termined, on that subject, to be dumb for ever. -An honourable retreat shall always be at least within my power, however fortune may dispose of me; the lady may repine, perhaps, but never shall reproach me.

Humph. Well, sir, your praise be it spo en, you are certainly the most unfashionable lover in Great Britain.

Enter Toм.

Tom. Sir, Mr Myrtle's at the next door, and, if you are at leisure, will be glad to wait on you. Bev. Whenever he pleases-Hold, Tom; did you receive no answer to my letter?

Tom. Sir, I was desired to call again; for I was told her mother would not let her be out of her sight; but, about an hour hence, Mrs Phillis said I should have one.

Bev. Very well.

Humph. Sir, I will take another opportunity; in the mean time, I only think it proper to tell you, that, from a secret I know, you may appear

SCENE II.-Continues.
Enter BEVIL and TOM.

Tom. SIR, Mr Myrtle.

Bev. Honest Humphrey! Continue but my friend in this exigence, and you shall always find me yours.-[Exit HUMPH.]-I long to hear how my letter has succeeded with Lucinda. But I think it cannot fail; for, at worst, were it possible she should take it ill, her resentment of my indifference may as probably occasion a delay as her taking it right. Poor Myrtle! What terrors must he be in all this while!-Since he knows she is offered to me, and refused to him, there is no conversing or taking any measures with him, for his own service. But I ought to bear with my friend, and use him as one in adversity. All his disquietudes by my own I prove; For none exceeds perplexity in love.

Bev. Very well. Do you step again, and wait for an answer to my letter.

Enter MYRTLE.

[Exit Tom.

Well, Charles, why so much care in thy countenance? Is there any thing in this world deserves it? You, who used to be so gay, so open, so vacant!

Myr. I think we have, of late, changed complexions. You, who used to be much the graver man, are now all air in your behaviour. But the cause of my concern may, for aught I know, be the same object that gives you all this satisfaction. In a word, I am told that you are this very day (and your dress confirms me in it) to be married to Lucinda.

Bev. You are not misinformed. Nay, put not on the terrors of a rival, till you hear me out. I shall disoblige the best of fathers, if I don't seein ready to marry Lucinda; and you know I have ever told you, you might make use of my secret resolution, never to marry her, for your own service as you please: but I am now driven to the extremity of immediately refusing, or complying, unless you help me to escape the match.

Myr. Escape, sir! neither her merit nor her fortune are below your acceptance. Escaping, do you call it?

Bev. Dear sir! Do you wish I should desire the match?

Myr. No-But such is my humourous and

[Exeunt.

sickly state of mind, since it has been able to relish nothing but Lucinda, that, though I must owe my happiness to your aversion to this marriage, I cannot bear to hear her spoken of with levity, or unconcern.

Bev. Pardon me, sir; I shall transgress that way no more. She has understanding, beauty, shape, complexion, wit

Myr. Nay, dear Bevil! Don't speak of her as if you loved her, neither.

Bev. Why, then, to give you ease at once, though I allow Lucinda to have good sense, wit, beauty, and virtue, I know another in whom these qualities appear to me more amiable than in her.

Myr. There you spoke like a reasonable and good-natured friend. When you acknowledge her merit, and own your prepossession for another, at once you gratify my fondness, and cure my jealousy.

Bev. But all this while you take no notice, you have no apprehension, of another man, that has twice the fortune of either of us.

Myr. Cimberton! Hang him, a formal, philosophical, pedantic coxcomb!-for the sot, with all these crude notions of divers things, under the direction of great vanity and very little judgment, shews his strongest bias is avarice, which is so predominant in him, that he will examine the limbs of his mistress with the caution of a jockey, and pays no more compliment to her personal charms than if she were a mere breeding animal.

Bev. Are you sure that is not affected? I have known some women sooner set on fire by that sort of negligence, than by all the blaze and coremony of a court.

Myr. No, no; hang him! the rogue has no art; it is pure simple innocence and stupidity. Bev. Yet, with all this, I don't take him for a fool.

