Whit. You are a bold man, cousin Kecksey. Keck. Bold! ay, to be sure; none but the brave deserve the fair-Hugh, hugh! who's afraid?

Whit. Why your wife is five feet ten.

Keck. Without her shoes. I hate your little shrimps; none of your lean meagre figures for me; I was always fond of the majestic; give me a slice of a good English surloin; cut and come again; hugh, hugh, hugh! that's my taste.

"Whit. I'm glad you have so good a stomach-and so you would advise me to marry the widow directly? Keck. To be sure-you have not a moment to lose; I always mind what the poet says,

"Tis folly to lose time,

When man is in his prime.

Hugh, hugh, bugh!

Whit. You have an ugly cough, cousin.
Keck. Marriage is the best lozenge for it.

Whit. You have raised me from the dead-I am glad you came-Frank Bates had almost killed me with his jokes-but you have comforted me, and we will walk through the Park; and I will carry you to the widow in Pall-mall.

Keck. With all my heart-I'll raise her spirits, and your's too-courage, Tom-come along-who's [Exeunt.

afraid?

SCENE II. The WIDOW's Lodging.

Enter WIDOW, NEPHEW, and BATES.

Bates. Indeed, madam, there is no other way but to cast off your real character and assume a feign'd one; it is an extraordinary occasion, and requires extraordinary measures; pluck up a spirit, and do it for the honour of your sex.

Neph. Only consider, my sweet widow, that our all is at stake.

Wid. Could I bring my heart to act contrary to its feelings, would not you hate me for being a hypocrite, though it is done for your sake?

Neph. Could I think myself capable of such ingratitude

Wid. Could we live upon affection, I would give your fortune to your uncle, and thank him for taking it; and then

Neph. What then, my sweet widow?

Wid. I would desire you to run away with me as fast as you can-What a pity it is that this money, which my heart despises, should hinder its happiness, or that for the want of a few dirty acres, a poor woman must be made miserable, and sacrificed twice to those who have them.

Neph. Heaven forbid! these exquisite sentiments endear you more to me, and distract me with the dread of losing you.

Bates. Young folks, let an old man, who is not quite in love, and yet will admire a fine woman to the day of his death, throw in a little advice among your flames and darts.

Wid. Though a woman, a widow, and in love too, I can hear reason, Mr. Bates.

Bates. And that's a wonder-you have no time to lose; for want of a jointure you are still your father's slave; he is obstinate, and has promised you to the old man: now, madam, if you will not rise superior to your sex's weakness, to secure a young fellow instead of an old one, your eyes are a couple of hypocrites.

Wid. They are a couple of traitors I'm sure, and have led their mistress into a toil, from which all her wit cannot release her.

Neph. But it can, if you will but exert it; my uncle, ador❜d and fell in love with you for your beauty, softness, and almost speechless reserve. Now, if amidst all his rapturous ideas of your delicacy, you would bounce upon him a wild, ranting, buxom widow, he will grow sick of his bargain, and give me a fortune to take you off his hands.

Wid. I shall make a very bad actress.

Neph. You are an excellent mimic; assume but the character of your Irish female neighbour in the country,

with which you astonish'd us so agreeably at Scarborough; you will frighten my uncle into terms, and do that for us which neither my love nor your virtue can accomplish without it.

Wid. Now for a trial-[Mimicking a strong brogue] fait and trot, if you will be after bringing me before the old jontleman, if he loves music, I will trate his ears with a little of the brogue, and some dancing too into the bargain if he loves capering-O bless me! my heart fails me, and I am frightened out of my wits; I can never go through it. [Nephew and Bates both laugh. Neph. [Kneeling and kissing her Hand] O 'tis admirable! love himself inspires you, and we shall conquer ; what say you, Mr. Bates?

Bates. I'll insure you success; I can scarce believe my own ears; such a tongue and a brogue would make Hercules tremble at five-and-twenty; but away, away, and give him the first broadside in the Park; there you'll find him hobbling with that old cuckold, Kecksey.

