ACT I.

SO, Sedley, you really have been three weeks without seeing Miss Bloomer?

True, I assure you, Woodford, and intend, if my resolution holds, never to see her again.

But I understood every thing was settled between you both, and that nothing remain'd but to name the happy day.

Prithee, Woodford, no more.—It adds to my uneasiness to hear her mention'd.

Why so?

Because I find, this too susceptible heart of mine cannot so readily erase the impressions her youth, beauty, and innocence have made upon it.

Indeed! But what reason can you have for wishing it?

The greatest in the world, Woodford.

I cannot think so,—explain, or I shall certainly imagine you whimsical and capricious.

When I first paid my addresses to Miss Bloomer, such were the beauties of her mind as well [Page 2]as person, that I fancied I had found one, all per­fect as the first, before she fell.

Then were you in an Adamitical paradise.

A fool's one, rather,—she received me with such a flattering distinction that I thought myself the happiest of mortals, when unluckily, her guar­dian's dying put her into the immediate possession of a large fortune.

Now I should have thought that the luc­kiest circumstance that cou'd have happen'd.

Quite the contrary,—thus freed from re­straint, at the age of eighteen, she emerged into all the fashionable follies of the great world, without a real friend to advise, or direct her.

Why did not you undertake that office?

I did, but soon found it was an ungrateful one—so fine a girl, independent of interested mo­tives, cou'd not fail of attracting a crowd of ad­mirers; and—

You, naturally grew jealous.

Jealous! My heart was torn in pieces.—'Twas then I discover'd a levity of temper, a thought­lessness, a love of pleasure, that destroy'd my hopes.

Psha! trifles.—Foibles like these are as specks upon the sun.

Ay, but in time they threaten a total eclipse.—No character, however contemptible, but was en­couraged as a lover.—No scene of gaiety, however censurable, but was pursued with avidity.—A thou­sand instances did I patiently bear with, in hopes of amendment.—Oft in the gentlest terms, did I con­vey advice, and represent the hazards she ran; as oft was I forbad her presence.

Ha! ha! ha! upon my word, you took an excellent method of rendering yourself agreeable to a girl of her age and spirit.

But when I intended that girl as a partner for life, cou'd you blame my cautious conduct? No, [Page 3]Woodford; though never man was more sensible of beauty's charms than I, yet unless those charms are adorned with virtue, they make not half the impres­sion.

That's a little romantic; but pray go on.

Many times did I rescue her from the most imminent dangers which her indiscretions plunged her into, yet still she persevered.—At length,—

Hold, who comes here?

Oh, 'tis Monsieur Finesse,—one of my ri­vals,—a fellow, whose impudence can only be equall'd by his ignorance.

Ah, gentlement!—Votre tres humble servi­teur!—I be most glad to see you both,—Monsieur Sedley, I beg a to speak von word or two wid you.

Any thing particular, Finesse?

Oh, oui, ver particular—for your own ear.

You may speak out before Woodford, I have just been acquainting him with the whole affair.

Qu' avez vous fair?—Ma foy, dat be wrong done.—You shou'd say noting to hurt de fine Lady's reputation.

He is my particular friend, and I can an­swer for his discretion.

Parbleu! particular friend sometime do de mosht mischief.

That will not be the case with me, I pro­mise you.

Come, what news of Miss Bloomer?

Ah, pauvre Lady! she had de grand escape yesterday.

Escape? how?

Why, she be taking de innocent diversion at Vauxhall, wid de bon companie, as she suppose, and engage in de partie wid tree gentlemen, and deux ladie, to be entertain in a boat on de Thames.

In a boat on the Thames?—Well!—Go on.

[Page 4]

Dey be all stranger to her, but vat of dat? She not tink any harm.—So dey row, row along, have de musique, sing de petite chanson, and be all so merry and gay, till dey land at de Cousin, as dey call her, but begar she be—Vat you call Fille de joie?

Woman of the town.

Oui,—she be woman of de town,—den Miss Bloomer find her mistake, and vant to return home again.—Dey say, no, no, and grow hardis,—at last, when she be almost excedée, etrois gentlemen by accident hear her cries, and tout à fait, rescue her.

Wou'd I had been there!—Villains!

Oh, oui!—Villains indeed.

You see, Woodford, there's another instance of her conduct.—Do you think it possible for me to be happy with such a woman?

I tell you, man, you are too delicate.—Tho' appearances are against her, yet, I dare affirm, that these are all mistakes of the heart, which in time her better judgment will rectify.

True, dey be all in de heart,—all vivacité, noting else.—I must find some oder opportunity, when I shall have him to himself.

Well, Monsieur Sedley, I vill bid you de good morn,—I am going to visit de Lady, I shall hear someting more dere, and den I vill call on you at home, in private.—Gentlemen, sans compliment, I have de honneur to be your very humble servant.

Hearky', Sedley, do you build anything upon this fellow's intelligence?—A wretch! that's an outcast, and disgrace to his nation.

Yet this very outcast, as he really is, does she treat in the most encouraging manner; and, without the least enquiry into his fortune or charac­ter, admit amongst the number of her admirers.—But let us change the subject.—So then it seems your Uncle has civilly dismiss'd you his house?

[Page 5]

Not so civilly, I assure you.

Don't you think you deserved it? Captain Helm, you know, has spent the greater part of his life in ploughing the tempestuous ocean, and tho' possest of an excellent heart, has not the least idea of the refined sentiments inspired by a liberal education.—You were certain that your whole dependance was upon him, yet refus'd flattering the harmless foibles which peculiarly mark his character.

You mistake me, Sedley, I often did, till this last affair.—But, when he commenc'd my rival, my happiness was too much concern'd to trifle any longer.

Well, and has he declar'd his passion?

No, but as a preparatory step, he has given Lady Younglove (who is just return'd to town with her daughter) to understand, that for the fu­ture, she must not encourage my pretensions, as I have nothing to expect from him.

So! your hopes are all over in that quarter?

Entirely! I called yesterday, to welcome my dear girl, my beauteous Flora, to London, and was refused admittance.

Indeed!

True, and I am now reduced to such dis­tress, that, unless you can assist me with your ad­vice, and—

Here's my hand,—Depend upon my utmost, I feel too much myself, tho' from a different cause, not to compassionate you.

I expected no less from your generous friendship, but how shall we act?—What can I do?

Upon my word, I don't know.—I own yours is a critical case.—But, we must not despair,—I be­lieve as matters stand, we had best work by stratagem. Luckily, I stand high in the estimation of your Uncle, as well as Lady Younglove.

You'll find him inexorable, and her—

[Page 6]

Not proof against flattery,—all mankind have their weak side, Woodford, and much may be done by taking a proper advantage of their follies.

I wish you may not be mistaken in the pre­sent case.

Never fear.—Let me see,

No, that won't do.—Stay, I believe I have it.—Suppose, I attack Lady Younglove myself, and persuade her, that I am dying for love of her.

No, no, that's impossible,—'twould be too ridiculous.

Ha! ha! ha! I'll lay my life there's nothing easier.—Attack Widows by storm, and they can't resist you.—Besides, her time grows short, and as she was in such a violent hurry to get a second hus­band, there's all the reason in the world to imagine her still more impatient for a third.