Myr. I own the man is not a natural; he has a very quick sense, though a very slow understanding-he says, indeed, many things that want only the circumstances of time and place to be very just and agreeable.

Bev. Well, you may be sure of me, if you can disappoint him; but my intelligence says, the mother has actually sent for the conveyancer to draw articles for his marriage with Lucinda, though those for mine with her are, by her father's order, ready for signing; but it seems she has not thought fit to consult either him or his daughter in the matter.

Myr. Pshaw! a poor troublesome woman!— Neither Lucinda nor her father will ever be brought to comply with it-besides, I am sure Cimberton can make no settlement upon her, without the concurrence of his great uncle, sir Geoffry, in the

west.

Bev. Well, sir, and I can tell you, that is the very point that is now laid before her counsel, to know whether a firm settlement can be made without this uncle's actually joining in it. Now, pray consider, sir, when my affair with Lucinda comes, as it soon must, to an open rupture, how are you sure that Cimberton's fortune may not then tempt her father, too, to hear his proposals?

Myr. There you are right, indeed; that must be provided against. Do you know who are her counsel?

Bev. Yes, for your service I have found out that, too: they are, serjeant Bramble and old Target.-By the way, they are neither of them known in the family: now, I was thinking why you might not put a couple of false counsels upon her, to delay and confound matters a littlebesides, it may probably let you into the bottom of her whole design against you.

Myr. As how, pray?

Bev. Why, can't you slip on a black wig and a gown, and be old Bramble yourself?

Myr. Ha! I don't dislike it—but what shall I do for a brother in the case?

Bev. What think you of my fellow, Tom? The rogue's intelligent, and is a good mimic; all his part will be but to stutter heartily; for that's old Target's case-nay, it would be an immoral thing to mock him, were it not that his impatience is the occasion of its breaking out to that degree. The conduct of the scene will chiefly lie upon

you.

then. And now, Charles, your apprehension of my marrying her is all you have to get over.

Myr. Dear Bevil! though I know you are my friend, yet, when I abstract myself from my own interest in the thing, I know no objection she can make to you, or you to her; and therefore hope

Bev. Dear Myrtle! I am as much obliged to you for the cause of your suspicion, as I am offended at the effect; but, be assured, I am taking measures for your certain security, and that all things, with regard to me, will end in your entire satisfaction.

Myr. Well; I'll promise you to be as easy and as confident as I can, though I cannot but remember that I have more than life at stake on your fidelity. [Going.

Bev. Then, depend upon it, you have no chance against you.

Myr. Nay, no ceremony; you know I must be going. [Exit MYRTLE. Bev. Well; this is another instance of the perplexities which arise, too, in faithful friendship. We must often in this life go on in our good offices, even under the displeasure of those to whom we do them, in compassion to their weaknesses and mistakes. But all this while poor Indiana is tortured with the doubt of me; she has no support or comfort but in my fidelity, yet sees me daily pressed to marriage with another. How painful, in such a crisis, must be every hour she thinks on me! I'll let her see, at least, my conduct to her is not changed: I'll take this opportunity to visit her; for though the religious vow I have made to my father restrains me from ever marrying without his approbation, yet that confines me not from seeing a virtuous woman, that is the pure delight of my eyes, and the guiltless joy of my heart. But the best condition of human life is but a gentler misery!

To hope for perfect happiness is vain,
And love has ever its allays of pain.

SCENE II. INDIANA's lodgings.

Enter ISABELLA and INDIANA.

[Exit.

Isa. Yes; I say 'tis artifice, dear child! I say to thee, again and again, 'tis all skill and management.

Ind. Will you persuade me there can be an ill design in supporting me in the condition of a woman of quality? attended, dressed, and lodged, like one in my appearance abroad, and my furniture at home, every way in the most sumptumanner, and he that does it has an artifice, a design in it?

Isa. Yes, yes.

Ind. And all this without so much as explaining to me, that all about me comes from him?

