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whom I could love, perhaps, just enough to put it in her power to plague me.

Lady Grace. And that's a power, I doubt, commonly made use of.

Man. The amours of a coquette, madam, seldom have any other view; I look upon them and prudes to be nuisances just alike, though they seem very different: the first are always plaguing the men, and the others are always abusing the

women.

Lady Grace. And yet both of them do it for the saine vain ends; to establish a false character of being virtuous.

Man. Of being chaste, they mean; for they know no other virtue; and, upon the credit of that, they traffic in every thing else that's vicious. They (even against nature) keep their chastity, only because they find they have more power to do mischief with it, than they could possibly put in practice without it.

Lady Grace. Hold, Mr Manly! I am afraid this severe opinion of the sex is owing to the ill choice you have made of your inistresses.

Man. In a great measure it may be so; but, madam, if both these characters are so odious, how vastly valuable is that woman, who has attained all they aim at, without the aid of the folly or vice of either!

Lady Grace. I believe those sort of women to be as scarce, sir, as the men that believe there are any such; or that, allowing such, have virtue enough to deserve them.

Man. That could deserve them, then-had been a more favourable reflection.

Lady Grace. Nay, I speak only from my little experience; for (I'll be free with you, Mr Manly) I don't know a man in the world, that, in appearance, might better pretend to a woman of the first merit than yourself: and yet, I have a reason in my hand, here, to think you have your failings.

Man. I have infinite, madam; but I am sure the want of an implicit respect for you is not among the number-Pray, what is in your hand, madam?

Lady Grace. Nay, sir, I have no title to it, for the direction is to you.

[Gives him a letter. Man. To me! I don't remember the hand. [Reads to himself. Lady Grace. I can't perceive any change of guilt in him; and his surprise seems natural.[Aside.] Give me leave to tell you one thing by the way, Mr Manly, that I should never have shewn you this, but that my brother enjoined me to it.

Man. I take that to proceed from my lord's good opinion of me, madam.

Lady Grace. I hope, at least, it will stand as an excuse for my taking this liberty.

Man. I never yet saw you do any thing, madam, that wanted an excuse; and I hope you

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Mun. If there be no secret in the contents, madam

Lady Grace. Why-there is an impertinent insinuation in it: but as I know your good sense will think it so, too, I will venture to trust you. Man. You will oblige me, madam.

[He takes the other letter, and reads. Lady Grace, [Aside.] Now am I in the oddest situation! methinks our conversation grows terribly critical. This must produce something-Oh, lud! would it were over.

Man. Now, madam, I begin to have some light into the poor project that is at the bottom of all this.

Lady Grace. I have no notion of what could be proposed by it.

Man. A little patience, madam-First, as to the insinuation you mention

Lady Grace. O! what is he going to say now?

[Aside.

Man. Though my intimacy with my lord may have allowed my visits to have been very frequent here of late; yet, in such a talking town as this, you must not wonder if a great many of those visits are placed to your account; and this, taken for granted, I suppose, has been told to my Lady Wronghead, as a piece of news, since her arrival, not improbably with many more imaginary circumstances.

Lady Grace. My lady Wronghead!

Man. Ay, madam; for I am positive this is her hand.

Lady Grace. What view could she have in writing it?

Man. To interrupt any treaty of marriage she may have heard I am engaged in; because, if I die without heirs, her family expects that some part of my estate may return to them again.But I hope she is so far mistaken, that if this letter has given you the least uneasiness --I shall think that the happiest moment of my life.

Lady Grace. That does not carry your usual complaisance, Mr Manly!

Man. Yes, madain, because I am sure I can convince you of my innocence.

Lady Grace. I am sure I have no right to inquire into it.

Man. Suppose you may not, madam; yet you may, very innocently, have so much curiosity.

Lady Grace. With what an artful gentleness he steals into my opinion! [Aside.] Well, sir, I won't pretend to have so little of the woman in me, as to want curiosity-But, pray, do you sup

pose, then, this Myrtilla is a real, or a fictitious | mighty pleasant: but, for fear of the worst, maname? dam, she whispered me—to get her chair ready. [Exit TRUSTY. Lady Grace. Oh, here they come! and, by their looks, seem a little unfit for company.