But what end do you propose by this scheme?

To serve you, but in what manner I have not yet determined.—Come, let's home to my house and consider farther.—Nay, nay, no excuses.—I see you are unfit to be left to yourself.—And the heart which does not feel the distress of a friend, is not worthy of existence.

Ha! ha!—And so, Monsieur Sedley be­lieve all de Mensonge, all de story you tell him of my Lady.

Oui, he tink it all verité.

Bon!—And I so speak in your praise, dat she love you more dan all her oder admirers.

Brave, ma petite mignonne!—And, she be assurée, dat I be von man of grand qualite?

Sans doubt!—she no suspect any ting—But, you remember—If I help you to marry de Lady, I am to have de five hundred pound.

[Page 7]

Oh!—Faites fond sur moi—Depend upon me.

Vera well—Je suis content!—I am satisfied,—She be now alone, stay you dere, and I vil say you are waiting for her.

Allons, Mademoiselle.—Begar! I vil put de von little sheat upon you too, for all dat.—Love own country vera well, but love own self mush bet­ter.

Ha! my dear Monsieur Finesse—I am ex­travagantly glad to see you.—I wish he was at the Devil with all my heart.

You make me quite happy.—If your neck was broke.

What, I find you still dance attendance at Miss Bloomer's levee.

Il est vrai, Monsieur Ogle—It is true,—When a young Lady like Miss Bloomer distinguish de gentilhomme, de gentilhomme do all in his power to return de compliment.

You are right, Monsieur,—Just my case to a hair.—If a foolish girl takes it into her head, to fall desperately in love with me,—tho' upon my soul, I can't see for what—Can I be so barbarous as to slight her?—Oh, no, 'tis not in my nature to be so inhuman.

Hark!—Here she comes, and as lively as ever.

Gentlemen, your most obedient,—Hey day! Only you two!—Why I am quite deserted this morning.—Oh, Mr. Spangle! what not drowned yet?—Psha! you are not half the despairing lover you ought to be.

Oh, fie for shame, Monsieur Spangle, not drown yourself to please de Lady.

Ha! ha! ha!—I dare say, Monsieur Finesse, you'd readily oblige me with such a proof of your gallantry, and respect.

[Page 8]

Oh, madam, I beg to be excuse—De hang, and de drown'd be so barbare, so truly Englis, dat it shock a me quite—No, rader let me live to adore you, ma belle ange.

Then is there no possibility of inspiring that obdurate bosom of yours?

Oh! I am in love!

Indeed!

Yes, violently, to distraction.

And may I ask, who is the happy object of your passion?

The monkey you gave me—He is so much the image of yourself, that I have doted on him this week past.

Ha! ha! ha! De monkey—Ha! ha! ha! le drole, serviteur, Monsieur Monkey.

I assure you I intend to dress the dear creature up in a fashionable suit, have him frizz'd, powder'd, and painted alamode, and have not the least doubt but he'll acquit himself as well as most of the fine gentlemen about town.

You know the power you have over me, and love to tyrannize.

Poor gentleman!—how pathetically that was spoken! Pray go on.

I assure you, madam, little as you may think of—

That pretty, delicate, enamell'd face of yours; yet, it has made many a Lady's heart go pit-a-pat.

Admirable!—Ha! ha! ha!—Ah! pauvre diable, ha! ha!

As for Monsieur Finesse here, there is not the least fear of the weather's injuring his complexion.

No, madam, mine be de true bronze.

Well, gentlemen, I suppose you are both come upon the old subject—To shew how im­partial [Page 9]partial I am, both shall have fair play, and each declare his passion in turn. You, Mr. Spangle, be­ing my humble servant the longest, shall begin first.—Come, make haste, you have no time to lose—I expect twenty more, every moment, on the same er­rand.

Hearky', you soft bewitching little gypsy.

Bravo! go on.

Do you think I am always to be treated in this unmerciful manner?

Curse catch me! if I am not reveng'd on you for this cruelty.

What, you'll break my chain?—Do, if you can—If my glass is to be believ'd, that's out of your power.—Well, since I find you have nothing more to say, now, to you—"Tho' last not least in my esteem."

Den, madam, sans compliment, ou flatterie, you be de sweetest and most lovely creature I ever saw—And if I be so happy as to—

Have it in your power to make me unhappy—

O, permettez moi, madam, you not hear me out.

Mrs. Fashion, your Ladyship's milliner, to wait on you.

Shew her up.—I am very sorry, gen­tlemen, to be deprived of the pleasure of your com­pany, but business you know—

O, dear ma'am, no excuse—

I shall be glad to see you again, this afternoon.

Je m'en vais, madam, I shall be here when you no tink.

[Page 10]

Hold, come back—I've a thought which may be of infinite service to you and me.

Pray, madam,—Que dites vous? Vat you say?

Why, as you are both rivals, and men of such undoubted courage, what think you of a rencontre to-morrow morning?

O, dear ma'am, we are infinitely oblig'd to you.

Oui, too much oblige, indeed, madam.

I wou'd not propose this to every hot­headed spark, but I have such a reliance upon your prudence and discretion, that I am not the least ap­prehensive of ill consequences.

You pay us a great compliment, really, madam.

No more than you deserve,—By this, you'll acquire a reputation in the world, and add to my fame.—Go, go, and let me hear that you have done something to be talk'd of before I see you again.

Madam, I shall have de glory of obeying your commands.—Monsieur Spangle, since noting else will satisfy de lady, I beg you to witdraw, and let me have de honneur to cut your troat a la Fran­çoise.

O, I'll withdraw with all my heart.—But, the Devil fetch me, if I have my throat cut, a la Françoise, or a la Anglois.

Ha! ha! ha! thus do I sport with fools.

Well, Mrs. Fashion, sure something very particular brings you here.

Very particular indeed, your Lady­ship,—And yet, it is not particular to you neither, for, heaven bless you! it happens every day.

Well, what is it?

[Page 11]

Ah, that sweet sace!—No wonder it turns every body's brain.

What is all this about?

I assure you, I have so much work in hand, that I could hardly spare the time to—

I wish you would waste a little less of it now.

Some of my best customers too.—I shall be oblig'd to sit up all night.—But poor gen­tleman, he is in such a bitter taking—

What gentleman?

Ah! that sweet shape and air.—Well, if it be your lot to come together, you'll make a lovely couple.

Was ever any thing so provoking!—I protest, I shall be quite angry, if you keep me any longer in suspence.

Angry! no, no, that face of yours was never made for frowning.—What say you to a new admirer, now?

Psha! was this the mighty matter,—I don't want admirers, I promise you.

No, by my faith, don't you, but this is one out of the common road.

Then, he had better turn into the common road again, or he may chance to go astray.

Ah! you are always witty.—Oh, he is one of the cleverest, properest, best-bred gentle­men,—I'm sure he brings tears into my eyes, to hear all the fine things he says of you.

You are very tender, indeed, Mrs. Fashion.

As a chicken.—And then for quality, he tops them all.

Does he?

Oh, yes, Miss—You must know that his father's a Lord, he is the eldest son, but upon some little disagreement—A love affair—A Lady of [Page 12]vast fortune his father wanted him to marry.—He took lodgings in my house, in order to be private, till matters are made up.