Isa. Ay, ay; the more for that---that keeps the title to all you have the more in him. Ind. The more in him!

thought

Isa. Then he-he-he

-he scorns the

Ind. Well; be not so eager.-If he's an ill man, let's look into his stratagems: here is another of them: [Shewing a letter.] here's two hundred and fifty pounds in bank-notes, with these words; To pay for the set of dressing-plate which will be brought home to-morrow.' Why, dear aunt! now here's another piece of skill for you, which I own I cannot comprehend-and it is with a bleeding heart I hear you say any thing to the disadvantage of Mr Bevil. When he is present, I look upon him as one to whom I owe my life, and the support of it; then, again, as the man who loves me with sincerity and honour. When his eyes are cast another way, and I dare survey him, my heart is painfully divided between shame and love-Oh! I could tell youIsa. Oh! you need not; I imagine all this for you.

Ind. This is my state of mind in his presence; and, when he is absent, you are ever dinning my ears with notions of the arts of men; that his hidden bounty, his respectful conduct, his careful provision for me, after his preserving me from the utmost misery, are certain signs he means nothing but to make I know not what of me.

Isa. Oh! you have a sweet opinion of him truly!

Ind. That's truly observed. [Aside.] But what's all this to Bevil?

Isa. This is to Bevil and all mankind. Trust not those who will think the worse of you for your confidence in them; serpents who lie in wait for doves. Won't you be on your guard against those who would betray you? won't you doubt those who would contemn you for believing them? Take it from me, fair and natural dealing is to invite injuries; 'tis bleating to escape wolves who would devour you: Such is the world, and such (since the behaviour of one man to myself) have I believed all the rest of the sex. [Aside.

Ind. I will not doubt the truth of Bevil, I will not doubt it: he has not spoken it by an organ that is given to lying: his eyes are all that have ever told me that he was mine. I know his virtue, I know his filial piety, and ought to trust his management with a father, to whom he has uncommon obligations. What have I to be concerned for? My lesson is very short. If he takes me for ever, my purpose of life is only to please him. If he leaves me, (which Heaven avert!) I know he'll do it nobly; and I shall have nothing to do but learn to die, after worse than death has happened to me.

Isa. Aye, do persist in your credulity! flatter yourself that a man of his figure and fortune will inake himself the jest of the town, and marry a handsome beggar for love!

Isa. Ah, poor soul! has not his plot taken? don't you die for him? has not the way he has taken been the most proper with you? Oh ho! he has sense, and has judged the thing right.

Ind. Go on, then, since nothing can answer you; say what you will of him.———Heigh ho! Isa. Heigh ho! indeed. It is better to say so, as you are now, than as many others are. There are, among the destroyers of women, the gentle, the generous, the mild, the affable, the humble, who all, soon after their success in their designs, turn to the contrary of those characters. I will own to you, Mr Bevil carries his hypocrisy the best of any man living; but still he is a man, and therefore a hypocrite. They have usurped an exemption from shame, from any baseness, any cruelty, towards us. They embrace, without love; they make vows, without couscience of obligation; they are partners, nay, seducers, to the crime, wherein they pretend to be less guilty.

Isa. O' my conscience he has turned her head! Come, come; if he were the honest fool you take him for, why has he kept you here these three weeks, without sending you to Bristol in search of your father, your family, and your relations?

Ind. I am convinced he still designs it; and that nothing keeps him here but the necessity of not coming to an open breach with his father in regard to the match he has proposed him: besides, has he not writ to Bristol? and has not he advice that my father has not been heard of there almost these twenty years?

Isa. All sham, mere evasion; he is afraid, if he should carry you thither, your honest relations may take you out of his hands, and so blow up all his wicked hopes at once.

Ind. Wicked hopes! did I ever give him any such?

Isa. Has he ever given you any honest ones? Can you say in your conscience he has ever once offered to marry you?

Ind. No; but by his behaviour I am convinced he will offer it the moment 'tis in his power, or consistent with his honour, to make such a promise good to me.

Isa. His honour!

Ind. I will rely upon it; therefore, desire you will not make my life uneasy by these ungrate ful jealousies of one to whom I am and wish to be obliged; for from his integrity alone I have resolved to hope for happiness.