Man. Now I recollect, madam, there is a
young woman in the house where my lady
Wronghead lodges, that I heard somebody call
Myrtilla: this letter may be written by her-
But how it came directed to me, I confess, is a

mystery, that, before I ever presume to see your
ladyship again, I think myself obliged in honour
to find out.
[Going.
Lady Grace. Mr Manly-you are not going?
Man. 'Tis but to the next street, madam; I
shall be back in ten minutes.

up.

Lady Grace. Nay, but dinner's just coming

[Erit LADY GRACE.

Enter LADY TOWNLY, LORD TOWNLY following, Lady Town. Well, look you, my lord, I can hear it no longer; nothing still but about my faults, my faults: an agreeable subject, truly!

Lord Town. Why, madam, if you won't hear of them, how can I ever hope to see you mend them ?

Lady Town. Why, I don't intend to mend them

Man. Madam, I can neither eat nor rest, till I-I can't mend them-you know I have tried see an end of this affair. to do it a hundred times-and-it hurts me so

Lady Grace. But this is so odd! why should-I can't bear it. any silly curiosity of mine drive you away?

Man. Since you won't suffer it to be yours, madam, then it shall be only to satisfy my own curiosity[Exit MAN. Lady Grace. Well--and now, what am I to think of all this? Or, suppose an indifferent person had heard every word we have said to one another, what would they have thought on't?— Would it have been very absurd to conclude, he is seriously inclined to pass the rest of his life with me? I hope not-for I am sure the case is terribly clear on my side; and why may not I, without vanity, suppose my unaccountable somewhat has done as much execution upon him? Why-because he never told me so-nay, he has not so much as mentioned the word love, or ever said one civil thing to my person-well --but he has said a thousand to my good opininion, and has certainly got it had he spoke first to my person, he had paid a very ill compliment to my understanding-I should have thought him impertinent, and never have troubled my head about him; but, as he has managed the matter, at least I am sure of one thing, that let his thoughts be what they will, I shall never trouble my head about any other man as long as

I live.

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Lord Town. And I, madam, can't bear this daily licentious abuse of your time and charac

ter.

Lady Town. Abuse! astonishing! when the universe knows I am never better company than when I am doing what I have a mind to! But to see this world! that men can never get over that silly spirit of contradiction—Why, but last Thursday, now,-there you wisely amended one of my faults, as you call them---you insisted upon my not going to the masquerade—and, pray, what was the consequence? Was not I as cross as the devil all the night after? Was not I forced to get company at home? And was it not almost three o'clock in the morning before I was able to come to myself again! And then the fault is not mended neither for next time I shall only have twice the inclination to go: so that all this mending, and mending, you see, is but darning an old ruifle, to make it worse than it was before.

Lord Town. Well, the manner of women's living of late is insupportable; and one way or other

Lady Town. It's to be mended, I suppose? why, so it may but then, my dear lord, you must give one time--and when things are at worst, you know, they may mend themselves, ha, ha!

Lord Town. Madam, I am not in a humour now to trifle.

Lady Town. Why then, my lord, one word of fair argument-to talk with you in your own way, now-You complain of my late hours, and I of your early ones-so far we are even, you'll allow--But pray, which gives us the best figure in the eye of the polite world? my active, spirited three in the morning, or your dull, drowsy eleven at night? Now, I think, one has the air of a woman of quality, and t'other of a plodding mechanic, that goes to bed betimes, that he may rise early to open his shop---Faugh!

Lord Town. Fy, fy, inadam! is this your way of reasoning? 'tis time to wake you, then-

'Tis not your ill bours alone that disturb me, but | as often the ill company that occasion those ill hours.

Lady Town. Sure I don't understand you now, my lord; what ill company do I keep?

Lord Town. Why, at best, women that lose their money, and men that win it; or, perhaps, men that are voluntary bubbles at one game, in hopes a lady will give them fair play at another. Then, that uuavoidable mixture with known rakes, concealed thieves, and sharpers in embroidery-or, what, to me, is still more shocking, that herd of familiar, chattering, crop-eared coxcombs, who are so often like monkeys, there would be no knowing them asunder, but that their tails hang from their heads, and the monkey's grows where it should do.