Then he is your lodger at present?

And the best lodger I ever had—Mo­ney is no more to him than pins are to me.—Then for company, my house is hardly ever empty of Lords, Dukes, and Baronets.

Oh! he lives quite private, I find.—But, pray, what may be the name of this extraordi­nary person?

Why that's a secret—But between our­selves, I have found out from his servants, that he is the young Lord Flamwell.

Flamwell!—I never heard of the name before—But that's no wonder, for of late, no­bility spring up like mushrooms.—

He has seen you at some of the pub­lic places, and has been dying for you ever since.

So, you are come Embassadress from him?

Me, Miss!—Lord, what could put such a thing into your head?—He does not even know that I ever saw you—And yet, he is in such distress, that if you would condescend to come to my house this afternoon—

To your house?—Surely, Mrs. Fa­shion, you don't imagine, that—

Nay, only for a quarter of an hour, or so, by way of amusement.

I thank you, but I don't want amuse­ment.

But, I have some of newest fashions come over from Paris—Not a creature in London has seen them, but myself—O, they'd become your Ladyship admirably—So elegant, so pretty—If you chuse, you may have the honour of leading the taste for the next three months.

[Page 13]

My dear Mrs. Fashion, you are very good.

Ay, I thought I shou'd please you.

Then, I'll order my chair, and give you a call before dinner.

I never saw any thing in my life so be­coming.

Be sure, you don't let them be seen by any body before I come.

Seen! no, not if a Dutchess was to bribe me.—Then, I'll expect your Ladyship.—Lord, what time I have spent, prattle, prattle, never think, and yet, so much work!—Hurry, hurry, not a minute to lose—Your Ladyship's most obedient, humble servant.

This intelligence has given me new spirits—I protest, I began to be apprehensive that my charms were on the fade—A whole week passed, and not one new admirer.

My dear Belgrove, you are come most opportunely—Do you know, that since I saw you last, I have made a fresh conquest?

I don't find any thing so surprizing in that.

Why no, that's true, but I have now rose a step higher, and captivated a Lord.

Lord, or commoner, I suppose he'll share the same fate with the rest.

Certainly, my dear, you would not have me be unjust.

No, really, I would not, therefore en­tirely disapprove of your making such fools of them.

You mistake, child, the generality of them were fools ready made to my hand.

Some of them might be so, but I don't find you are in the least more favourable to men of sense.

[Page 14]

Oh! I hate your sensible men, and take a particular pleasure in tormenting them.

That's very extraordinary.—But why so?

Because it adds more to my reputation, to lead in chains one of those wise Lords of the crea­tion, who has sense enough to know I use him ill, yet not power sufficient to break his fetters, than a thousand of those mincing, whiffling, trifling, good-for-no­thing, pretty, Master Jessamys.

Well! tho' I shall never approve of your scheme, I almost wish for your spirits.

Spirits, my dear!—Lord, what should put me out of spirits?—Time enough for me to pine and languish, when the Hey-day of my charms are over—Mine, I'm afraid, will be but a short reign, so am determin'd to make the most of it.

Then I find you do intend to marry.

Yes, yes, some time or other.—. It wou'd mortify me prodigiously, to die an old maid.—No, no, I assure you, I have not the least ambi­tion to lead apes, no more than I have at present to be led by one myself.—I wou'd only play with the male creatures, as a skilful angler does with his fish.—Amuse myself the sportive summer's day, bait my hook well for gudgeons, see the pretty innocents, nibble, nibble, nibble, as fast as I could cast in—Draw them out when I pleased—Stroke the delicate things, and then throw them in again—till evening sun having disagreeably lengthen'd my shadow, pick out the hero of the stream, and retire to my rustic cottage, content with the pleasures of the day.

But, pray, in the midst of this round of amusements, do you never feel a pang for the loss of Sedley?

If I really thought I had lost him for ever, I should be heartily mortified.

Don't you think it begins to look like it?

[Page 15]

Why, I am a little alarmed,—for to confess the truth sincerely, which in those cases I very seldom do—Of all the men that ever address'd me, he is the only one who has made an imprestion on my heart.

Why did not you use him better?

'Tis not in my nature to be serious long together, therefore why should he expect it?

Consider the many obligations you are under to him.—The many dangers he rescued you from, which your innocent levity exposed you to.

That's true; but then he should not have taken so ungenerous an advantage of them, as to tell me, that I did wrong, and prescribe rules for my future conduct.

Were not those rules for your good?

Yes, but we are not always dispos'd to relish advice.

I really think, if you lose him, you'll never meet with such another.

If I am disappointed of him, I shall never have any other, that's past a doubt—And as a proof, were he now to return, I would frankly own, that, though I am innocent, even in intention of acting wrong, yet, my thoughtlessness, many times, leads me into great errors, which nothing but the sincerity of my heart can excuse.

'Tis great pity you did not make this declaration before.

Psha! he must take me, as he finds me.—Can he be so unconscionable as to expect, that I should draw up my head, hold down my eyes, put my hands together, drop him a low curtesy, and say,—I have been a naughty girl to be sure, but, pray forgive me this time, and indeed, and double deed, I'll do so no more?

No, but he might reasonably expect, that you'd dismiss your numerous train of followers; [Page 16]—and, as you have often sacrificed men of worth at the shrine of folly, so in return, to make a gene­ral oblation—Offer up a hecatomb of fools, at the altar of discretion.

Do I bid the creatures follow me?

Nor don't you encourage them, when they do?

Ay, that is, because I hate ill-nature.

But are not you afraid your reputation should suffer?

Oh, my dear, not in the least—Every thing we do becomes us,—Our very frailties are pleasing.

Consider, the—

Positively, I won't consider about the matter—So, come along, and always remember these never-failing lines—

ACT II.

SWAB!

Here, your Honour.

What sort of weather abroad?

A little hazey, your Honour; the wind S. S-E.

D'ye think you cou'd take me under convoy as far as Lady Younglove's?

I warrant I'll tow you along, if so be as how you'll keep above water.

Say you so?—Then on with your best jacket and trowsers, and help me to rig myself out.

Ha! Sedley!—What chear, boy?—How goes it?

Very well, I thank you, Captain.

Give me your hand—here, Swab, help to heave me up—so, so—now, turn out, and keep a strict watch.

If Bet Mainsail, my mess-mate's widow, hails me again, what answer shall I give her?

Stow her hold well with right Nantz—Give her five guineas to buy new rigging, and tell her, if she'll hoist the sign of Admiral Boseawen on Ports­mouth Common, I'll take care to keep her off a lee shore.

Bless your Honour's glory!—She shall have as much of the good creature as she can carry;—and, snatch my bowlings, if I don't tip her half a piece myself, for old acquaintance sake.

[Page 18]

You see I am laid upon the stocks a little, but no matter for that—Tho' my out-works are something damaged, yet my inside is heart of oak.

I am glad to hear it—Presuming, Captain, on the regard you always profest for me, I am now come to intercede in behalf of your nephew.