Isa. Nay, I have done my duty; if you won't see, at your peril be it.

me.

Ind. Let it be. This is his hour of visiting [Apart. Isa. Oh! to be sure, keep up your form; do not see him in a bed-chamber. This is pure prudence, when she is liable, whenever he meets her to be conveyed whither he pleases.

[Apart. Ind. All the rest of my life is but waiting till he comes: I live only while I'm with him. [Erit. Isa. Well, go thy way, thou wilful inuocent! I once had almost as much love for a man who poorly left me to marry an estate-and I am now, against my will, what they call an old maid -but I will not let the peevishness of that condition grow upon me-only keep up the suspicion of it, to prevent this creature's being any other than a virgin, except upon proper terms. [Erit.

Re-enter INDIANA, speaking to a servant. Ind. Desire Mr Bevil to walk in. Design! impossible! a base designing mind could never think of what he hourly puts in practice-and yet, since the late rumour of his marriage, he seems more reserved than formerly--he sends in, too, before he sees me, to know if I am at leisure. Such new respect may cover coldness in the heart-it certainly makes me thoughtful I'll know the worst at once; I'll lay such fair occasions in his way, that it shall be impossible to avoid an explanation- for these doubts are insupportable. But see, he comes and clears

them all.

Enter BEVIL, Jun.

Bev. Madam, your most obedient. I am afraid I broke in upon your rest last night-'twas very late before we parted, but 'twas your own fault; I never saw you in such agreeable hu

mour.

silent, and yet pretend to something more than the agreeable.

Bev. If I might be vain of any thing in my power, madam, it is, that my uuderstanding, from all your sex, has marked you out as the deserving object of my esteem.

Ind. Should I think I deserve this, it were enough to make my vanity forfeit the esteem you offer me.

Bev. How so, madam?

Ind. Because esteem is the result of reason, and to deserve it from good sense the height of human glory.-Nay, I had rather a man of honour should pay me that, than all the homage of a sincere and humble love.

Bev. You certainly distinguish right, madam; love often kindles from external merit onlyInd. But esteem arises from a higher source, the merit of the soulBev. Trueserve it.

and great souls only can de[Bowing respectfully. Ind. Now I think they are greater still, that can so charitably part with it.

Bev. Now, madam, you make me vain, since the utmost pride and pleasure of my life is, that I esteem you---as I ought.

Ind. [Aside.] As he ought! still more perplexing! he neither saves nor kills my hope.

Bev. But, madam, we grow grave, methinks--let's find some other subject.Pray how did you like the opera last night?

Ind. First give me leave to thank you for my tickets.

Bev. Oh! your servant, madam.--But pray tell me; you, now, who are never partial to the fashion, I fancy, must be the properest judge of a mighty dispute among the ladies, that is, whether Crispo or Griselda is the more agreeable entertainment.

Ind. With submission, now, I cannot be a proper judge of this question.

Bev. How so, madam? Ind. Because I find I have a partiality for one of them.

Bev. Pray, which is that?

Bev. Me, madam! you rally; I said very little.

Ind. But I am afraid you heard me say a great deal; and when a woman is in the talking vein, the most agreeable thing a man can do, you know, is to have patience to hear her.

Bev. Then 'tis pity, madam, you should ever be silent, .that we might be always agreeable to one another.

Ind. If I had your talent or power to make my actions speak for me, I might, indeed, be VOL. II.

that's sung over her, it had an effect upon me, that---In short, I never was so well deceived at any of them.

Bev. Oh! now, then, I can account for the dispute: Griselda, it seems, is the distress of an injured, innocent woman; Crispo that only of a man in the same condition; therefore, the men are mostly concerned for Crispo, and, by a natural indulgence, both sexes for Griselda.

Ind. So that judgment, you think, ought to be for one, though fancy and complaisance have got ground for the other. Well, I believe you will never give me leave to dispute with you on any 4 K

subject, for I own Crispo has its charms for me, too, though, in the main, all the pleasure the best opera gives us, is but a keen sensation.----Methinks, 'tis pity the mind can't have a little more share in the entertainment.--The music is certainly fine; but, in my thoughts, there's none of your composers come up to old Shakespeare and Otway.