Lady Town. And a husband must give eminent proof of his sense, that thinks these powder-puffs dangerous.

Lord Town. Their being fools, madam, is not always the husband's security; or, if it were, fortune sometimes gives them advantages that might make a thinking woman tremble.

Lady Town. What do you mean?

Lord Town. That women sometimes lose more than they are able to pay and if a creditor be a little pressing, the lady may be reduced to try, if, instead of gold, the gentleman will accept of

a trinket.

Lady Town. My lord, you grow scurrilous; you'll make me hate you. I'll have you to know, I keep company with the politest people in town; and the assemblies I frequent are full of such. Lord Town. So are the churches-now and then.

Lady Town. My friends frequent them, too, as well as the assemblies.

Lord Town. Yes, and would do it oftener, if a groom of the chambers were there allowed to furnish cards to the company.

Lady Town. I see what you drive at all this while you would lay an imputation on my fame, to cover your own avarice. I might take any pleasures, I find, that were not expensive.

Lord Town. Have a care, madam; don't let me think you only value your chastity to make me reproachable for not indulging you in every thing else that's vicious---I, madam, have a reputation, too, to guard, that's dear to me as yours--The follies of an ungoverned wife may make the wisest man uneasy; but 'tis his own fault, if ever they make him contemptible,

Lady Town. My lord---you would make a woman mad!

Lord Town. You'd make a man a fool! Lady Town. If Heaven has made you otherwise, that won't be in my power.

Lord Town. Whatever may be in your inclination, madam, I'll prevent your making me a beggar, at least.

Lady Town. A beggar! Croesus! I'm out of

patience!-I won't come home till four to-morrow morning.

Lord Town. That may be, madam; but I'll order the doors to be locked at twelve. Lady Town. Then I won't come home till tomorrow night.

Lord Town. Then, madam--you shall never come home again. [Exit LORD TOWNLY.

Lady Town. What does he mean? I never heard such a word from him in my life before! The man always used to have manners in his worst humours. There's something, that I don't see, at the bottom of all this-But his head's always upon some impracticable scheme or other; so I won't trouble mine any longer about him. Mr Manly, your servant.

Enter MANLY.

Man. I ask pardon for intrusion, madam; but I hope my business with my lord will excuse it. Lady Town. I believe you'll find him in the next room, sir.

Man. Will you give me leave, madam? Lady Town. Sir-you have my leave, though you were a lady.

Man. [Aside.] What a well-bred age do we live in! [Exit MANLY.

Enter LADY GRACE.

Lady Town. Oh, my dear lady Grace! how could you leave me so unmercifully alone all this while?

Lady Grace. I thought my lord had been with you. Lady Town. Why, yes-and therefore I wanted your relief; for he has been in such a flutter here-

Lady Grace. Bless me! for what?

Lady Town. Only our usual breakfast; we have each of us had our dish of matrimonial comfort this morning-We have been charming company!

Lady Grace. I am mighty glad of it sure it must be a vast happiness, when a man and a wife can give themselves the same turn of conversation!

Lady Town. Oh, the prettiest thing in the world!

Lady Grace. Now I should be afraid, that where two people are every day together so, they must often be in the want of something to talk upon.

Lady Town. Oh, my dear, you are the most mistaken in the world! married people have things to talk of, child, that never enter into the imagination of others. Why, here's my lord and I, now, we have not been married above two short years, you know, and we have already eight or ten things constantly in bank, that, whenever we want company, we can take up any one of them for two hours together, and the subject never the flatter; nay, if we have occassion for it,

it will be as fresh next day, too, as it was the first | as you have, I would make myself the happiest hour it entertained us.

Lady Grace. Certainly that must be vastly pretty!

wife in the world, by being as sober as he.