Avast, avast, tack about, and pay away no more of that cable—My nephew, d'ye see, is a lazy land-lubber—If he had taken my advice, I would have made a man of him, and taught him to hand, reef, and steer, with e'er a seaman in the navy.

These are accomplishments, Captain, not suitable to every man's taste and genius.

Then their taste is not worth a rope's end—I myself, tho' a younger brother, made my own for­tune while his father was squandering away his—I was twice round the globe, before I was forty—In every birth, from cabbin-boy, up to Captain of the Terrible—And now, having sufficient to lie by, I am resolved to enjoy it, and ride in a smooth har­bour all the rest of my days.

But, Captain, tho' you was so fond of the ocean, and had such success, your nephew may not have the same inclinations, and you should make some allowance.

No, that's not my way—So, if he has a mind to gain the wind of my affection, he must sheer off from the little frigate he has so long kept in chace, and let me fit him out for a vovage in the Tempest, which sails in a few weeks for the East-Indies.

Then your resolution is fixed—

As the Poles.

And in his absence, I suppose, you intend attacking Miss Flora yourself.

Right, I have some thoughts of bearing down that way.

But, Captain, don't the great disparity of years between you and her, deter you?

[Page 19]

No, the more danger, the more honour—Mayhap, you may think it strange, that after steer­ing so long clear of a wife, I should, all of a sudden, veer about, and clap the matrimonial tack aboard.

He that's long at sea, will find the wind blow from every point of the compass—I have sel­dom been six months a-shore at one time, since I was a boy, so never had opportunity of coming a-long-side any but such as your Portsmouth or Plymouth fire­ships, who damage every vessel they grapple with.

And them, I suppose, you avoided.

Why, ay—So, d'ye see, being lately wea­ther-bound in a trip I made to take observation of some land that lay a-head of Lady Younglove's, I was forced to put into port at her house.

Where you saw her beautiful daughter.

I did, and in the three glasses we staid there, she drew my heart with as strong an attraction, as ever the loadstone did the needle.

Have you communicated your sentiments to the mother?

No, not yet, but I intend shaping my course that way directly.

I believe, Captain, I can be of service to you in this affair.

As how, pray?

I am this moment going to pay my ad­dresses to the mother.

What, the old hulk?—Ah, my boy, I'm afraid you are out of your reckoning there—You don't know the trim of her—She'll not be brought to obey either the helm, or the sheet, and if you'll take my advice, you'll e'en let her drop to pieces where she lies at anchor.

I'll venture, however—The more danger, the more honour, as you say; and if you'll assist me, I don't doubt of succeeding.

[Page 20]

Well, well, since the current of your incli­nation sets that way, I shan't attempt to stem it—thof, let me tell you, she saw her two former con­sorts go to the bottom, and if you don't take care, you'll share the same fate.

I confess, I have a terrible prospect, but nothing shall deter me—If you'll suspend your visit, I'll return as soon as our interview is over, and in form you of my success.

Ay, ay, I shall lie by 'till then—But, hark­ye, Sedley! may I never strike an enemy's flag a­gain, if I would not rather be rak'd fore and aft by a whole French squadron, than stand one broad­side from such a Turkish pirate.

So, den, de milliner introduce your Lady to de Lord Flamwell?

Oui, I overhear all, and my Lady be just gone to her house.

Diable! I am almost distract!—I no sooner get rid of von rival den anoder start up.

Patience, Monsieur, we go on ver well—So long as we keep Sedley away, we no fear de rest, but I expect Sir Whifling Trifle, Lady Younglove's broder, tout á l'heure, presently.

O dat is true, let him come so soon as he will; I am prepare for him.

Hush! here he be.

Now, my pretty Mademoiselle, have I the happiness of finding your Lady at home?

No, Monsieur, my Lady be just gone out, but here be a Gentleman who has been waiting for you wid de greatest impatience.

[Page 21]

For me! who is he, pray?

Monsieur le Marquis de Finesse, un grand voyageur, who be just arrive in England—He hear, par accident, of your visiting my Lady, so—

Sir, you do me honour.

So, now I have introduce him; I'll leave you togeder, and go wait for my Lady.

Pray, Sir, may I without offence know the motive of this Interview?

Curiosity, Monsieur, to see so great a man, whose actions Fame's brazen trompete has blazon'd to every distant part of de world.

Oh, dear Sir! this is too much—To be sure, for these thirty years past, I've spent my whole time in the pursuit of objects disregarded by the generality of the world; and, I think, I may without vanity say, that my labours have been suc­cessful.

Je le sais bien, Monsieur, I know it, and from a similarity of disposition beg leave to court your ac­quaintance.

I shall be proud of the favour, Sir.

I have myself, Monsieur, for dese many years past, been a traveller, and collector of de raritie.

Sir, you please me very much—may I take the liberty to ask, where you have been, and what curiosities you have collected?

De tout mon coeur, Monsieur, wid all my heart—I have travelle over mosht parts of de globe, sometime I ride, sometime I valk, sometime dey carry me against my will—Sometime at my own sharge, and sometime at de publique expence.

The public expence?

Oh, Oui, for de good of de nation—Dat is when I be transporte.

Ah, that's an honour I am afraid I shall never arrive at—But pray let's hear.

[Page 22]

In Italy, Prince Palivicini presente me wid a piece of de Vesuvian eruption dat choaka Pliny vid its smoke.

Wonderful!—But how are you certain of that?

Oh, from a worm-eaten manuscript preserve wid it, whereon a P for Pliny, and V for Vesuvio, still visible.

Proof, proof enough.

Oh, certainement—proof enough.

Had the whole manuscript been pre­served it would not have been worth six-pence, but the obscurity always enhances the value.

I see you be de true Antiquarian, Monsieur.

Yes, yes, nobody understands these things better than I do—I have been in Italy my­self, and visited the ruins of Herculaneum.

Well! dere you had ample store.

Ample indeed—They were guarded with the utmost strictness; nevertheless, by liberally bribing the several persons appointed to watch them, I found means, at different times, to bring away al­most a cart-load of legs, arms, and noses belonging to the mutilated statues.

Eft il bien possible?—What a treasure!

Yes, and I intend shortly publishing a dozen volumes folio, proving to demonstration, the figures they belonged to.

Oh, it will be of vast import to de pub­lique.

Very great, I shall immortalize my name by it—Travels are so much the ton at present, that many go abroad on purpose to oblige the pub­lic at their return, with a relation of their wonder­ful adventures.

And you be as well qualified as de best of dem.

[Page 23]

I afterwards made some important dis­coveries in the North Sea.

You did!

Yes, and actually brought away a large piece of ice from thence.

Et bien! Monsieur—Well, and have you it now?

No, the heat of the sun dissolved it in our voyage home.

Unfortunate!

Very unfortunate, but travellers are subject to disappointments.

A la verite, 'tis true, indeed, Monsieur—I have often myself experience de same—Une autre fois, an oder time I vil give you de whole account of all my voyage, but now let a me beg leave to make you de von little present.

Present!

Oui, Monsieur, and such a von as I do flat­ter myself you will not despise—In my last voyage wid Mons. Bourgainville, touching on de coast of Patagonia, I purchase from von of deir sages an in­es;timable jewel.

A jewel!

Not one of dose so called by de Canaille, but an invaluable antique.