Bev. How, madam! why, if a woman of your sense were to say this in a drawing-room

Enter Servant.

Ser. Sir, here's Signor Carbonelli says he waits your commands in the next room.

Be. A propos! you were saying yesterday, madam, you had a mind to hear him.-Will you give him leave to entertain you now? Ind. By all means. walk in.

Desire the gentleman to [Exit Servant. Bev. I fancy you will find something in his hand that is uncommon.

Ind. You are always finding ways, Mr Bevil, to make life seem less tedious to me.

Enter music-master.

When the gentleman pleases. [After a sonata is played, BEVIL jun. waits on the master to the door, &c.]

Ber. You smile, madam, to see me so complaisant to one whom I pay for his visit. Now, I own, I think it not enough barely to pay those whose talents are superior to our own (I mean such talents as would become our condition if we had them); methinks we ought to do something more than barely gratify them for what they do at our command, only because their fortune is below us.

Ind. You say I smile; I assure you it was a smile of approbation; for, indeed, I cannot but think it the distinguishing part of a gentleman to make his superiority of fortune as easy to his inferiors as he can.-Now, once more to try him. [Aside.]- -I was saying just now, I believe you would never let me dispute with you, and I dare say it will always be so: however, I must have your opinion upon a subject which created a debate between my aunt and me just before you came hither; she would needs have it, that no inan ever does any extraordinary kindness or service to a woman but for his own sake.

Bev. Well, madam! indeed I can't but be of her mind.

Ind. What, though he should maintain and support her, without demanding any thing of her on her part!

Bev. Why, madam, is making an expence in the service of a valuable woman, (for such I must suppose her) though she should never do him any favour, nay, though she should never know who did her such survice, such a mighty heroic business?

Ind. Certainly! I should think he must be a man of an uncoinmon mould.

Bev. Dear madam! why so? 'tis but at best a better taste in expence. To bestow upon one, whom he may think one of the ornaments of the whole creation; to be conscious that, from his superfluity, an innocent, a virtuous spirit is supported above the temptations, the sorrows of life; that he sees satisfaction, health, and gladness in her countenance, while he enjoys the happiness of seeing her (as that I will suppose, too, or he must be too abstracted, too insensible) I say, if he is allowed to delight in that prospect, alas! what mighty matter is there in all this?

Ind. No mighty matter in so disinterested a friendship!

Bev. Disinterested! I can't think him so. Your hero, madam, is no more than what every gentleman ought to be, and, I believe, very many are- he is only one who takes more delight in reflections, than in sensations; he is more pleased with thinking than eating; that's the utmost you can say of him.-Why, madam, a greater expence than all this, men lay out upon an unnecessary stable of horses.

Ind. Can you be sincere in what you say?
Ber. You may depend upon it. If you know
any such man, he does not love dogs inordinately?
Ind. No, that he does not.

Ber. Nor cards, nor dice?
Ind. No.

Bev. Nor bottle companions?
Ind. No.

Bev. Nor loose women?

Ind. No; I am sure he does not.

Bev. Take my word, then, if your admired hero is not liable to any of these kind of demands, there's no such pre-eminence in this as you imagine: nay, this way of expence you speak of, is what exalts and raises him that has a taste for it; and, at the same time, his delight is incapable of satiety, disgust, or penitence.

Ind. But still I insist, his having no private interest in the action makes it prodigious, almost incredible.

Bev. Dear madam! I never knew you more mistaken. Why, who can be more an usurer than he, who lays out his money in such valuable purchases? If pleasure be worth purchasing, how great a pleasure is it to him who has a true taste of life, to ease an aching heart; to see the human countenance lighted up into smiles of joy, on the receipt of a bit of ore, which is superfluous, and otherwise useless, in a man's own pocket! What could a man do better with his cash? This is the effect of a humane disposition, where there is only a general tie of nature and common necessity; what, then, must it be, when we serve an object of merit, of admiration!

Ind. Well, the more you argue against it, the more I shall admire the generosity.