; I am busy; I am not well; any thing, don't let him come in. Make haste, dispatch; I won't see him.

Mrs Love. I beg I may not hinder you: I shall take my leave.

Mrs Bell By no means. Our conversation grows interesting. I positively will not see my lord.

Mrs Love. I cann't agree to that. You must see his lordship. I can step into another room. Mrs Bell. Will you be so good?—You will find something to amuse you in that cabinet. [Points to a door in the back scene] We must talk farther. My lord sha'n't stay long.

Mrs Love. Nay, but if you stand upon cere

mony

Mrs Bell. Very well: I'll contrive it. This is a lover of mine. A lover and a husband are the same thing. Perhaps it will divert you to hear how I manage him. I hear him on the stairs. Make haste: Mignionet, show the way.

[Mrs LovE. and MIGNIONET go out at the

back scene.

Mrs Bell. Let me see how I look to receive him. [Runs to her glass.

Enter LOVEMORE, with a Star and Garter, as Lord ETHERIDdge.

Love. A heavenly image in the glass appears,

To that she bends, to that her eyes she rears,
Repairs her smiles-

Mrs Bett. Repairs her smiles, my lord! You are satirical this morning. Pray, my lord, are my features out of repair, like an old house in the country, that wants a tenant?

Loo0. Nay, now you wrest my words from their visible intention. Yon cann't suppose that I impute

to such perfect beauty the least want of repair, whatever may be the case, ma'am, with regard to the want of a tenant.

Mrs Bell. Oh! then your opinion is, that I want a tenant. And perhaps you think I am going to put up a bill to signify to all passers-by, that here is a mansion to be let, enquire of the Widow Bellmour. I like your notion; I don't think it would be a bad scheme. Shall I try it?

Love. A palace needs no such invitation. Its natural beauty attracts admiring eyes. But who can bid up to the price? The person who is able to do it

Mrs Bell. Will be happy; I know that is what you are going to say. But he must do homage for it: and then I will let it to none but a single gentleman. Do you know any body whom these conditions will suit ?

Love. Those conditions, maʼam!—[Aside.] What the devil does she mean? I am not detected, I hope. To be sure, ma'am, those conditionsAnd-none but single gentlemen will presume toMrs Bell. And then it must be a lease for life. But that will never do; nobody will be troubled with it. I shall never get it off my hands: do you think I shall, my lord?

Love. There must be very little taste left, if you have not a number of bidders. You know the ambition of my heart; you know I am devoted to you, upon any terms, even though it were to be bought with life.

Mrs Bell. Heavens! what a dying swain you are! And does your lordship mean to be guilty of matrimony? Lord! what a question have I asked! To be sure, I am the giddiest creature. My lord, don't you think me a strange madcap?

Love. A vein of wit, like yours, that springs at once from vivacity and sentiment, serves to exalt your beauty, and give animation to every charm. Mrs Bell. Upon my word, you have said it finely! But you are in the right, my lord. Your pensive melancholy beauty is the most insipid thing in nature. And yet we often see features without a mind; and the owner of them sits in the room with you, like a mere vegetable, for an hour together, till, at last, she is incited to the violent exertion of, Yes, sir-I fancy not, ma'am, and then a matter-of-fact conversation! Miss Beverly is going to be married to captain Shoulder-knot-My Lord Mortgage has had another tumble at hazard --Sir Harry Wilding has lost his election-They say short aprons are coming into fashion.

Love. Oh! a matter-of-fact conversation is insupportable.

Alrs Bell. But you meet with nothing else. All in great spirits about nothing, and not an idea among them. Go to Ranelagh, or to what public place you will, it is just the same. A lady comes up to you; How charmingly you look!-But, my dear m'em, did you hear what happened to us the other night? We were going home from the opera -you know my aunt Roly-Poly; it was her coach. There was she and Lady Betty Fidget-What a sweet blonde! How do you do, my dear? [Curtsying as to another one going by. My Lady Betty

is quite recovered; we were all frightened about her; but Doctor Snake-root was called in; no, not Doctor Snake-root, Doctor Bolus; and so he altered the course of the medicines, and so my Lady Betty is purely now.-Well, there was she, and my aunt, and Sir George Bragwell-a pretty man Sir George-finest teeth in the world-Your la ship's most obedient-[Curtsying.] We expected you last night, but you did not come.-He! he! he !—and so there was Sir George and the rest of us; and so, turning the corner of Bond-street, the brute of a coachman-I humbly thank your grace [Curtsies.]-the brute of a coachman overturned us, and so my aunt Roly-Poły was frightened out of her wits; and Lady Betty has had her nerves again. Only think! such accidents!—I am glad to see you look so well; a l'honneur; he! hehe! Love. Ho! ho! you paint to the life. I see her moving before me in all her airs.

Mrs Bell. With this conversation their whole stock is exhausted, and away they run to carts. Quadrille has murdered wit!

Love. Ay, and beauty too. Cards are the worst enemies to a complexion: the small-pox is not so bad. The passions throw themselves into every feature: I have seen the countenance of an age changed, in a moment, to absolute deformity: the little loves and graces that sparkled in the eve bloomed in the cheek, and smiled about the mouth, all wing their flight, and leave the face, which they before adorned, a prey to grief, to anger, race, and fury, and the whole train of fretful passions.

Mrs Bell. And the language of the passions sometimes heard upon those occasions.

the

lead

Love. Very true, maʼam; and if, by chance, they do bridle and hold in a little, the struggle they un dergo is the most ridiculous sight in nature. I have seen a huge oath quivering on the pale lip of a reigning toast for half an hour together, and a uplifted eye accusing the gods for the loss of an odd trick. And then, at last, the whole room in a Babel of sounds. My lord, you flung away game.-Sir George, why did not you rough the spade ?-Captain Hazard, why did not you through the honours?—Ma'am, it was not the play -Pardon me, sir-but ma'am,-but sir-I would not play with you for straws; don't you knew what Hoyle says?-If A and B are partners against C and D, and the game nine all, A and B have won three tricks, and C and D four tricks; C leads his suit, D puts up the king, then returns the suit; A passes, C puts up the queen, and B trumps it; and so A and B, and C and D are bandied about; they attack, they defend, and all is jargon and confusion, wrangling, noise, and notsense; and high life, and polite conversation. Ha! ha! ha!

Mrs Bell. Ho! ho! the pencil of Hogarth could not do it better. And yet one is dragged to these places. One must play sometimes. We must let our friends pick our pockets now and then, or they drop our acquaintance. Do you ever play, my lord?

Love. Play, ma'am?-[Aside.] What does she mean? I must play the hypocrite to the end of