Is it possible!—I am all impatience—What can it be!

Le Voici, see here!—

—Behold, an Antide­luvian cockle shell!

I am struck dumb with admiration!

And well you may—You see, Monsieur, by de size of it, an undoubted proof of de giantism of old.

Bless me!—'Tis as large as a modern oyster, and I protest, seems very like one too.

[Page 24]

Right, Monsicur, so it do—You have de great discernment—who knows, indeed noting so probable, dan dat de very cockle shut up in dis, was Manger, eaten by our grand'mere Eve.

A happy thought, my friend—Eve's cockle-shell! I am ravish'd at the idea!—But, what return, what recompense can I make for a gem of such—

O, noting at all, but de pleasure of your ac­quaintance—I shall beg leave to see you again, in de evening, at Lady Younglove's.

Dear Sir! you do me too much honour.

C'est Assez, Monsieur, enough—But as it is of such consequence, Sir Whifling, I must request you'll immediately go and deposit it in your cabinet wid your oder curiosities, for fear of accidents.

That I will, I assure you, Sir—I came purposely to pay my devoirs to the Goddess of this Mansion, but now beg you'll make my excuses to her—I have now something of more importance to attend to—Yes, yes, I think no one can blame my taste, in preferring an Antideluvian cockle-shell to the finest woman in the creation.

Ha! ha! ha! well said, Old Antiquity—Begar, I believe I shall put de little sheat upon him too—Now, to find Sedley again—I have business enough upon my hand—So much de better——Frenchmen have no occasion to be idle, when En­glishmen have so many follies and vices to work upon.

Where can this creature be!—Let me see—

—I think this com­plexion is the most agreeable to black—One can't be too nice in suiting the complexion to the dress.

[Page 25] Where have you been, Frippery?

Ordering a fresh quantity of your Lady­ship's cordial, as you complained that the last was not strong enough.

You are a good girl—Has that im­pudent fellow, Woodford, been here to-day?

No, Madam; the answer your Ladyship gave him yesterday, will refer him from coming any more.

I am very glad of it—An unman­nerly rake-hell, not worth a shilling, to have the as­furance to make love to a child before my face.

'Twas monstraceous rude, indeed, Madam—Had he the sense to have paid his congratulations to your Ladyship, he might have been forgiven.

True, Frippery; I cou'd much sooner pass over an affront of that sort offered to myself, than her.

That I am sure of—

—Really, Madam, the exquisitive charms of your Ladyship would be a sufficient excuse for such an act of insensibility.

O, fie, girl! how can you talk in such a manner?—What charms can a woman of forty be supposed to have?

Fifty, would be nearer the mark.

—Your Ladyship certainly mistakes your age.

How! mistake my age—Surely, hus­sey, you don't mean—

Yes, Madam; for by your looks, I should take my book oath, that you were not above fiveand-twenty.

Oh!—Why, I believe I do look very well for my years.

Years!—Lud, Ma'am, how can you talk so abruptly?—As I am a woman of veracity, your Ladyship only looks like Miss Flora's eldest sister, [Page 26]and are young enough to have half a dozen hus­bands yet.

You are a merry girl, and always striving to divert your poor disconsolate mistress—Alas! my sweet, dear man has been dead above three months, and no one has said a civil thing to me yet.

Mr. Sedley, to wait upon your Ladyship.

Shew him up—Bless me! what can he want with me?

Your Ladyship's most obedient—How shall I apologize for this rudeness, Madam?

O, dear Sir! there is not the least occasion—I think you are very kind thus to visit a poor, distressed, afflicted widow.

You are goodness itself, Madam—I have waited on you now, my Lady, upon a very particu­lar affair, which demands a few moments privacy.

Frippery, you may retire.

Yes, my Lady—Hem!—but by virtue of my office, I'll make bold to listen; so, wise Sir, you might as well have let me staid.

Now, Madam, that we are alone, can you forgive the folly, the presumption, the—call it what you please—which urged me on to this rash attempt?

Upon my word, Sir, I can't com­prehend you.

And yet, when you shall know how long I have sighed in secret, how long been tortured with despair, before I dare pronounce the sacred name of love—

Love, Sir!

Yes, Madam; who could behold such beauty, and not adore?

[Page 27]

So! Miss has got another lover, I find, but I'll soon silence him.

Really, Sir, this is a language I must not suffer—'Tis highly im­proper for a child like mine to hear, these many years to come.

Child, Madam!—Is it possible you can mistake my meaning?

Why, Sir, was not all this designed for my daughter?

For Miss Flora, Madam!—No, as your Ladyship's daughter, she could not but have some charms; but I must be blind indeed, to offer up my vows to such a baby—You'll excuse my free­dom, Madam.

Oh, readily, Sir.

'Tis you, my Lady, who are the blooming Goddess of my adoration—Oh, how can I express the inconceivable torments of my breast, for those many years past!—During Sir Solomon's life, fear of of­fending tied up my tongue to a painful silence, and I was obliged to—

I assure you, Sir, I pity you, and had I known your sufferings, wou'd have contrived some method of softening them.

I am transported to hear it—After his death, respect still sealed up my lips, 'till I found—for love, Madam, is Argus-eyed—that Mr. Wood­ford frequented this house, and was, without doubt, a favour'd lover—This made me resolve to discover my hopeless passion, wait his arrival here, and thro' a happy rival's bosom, force my way to that heart which kings might be proud to call their own!

Hold, Sir, you are in an error—'Twas not to me, but my daughter, his devoirs were paid.

Pardon me, Madam, I cannot suppose Mr. Woodford so insensible, as to think of any other ob­ject, when you are present.

[Page 28]

O, dear Sir, he has not half the com­plaisance you have!—What a charming man he is!

My character, and family, Madam, you are no stranger to—My estate is considerable, and, if it is not too great a presumption, give me leave to cast both it, and a heart unalterably devoted to you, at your feet.

O, rise, dear Sir—You overwhelm me with confusion!—Sure, you cannot possibly find any thing so attracting in a face, which constant grief has made such an impression on.

Hem! Now for a little more nonsense.

Come, my beauteous widow, cast aside these weeds of sorrow, and be arrayed in robes more splendid, and more becoming such a divinity.

Impossible—I fear, Sir!

Impossble!

Almost, Sir—What will the world say of so hasty, so precipitate an act?

Umph! I find her coming.

Love, Madam, will plead for all—'Tis a crime against his power to resist—Besides, enough you have sacrificed to sorrow—Three months at least.

Oh, Sir, more—Sixteen weeks to­morrow—But, what are sixteen weeks, sixteen months, or sixteen years, to mourn the loss of so good a man.

Come, Madam, no more of these melan­choly reflections—The only remedy in the world for a lady's immoderate grief on the loss of a favourite, be it monkey, lap-dog, or husband, is to get another.

Indeed, Sir, I believe you are per­fectly right—I remember, some years ago, I was ut­terly inconsolable on the death of a beautiful parrot, 'till the loss was supplied by an enchanting owl, which was presented me.

Then let me, Madam, by the warmth of my passion, dry up your tears for Sir Solomon Young­love.

