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Enter JENNY.
Ang. Well, have you been there? Come biller.
Jenny. Yes, madam; sir Sampson will wait upon
you presently.

[Apart to Angelica.
Vál. You are not leaving me in this uncertainty?

Ang. Would any thing but a madman complain of uncertainty? Uncertainty and expectation are ihe joys of life. Security is an insipid-thing; and the overtakiing and possessing of a wish, discovers the folly of the chase. Never let us know one another better; for tlie pleasure of a masquerade is done, when we come to show our faces. But I'll tell you two things before leave you; I am not the fool you take me for; and you are mad, and don't know it.

[Exeunt Angelica and Jenny. Val. From a riddle you can expect nothing but a riddle. There's my instruction, and the moral of my lesson.

Jer. What, is the lady gone again, sir? I hope you understood one another before she went?

Val. Understood ! she is harder to be onderstood than a piece of Egyptian antiquity, or an Irish manuscript; you inay pore till you spoil your eyes, and not improve your knowledge.

Jer. I have heard them say, sir, they read hard Hebrew hooks backwards. May be you begin to read at the wrong end! Pal. Yet wbile she does not seem to hate me,

I will pursue ber, and know her, if it be possible, in spite of the opinion of my satirical friend, who says,

That women are like tricks by slight of hand;
Which, to admire, we should not understand.


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SCENE I. Room in FORESIGHT's House.

Enter ANGELICA ond JENNY. Ang. Where is sir Sampson? Did you not tell me he wonld be here before me?

Jenny. He's at the great glass in the drawing-room, madam, setting his cravat and wig.

Ang. How! I'm glad on't. If he has a mind I should like him, it's a sign lie likes me; and that's more than half my design Jenny. I hear him, madam.

Ang. Leave me; and, d'ye hear, if Valentine should, come, or send, I am not to be spoken with. [Exit Jenny,

Enter SIR SAMPSON LEGEND. Sir S. I have not been honoured with the commands of a fair lady a great while.-Odd, madam, you have revived me-pot since I was five-and-thirty.

Ang. Why, you have no great reason to complain, sir Sampson; that's not long ago.

Sir S. Zooks, but it is, inadain, a very great while; to a man that admires a fine woman as much as I do.

Ang. You're an absolute courtier, sir Sampson.

Sir's Not at all, madam. Odsbud, you wrong spe: I am not so old neither, to be a bare courtier, only a

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man of words. Odd, I lave warın blood about ine yel, and can serve a lady any way.-Conne, come, let me tell you, you women think a maa old too soon, failb and troth you do. Come, don't despise tifly ;-odd, fifty, in a bale constitution, is no such contemplible age!

Ang. Fifty, a contemplible age! not at all: a very fashionable agbyl think I assure you, I know very considerable beaux, that set a good face upon fifty: Fifty! I have seen tifly in a side-box, by candle-light, out-blossoin five-and-twenty.

Sir S. Outsides, outsides, a pize take them, mere oula sides. Hang your side-box beaux; no, l'io none of those, none of your forced trees, that pretend to blossom in the fall, and bud when they should bring forlli truit. I am of a long-lived race, and iuberít vigour. ' None of my ancestors married till fifty; yet they begot sous and daughters till fourscore. I am of your palriarchs, 1, a branch of one of your antediluvian families, fellows that the flood could not wash away. Well, madam, what are your commands? Has any young rogue affronted you, and shall I cut his throai? or

Ang. No, sir Sampson, I have no quarrel upon any hands -l bare more occasiou for your conduct thau your courage al this time. To tell you the truth, l'un weary of living single, and want a husbaud.

Sir S. Odsbud, and it is pity you should! -Odd, would she would like ine! then I should hamper my young rogoes-odd, would she would! faith and trotbi

, she's devilish handsome! (Aside] Madain, you deserve a good husbaud! and 'twere pily you should be thrown away upon any of these young, idle rogues about the town. 'Odd, there's ne'er a young fellow worth langing-that is, a very young fellow.

