Bates. Brady! is not she the daughter of sir Patrick O'Neale?

Neph. The same. She was sacrificed to the most senseless, drunken profligate in the whole country: he lived to run out his fortune; and the only advantage she got from the union was, he broke that and his neck, before he had broke her heart.

Bates. The affair of marriage is in this country pat upon the easiest footing; there is neither love nor hate in the matter; necessity brings them together; they are united at first for their mutual convenience, and separated ever after for their particular pleasures-O rare matrimony!-Where does she lodge?

Neph. In Pall-mall, near the hotel.

Bates. I'll call in my way, and assist at the consulta+ tion; I am for a bold stroke, if gentle methods should fail.

Neph. We have a plan, and a spirited one, if my sweet widow is able to go through it-pray let us have your friendly assistance ours is the cause of love and reason.

Bates. Get you gone, with your love and reason; they seldom pull together now-a-days-I'll give your uncle a dose first, and then I'll meet you at the widow's -What says your uncle's privy counsellor, Mr. Thomas, to this?

Neph. He is greatly our friend, and will enter sincerely into our service he is honest, sensible, ignorant, and particular, a kind of half coxcomb, with a thorough good heart-but he's here.

Bates. Do you go about your business, and leave the [Exit Nephew.

rest to me.

Enter THOMAS, with a Pamphlet. Mr. Thomas, I am glad to see you; upon my word you look charmingly-you wear well, Mr. Thomas.

Tho. Which is a wonder, considering how times go, Mr. Bates-they'll wear and tear me too, if I don't take care of myself my old master has taken the nearest way to wear himself out, and all that belong to him.

Bates. Why surely this strange story about town is not true, that the old gentleman is fallen in love?

Tho. Ten times worse than that!

Bates. The devil!

Tho. And his horns-going to be married!
Bates. Not if I can help it.

Tho. You never saw such an alter'd man in your born days!-he's grown young again; he frisks, and prances, and runs about, as if he had a new pair of legs-he has left off his brown camlet surtout, which he wore all summer, and now with his hat under his arm, he goes open breasted, and he dresses, and powders, and smirks, so that you would take him for the mad Frenchman in Bedlam-something wrong in his upper story-would you think it?-he wants me to wear a pig-tail!

Bates. Then he is far gone indeed!

Tho. As sure as you are there, Mr. Bates, a pig-tail! we have had sad work about it-I made a compromise with him to wear these ruffled shirts which he gave me; but they stand in my way-I am not so listness with them-though I have tied up my hands for him, I won't tie up my head, that I am resolute.

Bates. This it is to be in love, Thomas.

Tho. He may make free with himself, he shan't make a fool of me--he has got his head into a bag, but I won't have a pig-tail tack'd to mine-and so I told him

Bates. What did you tell him?

Tho. That as I, and my father, and his father before me, had wore their own hair as heaven had sent it, I thought myself rather too old to set up for a monkey at my time of life, and wear a pig-tail-he, he, he!-he took it.

Bates. With a wry face, for it was wormwood.

Tho. Yes, he was frump'd, and call'd me old blockhead, and would not speak to me the rest of the daybut the next day he was at it again-he then put me into a passion and I could not help telling him that I was an Englishman born, and had my prerogative as well as he, and that as long as I had breath in my body I was for liberty and a straight head of hair.

Bates. Well said, Thomas-he could not answer that.

Tho. The poorest man in England is a match for the greatest, if he will but stick to the laws of the land, and the statute-books, as they are delivered down to us from our forefathers.

Bates. You are right—we must lay our wits together, and drive the widow out of your old master's head, and put her into your young master's hands.

Tho. With all my heart-nothing can be more meritorious-marry at his years! what a terrible account would he make of it, Mr. Bates!-let me see on the debtor side sixty-five, and per contra creditor a buxom widow of twenty-three-He'll be a bankrupt in a fortnight-he, he, he!

Bates. And so he would, Mr. Thomas. What have you got in your hand?

Tho. A pamphlet my old gentleman takes in-be has left off buying bistories and religious pieces by numbers, as he used to do; and since he has got this widow in his head, he reads nothing but the Amorous Repository, Cupid's Revel's, Call to Marriage, Hymen's Delights, Love lies a Bleeding, Love in the Suds, and such like tender compositions.