[Page 29]

Surely, Sir, you are uncommonly per­suading—Well! to try your constancy, if you per­severe in your intention, till my year of widowhood be expired, I don't know but I may be tempted to reward it.

A year, Madam!—An age!—For hea­ven's sake, my dear Lady, have some compassion.

Believe me, Sir, I am very compas­sionate.

Wou'd you have me die at your feet?

No, not for the world—Rather than you should do that, I will shorten it—to—to half the time.

She soon drops.

Still, madam, I find you are cruelly resolved not to make me happy, therefore hopeless, and despairing, let me bid you eternally, eternally, adieu!

Stay, sir, stay—Must not I pay my last husband the same compliment I did my first?

What was that madam?

Wait five short, short months.

Look you, my Lady, I would do as I would be done by—If you survive me, you have my consent to marry again the next day.

I confess, sir, you are the most rea­sonable man I ever met with.

But, I see, madam, you are inexorable, so must retire, and in secret, lament my adverse for­tune.

Dear sir, stay—What can I say? I vow you are quite irresistible—Well, then,—though overwhelm'd with blushes—To-morrow, I consent to be yours.

Retard not my joy so long, but let this night crown my happiness—I see a kind consenting smile sparkle in your eye, and thus, I thank you

Oh, zounds! that was too much!

[Page 30]

Who can withstand such rhetoric!—You have conquered, sir, and I surrender at discre­tion.

And now, my dear Lady, as our interests are to be one—If you give me leave, I can assist you in disposing of Miss Flora.

You cou'd not oblige me more, sir, for, poor child! she seems in great haste to be mar­ried.

Not so much as her mother, I'll be sworn.

I think, my Lady, I could recommend one you can have no objection to—Captain Helm, your neighbour.

Captain Helm—Do you think that possible?

Nothing easier, if your Ladyship does not chuse to prevent it.

I prevent it; heavens forbid!—Poor dear child, it wou'd be a happy day for her.

Happy, indeed, madam.—He has been raving about Miss, ever since his accidentally seeing her in the country, and longing for an opportunity of declaring himself—Nay, more—he knows of my visit to you, and hopes this evening will unite both parties.

I'm sure I would do any thing in rea­son to secure her felicity.

Captain Helm, madam, is prodigiously in love, vet has many odd whims, and like the ele­ment he belongs to, is very subject to change.

Oh, if he was once bound, we'd give him leave to change.

True, madam, therefore we had better make short work of it, and take him while he is in the humour.

Well! do just as you please, dear [Page 31]Mr. Seley—I am now your property, so dispose of me and mine, as you like.

I'll step directly to my lawyer's to prepare the deeds, then return with Captain Helm—Mean­time, my lovely charmer! divest yourself of those beauty-veiling weeds, relumine the circle you were wont to shine in, and prepare to bless the happiest mortal in the world!

What a bewitching man!—But, there is not a moment to lose, I must set about making the necessary preparations immediately—Well, who could have thought when I got up this morning, that I should be a bride before night.—O, lud! a third husband is a happiness I never expected.

So! Upon my word, a tender scene, and quite curry-curristical—When Miss and her old sea­monster join them, they'll make a nice trio—But, it is unpossible all this can be real on his side; and if my old Lady was not so tosticated with her good for­tune, she might easily find it out—Oh, here comes Miss, now we shall hear her sentances of the matter.

Frippery, what's the matter with my mama? I met her this moment in unusual spirits, and she ordered me to follow her into her dressing-room.

Spirits!—A third husband is enough to put any woman turned of sifty into spirits—Heaven help me! though I am half that age, I have not got one yet.

What do you mean, Frippery?

I mean, that your mama's going to be mar­ried, to-night.

To-night!

Yes, to-night.

[Page 32]

More shame for her.

Ay, so say I.

I'm sure it wou'd be fitter for her to get me a husband first.

Oh! you are to be married at the same time.

Am I?—I'm afraid that's too good news to be true.—But tell me sincerely, are not you joking now?

Not I, upon my word.

Well, that is charming!—Only feel what a palpitation it has caused here,—for all the world like the fluttering of my little Robin Red-breast.

Ay, my dear, I have often had such flustra­tions.

And does Mr. Woodford know it?

Mr. Woodford, Lord, Miss, he is not to be the man.

No!—Who then?

Why, his uncle, Captain Helm, who you remember visited us some time ago in the country.

What, that ugly old fright, who I compar'd to King Priam in the puppet-shew?

The very idential man, Miss.

Was there ever anything so ridiculous!—A husband, Ha! ha! ha!—O yes, to be sure he's a very proper husband for a girl of my age and spi­rit.—It is a wonder, Frippery, she did not think of a dancing bear for me—I'm sure, he's much the more agreeable and polish'd animal of the two.

Indeed, Miss, I must say, that he's the most oddest, damphibious looking creature I ever saw—But your mama intends to make you have him, or not a penny of fortune.

A fig for fortune, say I.—Before she should sacrafice me to such a compound of age and in­firmity, I'd bid adieu to all ideas of future gran­deur, [Page 33]and boldly fly, with the man of my heart, to those regions of love and happiness, where true con­tent is only to be found.

My Lady desires you, Mrs. Frippery, to go directly for her diamond ear-rings, that are mending at the jeweller's, and not to stay a moment, for she wants you in all haste to help her to dress.

So! she's in a hurry, I find.

Hurry! ecod, I believe she's possest—she has order'd us all to get on our state liveries, that were made in her first husband's time, and the house­keeper is to provide such a supper, that, lud have mercy upon me!—Hark! her bell rings.—

Oh, I had forgot—Miss Flora, you are to go to your mama directly.

Tell her, I won't, John.

No, John, tell her she's coming.

Well, do just as you please for that.—Coming, my Lady, coming—Zounds! I wish the bell was tied about your neck.

My dear, you must go—endeavour to hu­mour your mama now.—Only seem to be agreeable to her marriage, and perhaps she may not insist on yours.

Nay, I did not care if she married a new husband every month, so she'd only let me have Mr. Woodford; and I'm sure that's not unreason­able.—But will you, my dear Frippery, in the mean time, endeavour to find him out, and let him know my distress?

That I will, I'll ensure you.—Do you think I cou'd refuse any thing in my power, to help such a couple of true lovyers?—No, no, Frippery always does as she'd be done by—and, I'm sure all I wait for myself is,—the man to ask me the question.

[Page 34]

Well!—Some girls now, in my situation, wou'd, in despair of relief, hang or drown them­selves, and so put an end to their adventures at once. To be sure, my situation is very critical—Solely de­pendant on a mother—Denied the man I love, and obliged to receive the odious addresses of one I hate, are difficulties not easily surmounted—Yet, a good heart, and a fertile head, may do much—And if I do surmount them, I think I shall deserve a statue raising to my constancy and fidelity.

ACT III.

Well, my good mother, what suc­cess?—I have been upon the rack ever since you went—Come, tell me—Any hopes?

Hopes!—When did you know me under­take any thing that fail'd?

But, have you mention'd me?

Yes, yes, I have done more for you than ever your own mother did—Look you, I expect no less than a thousand pounds for my share—Ay, all signed and sealed before consummation.

You shall have it without the least scruple.