Lady Town. Oh, you wicked thing! how can you teaze one at this rate, when you know he is Lady Town. Oh, there's no life like it! Why, so very sober, that (except giving me money) there t'other day, for example, when you dined abroad, is not one thing in the world he can do to please my lord and I, after a pretty cheerful tête à tête me? And I, at the same time, partly by nature, meal, sat us down by the fire-side in an easy, in- and partly, perhaps, by keeping the best company, dolent, pick-tooth way, for about a quarter of an do, with my soul, love almost every thing he hour, as if we had not thought of any other's hates. I dote upon assemblies; my heart bounds being in the room- -At last, stretching himself, at a ball; and at an opera-I expire. Then I and yawning-My dear-says he- -aw -you love play to distraction; cards enchant me-and came home very late last night-'Twas but just dice put me out of my little wits-Dear, dear turned of two, says I-I was in bed-aw-by hazard!-Oh, what a flow of spirits it gives one! eleven, says he-So you are every night, says I--Do you never play at hazard, child? Well, says he, I am amazed you can sit up so late-How can you be amazed, says I, at a thing that happens so often?-Upon which we entered into a conversation-and though this is a point has entertained us above fifty times already, we always find so many pretty new things to say upon it, that I believe in my soul it will last as long as we live.

Lady Grace. But pray, in such sort of family dialogues, (though extremely well for passing the time) don't there, now and thren, enter some little witty sort of bitterness?

Lady Town. Oh, yes! which does not do amiss at all. A smart repartee, with a zest of recrimination at the head of it, makes the prettiest sherbet. Ay, ay, if we did not mix a little of the acid with it, a matrimonial society would be so luscious, that nothing but an old liquorish prude would be able to bear it.

Lady Grace. Well-certainly you have the most elegant taste

Lady Town. Though, to tell you the truth, my dear, I rather think we squeezed a little too much lemon into it this bout! for it grew so sour at last, that I think-I almost told him he was a fool-and he, again-talked something oddly of turning me out of doors.

Lady Grace. Oh, have a care of that! Lady Town. Nay, if he should, I may thank my own wise father for that

Lady Grace. How so?

Lady Town. Why-when my good lord first opened his honourable trenches before me, my unaccountable papa, in whose hands I then was, gave me up at discretion.

Lady Grace. How do you mean?

Lady Town. He said, the wives of this age were come to that pass, that he would not desire even his own daughter should be trusted with pin-money; so that, my whole train of separate inclinations are left entirely at the mercy of a husband's odd humours.

Lady Grace. Why, that, indeed, is enough to make a woman of spirit look about her.

Lady Town. Nay, but to be serious, my dear; what would you really have a woman do, in my case? Lady Grace. Why-if I had a sober husband,

Lady Grace. Oh, never! I don't think it sits well upon women; there's something so masculine, so much the air of a rake in it. You see how it makes the men swear and curse; and when a woman is thrown into the same passionwhy

Lady Town. That's very true; one is a little put to it, sometimes, not to make use of the same words to express it.

Lady Grace. Well-and, upon ill luck, pray what words are you really forced to make use of?

Lady Town. Why, upon a very hard case, indeed, when a sad wrong word is rising, just to one's tongue's end, I give a great gulp-and swallow it.

Lady Grace. Well; and is not that enough to make you forswear play as long as you live? Lady Town. Oh, yes: I have forsworn it. Lady Grace. Seriously?

Lady Town. Solemnly! a thousand times; but then one is constantly forsworn.

Lady Grace. And how can you answer that?

Lady Town. My dear, what we say, when we are losers, we look upon to be no more binding than a lover's oath, or a great man's promise. But I beg pardon, child; I should not lead you so far into the world; you are a prude, and design to live soberly.

Lady Grace. Why, I confess, my nature and my education do, in a good degree, incline me that way.

Lady Town. Well, how a woman of spirit (for you don't want that, child) can dream of living soberly, is to me inconceivable; for you will marry, I suppose?

Lady Grace. I can't tell but I may.
Lady Town. And won't you live in town?
Lady Grace. Half the year, I should like it
very well.

Lady Town. My stars! and you would really live in London half the year, to be sober in it? Lady Grace. Why not?

Lady Town. Why can't you as well go and be sober in the country?