Wid. But will my dress suit the character I play? Neph. The very thing; is your retinue ready, and your part got by heart?

Wid. All is ready: 'tis an act of despair to punish folly, and reward merit: 'tis the last effort of pure, honourable love; and if every woman would exert the same spirit for the same out-of-fashion rarity, there would be less business for Doctors' commons: Now let the critics laugh at me if they dare. [Exit with spirit. Neph. Brava! bravissima! sweet widow! Exit. Bates. Huzza! huzza! [Exit.

SCENE III. The Park.

Enter WHITTLE and KECKSEY.

Whit. Yes, yes, she is Irish, but so modest, so mild, and so tender, and just enough of the accent to give a peculiar sweetness to her words, which drop from her in monosyllables, with such a delicate reserve, that I shall have all the comfort, without the impertinence of a wife..

Keck. There our taste differs, friend; I am for a lively smart girl in my house, hugh, hugh! to keep up my spirits, and make me merry; I don't admire dumb waiters, not I, no still life for me; I love the prittle prattle, it sets me to sleep, and I can take a sound nap, while my Sally and her cousin are running and playing about the house like young cats.

Whit. I am for no cats in my house; I cannot sleep with a noise; the widow was made on purpose for me; she is so bashful, has no acquaintance, and she never would stir out of doors, if her friends were not afraid of a consumption, and so force her into the air. Such a delicate creature! you shall see her; you were always for a tall, chattering, frisky wench; now for my part I am with the old saying,

Wife a mouse,
Quiet house;
Wife a cat,

Dreadful that.

Keck. I don't care for your sayings-who's afraid? Whit. There goes Bates, let us avoid him, he will only be joking with us; when I have taken a serious thing into my head, I can't bear to have it laugh'd out again. This way, friend Kecksey-what have we got here?

Keck. [Looking out] Some fine prancing wench, with her lovers and footmen about her; she's a gay one by her motions.

Whit. Were she not so flaunting, I should take it for -No, it is impossible; and yet is not that my nephew with her? I forbad him speaking to her; it can't be the widow; I hope it is not.

Enter WIDOW, followed by NEPHEW, three Footmen, and a Black Boy.

Wid. Don't bother me, young man, with your darts, your Cupids, and your pangs; if you had half of 'em about you that you swear you have, they would have cur'd you, by killing you long ago. Would you have me faitless to your uncle, hah! young man? Was not

I faitful to you, till I was ordered to be faitful to him? But I must know more of your English ways, and live more among the English ladies, to learn how to be faitful to two at a time and so there's my answer for you. Neph. Then I know my relief, for I cannot live without you. [Exit. Wid. Take what relief you plase, young jontleman, what have I to do with dat? He is certainly mad, or out of his sinses, for he swears he can't live without me, and yet he talks of killing himself! How does he make out dat? If a countryman of mine had made such a blunder, they would have put it into all the newspapers, and Faulkner's Journal beside; but an Englishman may look over the hedge, while an Irishman must not stale a horse.

Keck. Is this the widow, friend Whittle?

Whit. I don't know, [Sighing] it is, and it is not. Wid. Your servant, Mr. Whittol; I wish you would spake to your nephew not to be whining and dangling after me all day in his green coat. It is not for my reputation that he should follow me about like a beggarman, and ask me for what I had given him long ago, but have since bestowed upon you, Mr. Whittol.

Whit. He is an impudent beggar, and shall be really so, for his disobedience.

Wid. As he can't live without me, you know, it will be charity to starve him: I wish the poor young man dead with all my heart, as he thinks it will do him a great dale of good.

Keck. [To Whittle] She is tender, indeed! and I think she has the brogue a little-hugh, hugh!

Whit. "Tis stronger to-day than ever I heard it.

[Staring. Wid. And are you now talking of my brogue? It is always the most fullest when the wind is aesterly; it has the same effect upon me, as upon stammering people— they can't spake for their impediment, and my tongue is fix'd so loose in my mouth I can't stop it for the life of

me.

Whit. What a terrible misfortune, friend Kecksey!