Scruple, indeed!—A hundred a year for life.

Certainly.

An elegant house, ready furnished.

All very reasonable.

Ay, I was always remarked for my reason and moderation.—Well! after this affair is over, I shall have nothing to do, but to live with credit and character, the rest of my days.

Then you think we shall succeed?

Quite certain of it.

You transport me!

Such a lovely, tender, sweet chicken!—Ah, rogue, if you should not behave well to her, you'll break my heart.

Oh, never fear that—You know I am a man of the strictest honour.

[Page 36]

Yes, I have had many proofs of your ho­nour.

Ay, 'tis that consideration alone which urges me on—I would not have helped her to every body, for heaven knows, it is not the little trash I am to get by it, that—

No, to be sure.

I say, 'tis not the trifle I am to get by it, but the surety of providing her with a good hus­band.

But all this while you keep me in suspence—What said she?—When may I hope to see her?

Said! no bird ever fell into a fowler's snare so readily—She believes every syllable about your title and fortune, is as impatient as you are for an interview, and promis'd to be here directly.

Egad, you have made quick work of it—Be here directly—Zounds! I am afraid I shall want assurance to go through with it.

After what you have gone through already, I think there can be no great danger now.

You must introduce me properly, else, as I have never seen her, I may make some mistake.

I must own your head is not the best in the world, but here you can't readily go wrong—Be fure you keep up to your part—Talk of the years you have been dying for her in secret—Flatter her charms to the utmost—Speak highly of your family and connections—If you should make some trifling blunders, I'll place them to the excess of your pas­sion—The most pleasing excuse which can be given to a woman fond of adoration.

As for that matter, you know I am seldom at a loss for words.

Yes, I know the height of your oratory, but let me tell you, she must be attack'd in a very different manner from the nymphs you have been used to.

[Page 37]

Well, well, I'll take care now to be on the other side, and be as high-flown as possible—I have been studying hard words for that purpose.

As I live, that's her rap—She's impatient indeed!

Zounds! I am quite unprepared—What shall I do?

Receive her as if by accident—She'll pre­tend she's come to me, but I'll not appear till the first ceremonies are over.

Hold—Don't leave us together.

Not another word, but make good use of your time.

I wish with all my soul, it was over—Hem! hem!

Ma'am—your—your—most unlimitedly—obedient—I, I am—that is to say—extravagantly happy—in—in—in—

I was told, sir, that Mrs. Fashion was here.

Ay, that's right.

Hem! hem!—She only gave place, illustrious Lady, to let the re­splendency of your charms shine in their meridian lustre!—Hem! hem!

Sir!—Is it to me you address this dis­course?

Who else, thou sovereign object of my wishes!—I have languish'd whole years for the hap­piness of this interview, and now, I—

Hold, sir,—I am not to be treated in this ludicrous manner—Do you know who I am?

Do the inhabitants of this nether world know the radiant sun that daily illumines them?— [Page 38]You, my angelic Miss Bloomer, are my sun, my moon, my stars, my whole planetary system!—Pretty well that, I think.

Miss Bloomer!—Ha! there must be some trick in this—Some design on my fair friend—I'll fathom it.

She hesitates—I believe I have done it—Bravo, my boy, I never knew your eloquence fail.

Pray, sir, who are you?

Ah, madam! I am the unhappy Lord Flamwell, heir to one of the most noble families in England, with an independant fortune in my own possession, which, with the most glowing heart that ever was offered up to Cytherea's goddess, I now present to you, my Cyprian Venus.

And all this is designed for me?

Alas! where's the merit in paying worship to the queen of beauty?—No, my adorable Miss Bloomer, I long have loved, but till this happy moment, never had courage to tell you so.

And I am to believe all this real?

Every syllable of it true, by those bright eyes!

My dear Miss Bloomer! this is so kind of you to call on—Ah! what do I see!—Miss Belgrove!—My Lord, what are you about?

Curse me if I know!—

—Oh, my evil stars! what have I done now?

Upon my word, Mrs. Fashion, I am very glad you are come—You, perhaps, can explain this gentleman's meaning, which, I confess, is above my comprehension.

My dear, sweet Miss Belgrove—This [Page 39]gentleman—is a—a Lord—that—that—a—his friends have confined in my house for lunacy.

I beg your pardon, Mrs. Fashion, I did not know till now, that you kept a private mad­house.

Ah, poor nobleman! he's greatly to be pitied—All this is a love affair, Miss—Gone quite distracted for love.

For love!—And are you so famous for curing mad people?—Now, I think I could recom­mend a magistrate for his doctor, who could much sooner restore him to his senses.

Oh, your Ladyship mistakes him quite—As innocent as a new-born babe—But, pray let me at­tend you into another room.

I shan't stop—I only wanted to consult you about the choice of some Brussells lace.

I'll wait on your Ladyship, at your own house directly.

Whenever you are at leisure.—Mean time, let me advise that gentleman, not to be so vio­lent in his raptures, before he is certain of the per­son he addresses them to.

Ah, you are a witty Lady—Nay, by my saith, I'll wait on you to the door—This is so great an honour to call

Ah! conjuror.

Tol, lol, lol.

I believe it is all over—Ay, ay, my old luck pursues me still, and if ever I do cut a distinguisning figure in the world, I'm afraid it will be when I make my exit.

Your humble servant, good Mr. Blun­der—You have made a notable piece of work here.

What shall I do?

[Page 40]

Hang, or drown yourself—'tis all over now.

Was there ever so unlucky a dog!

Never—that I'll answer for—Nothing pros­pers you undertake—What the deuce could possess you to make so egregious a mistake?

Zounds! you—You knew I had never seen Miss Bloomer, and your declaring it was her, left me not the least room to doubt.

Nothing could be more unfortunate!—The two ladies are intimate, and if a discovery should ensue, I am entirely ruined.

Can you think of nothing to prevent it?

I expect the real Miss Bloomer every minute—When she's gone, I'll wait upon Miss Belgrove, and endeavour to persuade her, that you really are a lunatic—And faith, if this affair fails, I shall be little better myself.

Hark! I believe this is she, in reality—Away, and be in readiness, if I should want you.

Hearky'!—Take care how you introduce me to the next Miss Bloomer.

Now, Fashion, I am as good as my word, you see.

Heaven bless you! that you always are.

But come, I have not a moment to lose.

Ah, that sweet countenance!—I don't won­der so many gentlemen despair of obtaining so great a prize.

What do you mean?

I am sure I can't blame the extravagance of Lord Flamwell's passion—And, by my faith, he swears he can't live without you.

Lord Flamwell!—Who is he, pray?

[Page 41]

The young nobleman, I told your Ladyship about this morning—Well, a sweeter, better hu­mour'd, or more generous man, was never seen—Had you beheld with what transports he received the news of your coming hither.

Why, surely, you did not tell him any such thing?

Really, Miss, he look'd so piteously, I cou'd not help it—Oh, Mrs. Fashion, says he, if my beau­teous angel will but consent to be mine, how happy shall I be!—My whole fortune shall be at her com­mand—What pleasure shall I take in introducing her to my Sisters, Lady Lucy, Lady Sophia, and Lady Harriet.