Ang. Therefore I ask your advice, sir Sampson. I have fortune enough to inake any man easy that I can like; if there were such a thing as a young, agreeable man, with a reasonable stock of good nature and sense; for I would neither bare an absolute wit, por a fool.

Sir S. Odd, you are hard to please, madam : to find a young fellow that is neither a wit in his own eye, uor a lool in the eye of the world, is a very hard task. But,

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faith and troth, you speak very discreetly. I hate a
wit; I had a son that was spoild among them; a good,
hopeful lad, till he learn'd to be a wit-and might have
risen in the state.-But a plague on't, his wit ran limusmas
ont of his money, and now his porerty has run him out
of his wils.

Ang. Sir Sampson, as your friend, I must tell you, you are very much abused in that matter-be's no more mad than you are.

Sir S. How, madam! 'would I could prove it!

Ang. I can tell you how that may be done; but it is a thing that would make me appear to be too much concerned in your affairs.

Sir S. Odsbud, I believe she likes me! [Aside] Ali, madam, if I had Peru in one hand, and Mexico in t'other, and the eastern empire under my feet, it would make me only a more glorious victim, to be offered at the shrine of your beauly. Ang. Bless me, sir Sampson, whal's the matter?

Sir S. Odd, madam, I love you—and if you would take my advice in a husband

Ang. Hold, hold, sir Sampson, I asked your advice for a husband, and you are giving me your consent.--I was indeed thinking to propose something like it in jest, to satisfy you about Valentine: for if a match were seemingly carried on belween you and me, it would oblige him to throw off bis disguise of snadness, in apprebension of losing me; for, you know, he has long pretended a passion for me.

Sir S. Gadzooks, a most ingenious contrivancem if we were to go through with it! But why must the match only be seemingly carried on? -Odd, let it be a real contract.

Ang. O fie, sir Sampson! what would the world say ?

Sir S. Say? They would say you were a wise woman, and I a happy man. Odd, madam, I'll love you as long as I live, and leave you a good jointure when I die.

Ang. Ay, but that is not in your power, sir Sampson; for when Valentine confesses bimself in his senses, he must inake over his inheritance to his younger brother.

Sir S. Odd, you're cunning; a wary baggage. Faith and troth, I like you the better.-- But I warrant you I

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have a proviso in the obligation in favour of myself. Odsbud, let us find children, and I'll find an estate!

Ang. Will you?-Well, do you find an estate, and leave the other to me.

Sir S. O rogue! but I'll trust you.-And will you consent? Is it a match then?

Ang. Let me consult my lawyer concerning this obligation; and if I find what you propose practicable, I'll give you my answer,

Sir S. With all my heart. Come in with me, and I'll lend you the bond.--You shall consult your lawyer, and I'll consolt a parson. -Odso, I hear somebody coming.

[Exeunt. Enter TATTLE and JEREMY. Tat. Is not that she, gone out just now?

Jer. Ay, sir, she's just going to the place of appointment.

Tat. I hope you are secret?

Jer. 0, sir, for that, sir, 'tis my chief talent; I'm as secret as the head of Nilus.

Tut. Ay, who's he though? A privy-counsellor?

Jer. 0, ignorance! [Aside] A cunning Egyptian, sir, that with his arms could over-run the country, yet nobody could ever find out his head-quarlers. Tat. Close dog, I warrant him!

-The time draws nigh, Jeremy. Angelica will be veiled like a pun, and I must be booded like a friar, ha, Jeremy?

Jer. Ay, sir, hooded like a hawk, to seize at first sight upon the quarry. It is the whim of my master's madness to be so dressed ; and she is so in love with him, she'll comply with any thing to please him. Poor lady! I'm sure she'll have reason to pray for me, when she finds what a happy change she has made, between a madman and so accomplished a gentleman.

Tat. Ay, faith, so she will, Jeremy: you're a good friend to her, poor creature !-I swear I do it hardly so much in consideration of myself, as compassion to her.

Jer. 'Tis an act of charily, sir, to save a fine woman, with thirty thousand pounds, from throwing herself away.

Tat. So 'tis, faith!- I might hare saved several others

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