Lady Grace. So I would-t'other half year.
Lady Town. And pray, what comfortable

scheme of life would you form, now, for your summer and winter sober entertainments?

Lady Grace. A scheme that, I think, might very well content us.

Lady Town. Oh, of all things, let's hear it! Lady Grace. Why, in summer, I could pass my leisure hours in riding, in reading, walking by a canal, or sitting at the end of it under a great tree; in dressing, dining, chatting with an agreeable friend; perhaps, hearing a little music, taking a dish of tea, or a game of cards, soberly; managing my family, looking into its accounts, playing with my children, if I had any, or in a thousand other innocent amusements-soberly; and possibly, by these means, I might induce my husband to be as sober as myself

Lady Town. Well, my dear, thou art an astonishing creature! For sure such primitive antediluvian notions of life have not been in any head these thousand years—Under a great tree! O, my soul !-But I beg we may have the sober town-scheme too-for I am charmed with the country one!

Lady Grace. You shall, and I'll try to stick to my sobriety there too.

Lady Town. Well, though I'm sure it will give me the vapours, I must hear it, however.

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Lady Grace. Certainly.

Lady Town. But I am so afraid it will break into your scheme, my dear!

Lady Grace. When it does, I will-soberly break from you.

Lady Town. Why then, 'till we meet again, dear sister, I wish you all tolerable happiness. [Exit LADY TOWNLY.

Lady Grace. There she goes-Dash! into her stream of pleasures! Poor woman! she is really a fine creature; and sometimes infinitely agreeable; nay, take her out of the madness of this town, rational in her notions, and easy to live with: but she is so borne down by this torrent of vanity in vogue, she thinks every hour of her life is lost that she does not lead at the head of

Lady Grace. Why, then, for fear of your fainting, madam, I will first so far come into the fashion, that I would never be dressed out of it --but still it should be soberly: for I can't think it any disgrace to a woman of my private for-it. What it will end in, I tremble to imagine!— tune, not to wear her lace as fine as the weddingsuit of a first duchess. Though there is one extravagance I would venture to come up to.

Lady Town. Aye, now for it—————

Lady Grace. I would every day be as clean as a bride.

Lady Town. Why, the men say, that's a great step to be made one-Well, now you are drest—| Pray, let's sce to what purpose?

Lady Grace. I would visit-that is, my real friends; but as little for form as possible. I would go to court; sometimes to an assembly, nay, play at quadrille-soberly I would see all the good plays; and, because 'tis the fashion, now and then an operabut I would not expire there, for fear I should never go again: and, lastly, I can't say, but for curiosity, if I liked my company, I might be drawn in once to a masquerade; and this, I think, is as far as any woman can go—~ -soberly.

Lady Town. Well, if it had not been for that last piece of sobriety, I was just going to call for some surfeit-water.

Lady Grace. Why, don't you think, with the farther aid of breakfasting, dining, and taking the air, supping, sleeping, not to say a word of devotion, the four-and-twenty hours might roll over in a tolerable manner?

Lady Town. Tolerable! Deplorable! Why,

Ha, my brother! and Manly with him? I guess what they have been talking ofI shall hear it in my turn, I suppose; but it won't become me to be inquisitive. [Exit LADY GRACE.

Enter LORD TOWNLY and MANLY. Lord Town. I did not think my lady Wronghead had such a notable brain: though I can't say she was so very wise, in trusting this silly girl, you call Myrtilla, with the secret.

Man. No, my lord, you mistake me; had the girl been in the secret, perhaps I had never come at it myself.

Lord Town. Why, I thought you said this girl, writ this letter to you, and that my lady Wronghead sent it inclosed to my sister?

Man. If you please to give me leave, my lord

-the fact is thus-This inclosed letter to lady Grace was a real original one, written by this girl to the count we have been talking of: the count drops it, and my lady Wronghead finds it : then, only changing the cover, she seals it up as a letter of business, just written by herself, to me: and, pretending to be in a hurry, gets this innocent girl to write the direction for her.

Lord Town. Oh, then, the girl did not know she was superscribing a billet-doux of her own to you?

Man. No, my lord; for when I first question

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