Bates. Here he comes, with all his folly about him. Tho. Yes, and the first fool from vanity fair--Heav'n help us-love turns man and woman topsyturvy! [Exit. Whit. [Without] Where is he? where is my good friend?

Enter WHITTLE.

He! here he is give me your hand.

Bates. I am glad to see you in such spirits, my old gentleman.

Whit. Not so old neither-no man ought to be called old, friend Bates, if he is in health, spirits, and

Bates. In his senses-which I should rather doubt, as I never saw you half so'frolicsome in my life.

Whit. Never too old to learn, friend; and if I don't make use of my philosophy now, I may wear it out in twenty years I have been always banter'd as of too

grave a cast-you know when I study'd at Lincoln'sinn, they us'd to call me Young Wisdom.

Bates. And if they should call you Old Folly, it will be a much worse name.

Whit. No young jackanapes dare to call me so, while I have this friend at my side. [Touches his Sword. Bates. A hero too! what in the name of common sense is come to you, my friend?-high spirits, quick honour, a long sword, and a bag!-you want nothing but to be terribly in love, and then you may sally forth knight of the woful countenance. Ha, ha, ha!

Whit. Mr. Bates-the ladies, who are the best judges of countenances, are not of your opinion; and unless you'll be a little serious, I must beg pardon for giving you this trouble, and I'll open my mind to some more attentive friend.

Bates. Well, come unlock then, you wild, handsome, vigorous, young dog you-I will please you if I can. Whit. I believe you never saw me look better, Frank, did you?

Bates. O yes, rather better forty years ago.

Whit. What, when I was at Merchant Tailors' School?
Bates. At Lincoln's-inn, Tom.

Whit. It can't be-I never disguise my age, and next February I shall be fifty-four.

Bates. Fifty-four! why I am sixty, and you always lick'd me at school-though I believe I could do as much for you now, and, 'ecod, I believe you deserve it too. Whit. I tell you I am in my fifty-fifth year.

Bates. O, you are-let me see-we were together at Cambridge, Anno Domini twenty-five, which is near fifty years ago-you came to the college indeed surprisingly young; and what is more surprising, by this calculation you went to school before you was bornyou always was a forward child.

Whit. I see there is no talking or consulting with you in this humour, and so, Mr. Bates, when you are in temper to show less of your wit, and more of your friendship, I shall consult with you,

Bates. Fare you well, my old boy-young fellow, I

mean-when you have done sowing your wild oats, and have been blistered into your right senses; when you have half kill'd yourself with being a beau, and return to your woollen caps, flannel waistcoats, worsted stockings, cork soles, and gallochies, I am at your service again; so bon jour to you, monsieur Fifty-four, ha, ha! [Exit.

Whit. He has certainly heard of my affair-but he is old and peevish-he wants spirits, and strength of constitution to conceive my happiness-I am in love with the widow, and must have her; every man knows his own wants-let the world laugh, and my friends stare; let 'em call me imprudent, and mad, if they please-I live in good times, and among people of fashion, so none of my neighbours, thank heaven, cau have the assurance to laugh at me.

Enter KECKSEY.

Keck. What, my friend Whittle! joy! joy! to you, old boy-you are going, a going, a going! a fine widow has bid for you, and will have you, hah, friend? all for the best-there is nothing like it-hugh! bugh! hogh! -a good wife is a good thing, and a young one is a better-hah-who's afraid? If I had not lately married one, I should have been at death's door by this timehugh, hugh, hugh!

Whit. Thank, thank you, friend!-I was coming to advise with you—I am got into the pound again—in love up to the ears-a fine woman, faith; and there's no love lost between us-am I right, friend?

Keck. Right! ay, right as my leg, Tom! Life's nothing without love-hugh, hugh!-I am happy as the day's long! my wife loves gadding, and I can't stay at home, so we are both of a mind-she's every night at one or other of the gay places, but among friends; I am a little afraid of the damp; hugh, hugh, hugh! she has got an Irish gentleman, a kind of cousin of her's, to take care of her; a fine fellow, and so good-natur'd It is a vast comfort to have such a friend in a family! Hugh, hugh, hugh!