Bless me! the Gentleman seems to have a number of relations—But I have not time to lose about such trifles.

Do you call breaking a nobleman's heart, a trifle?

Yes—to me the greatest trifle in the world.

Ah, you'll pay for all, one day or other—But, do now, give me leave to introduce him to you.

Who, me?—Not I, I positively assure you—'Tis your own house, you know, and if you chuse to do it—I can't help you.

Well, I'll venture your displeasure—I'm sure you would not be the death of any person, nor discompose that sweet face of yours with a frown, for the world.

What a fool am I, to be flatter'd by such a fulsome old woman—I am certainly an odd composition—to be pleased with what at the same time I so much despise—Now, for my Lord—If his heart does not speedily go pit-a-pit, and I don't make him as great a rool as I have dome the rest of my ad­mirers, why I'll contess, I've lost the art of torment­ing.

Miss Bloomer, Lord Flamwell, who has long wish'd to pay his respects to you.

Hold, my Lord, we must be upon a more intimate footing, before I allow liberties of that sort.

I stand justly reproved, Madam, for my pre­sumption, and own I merit the fate of—of—Icarus, who drove the Chariot of Apollo—Yet, if you'll but—

Ha! ha! ha!—Your Lordship must pardon this emotion, which the profundity of your learning has involuntarily extorted from me—Ha! ha! ha! If I don't mistake, Icarus was a near rela­tion of yours.

Of mine, Madam,—Yes—No, no, he has been dead, for ought I can tell, these—these hundred years past.

Ha! ha! ha! I know it, my Lord, but you certainly are of the same family, and endea­vour to imitate him, in soaring so high.

If I have committed any error, your charms, Madam, are a sufficient excuse.

True, my Lord, my charms have led many people into very great errors, and if you don't take care, you'll stand in the same predicament.

I wish it, Madam.—If I am so conspicuously happy, as to possess you, I shall be the envy of the gaping world—Adorable creature! behold, thus prostrate at your feet, the unhappy Lord Flamwell, who vows never more to rise, till you have put a pe­riod to his sufferings.

And that, I vow, my Lord, will never be.

Ah, the sweet youth! it brings tears into my eyes, to see what a condition love has reduced him to.

Pray, my Lord, let's have that speech [Page 43]over again—Stay, you shall see how gracefully it comes from me in heroics.

I find she's an overmatch for me, every way.

Come, Miss Bloomer, let me put in a word for his Lordship—As I can answer for the sincerity and honourableness of his intentions, I hope you'll not stand on unnecessary punctilio—You see he can­not live without you—Reward his passion with your hand, and let me this evening, salute you Lady Flamwell.

Thou, more than Goddess! if you judge my fortune, title, or family, not beneath your accept­ance, bless me with your love, and crown my wishes.

Ay, I see a kind consenting look in these pretty tell-tale sparklers—Just so, I look'd myself, on such an occasion—By my faith, we'll have a wedding directly—Let your Lordship's Chaplain be call'd in, and the ceremony immediately performed.

Hold, hold, pray let me get in a word with you—Look you, my Lord, I have not been used to such treatment, nor do I understand your meaning—As to you, Mrs. Fashion, I am surprized you don't know me better—But, be assur'd, as this is the first time I've been in your house, so it shall be the last.

Stay, charming, cruel tyrant, and take my life before you go.

What use shall I make of it, my Lord?—You had better make a present of it to some other person, who prefers a title before understanding, and wealth beyond happiness.

My dear Miss Bloomer, how can you be angry with me?—If my Lord loves you to distraction, am I to blame, in endeavouring to pro­mote your future felicity?

[Page 44]

Then will you not give me leave to hope?—And must those charms, which like the sun dispense their refreshing beams around the celestial hemi­sphere, be only withheld from me?

My Lord, tho' I believe nobility and common sense very compatible, yet, as you are not happily possessed of both, forgive me if I decline your very generous offer—And, be certain, if ever I do resign my freedom, it shall be to a man who knows how to set a proper value on it.

And, curse catch me! if ever I am master of [...], if I don't make you heartily repent this treat­ment.

Go, you deserve it all, for being so great an ideot.

Zounds! woman, what would you have me do?—I spoke better than ever I did in my life be­fore, but the Devil is not a match for such a tongue.

No, not such an ignorant Devil as you—But, she shan't escape so—Ill after her, and endeavour to repair your mistakes, then make my last bold effort—So, prepare yourself—the conclusion of this business will certainly be a wife, or—a halter!

A wife, by all means—Of Two Evils, I always chuse the least.

How can you, Child, make all this noise about One Husband, when you see, I have been oblig'd to have Two already, and am now under the cruel necessity of preparing for a Third.

Yes, and that same cruel necessity would oblige you to marry a score, if you could.

Mr. Sedley, and Capt. Helm, to wait upon your Ladyship.

[Page 45]

Admit them.

Gentlemen, you are very welcome.

So, Widow! I understand you are hound for another voyage—Lookee, if the wind sits fair, belike I shall bear you company.

I am much obliged to you, Captain, for your good wishes, and hope my daughter may entertain a proper sense of them.

O, yes, he may be assur'd, that I entertain a very proper sense of them.

Thank you, thank you, Widow—Suppose I haul a chair, and sound the coast, to see how the land lies.

Do, Captain—meantime, my fair widow and I have some private affairs to settle, that will re­quire our absence for a few minutes—Madam, will you indulge me so far—

Dear Sir, I can't deny you any thing you ask—

So, so!—they have left me to the mercy of this frightful Man of War—Now, for a love-scene of the tenderest kind.

Swab! go below—And, d'ye see, look out for a snug birth, call for a can of flip, and keep a tight reckoning, till I pipe you up again.

I will, your honour, and drink success to the chace.

Now we are alone, I don't know what to say to her—By the mess, I begin to find I've got out of my element.

Well, I really think he is ten times uglier than when I saw him last.

Hem?—If I was but once afloat, shou'd do well enough.

What a pretty lover he makes—Poor [Page 46]wretch!—I think I must plague him a little—Yes, yes, I must have some sport with him.

That it shou'd ever come to this!—I who have attacked so many first-rate men of war, now to be afraid of a little cock-boat.

Pray, Captain, what makes you look so very grum?—If you are not well. I'll go and fetch some of my Mama's stomachic cordial for you.

Hold, Miss, I am pretty well, thank you—Hem!—

Pray, Miss, were you ever at sea?

A good beginning—O, yes, Captain, very often—Why, I once went with my mama as far as Greenwich.

Well, Miss, what think you now, of a voyage to the Land of Matrimony?

Voyage!—Why, I always thought that peo­ple went by land to be married—Now, I shou'd like to be married very well,—but not to you.

All above board, I find—Mayhap, Miss, you may think my timbers are not sound, and that I want to be hove down—But, let me tell you, I am heartier than many, whose gingerbread rigging fly full in the wind's eye.

Gingerbread rigging!—I'm sure, I'd rather have a gingerbread husband, than you.

Ay, why so?

Because, when I was tired of playing with it, I could eat it.

Nay, if you be like the cannibals, Miss, I had best sheer off—tho', I believe you'd find me very hard of digestion.

Very likely, but I shan't try.

However, Miss, all this is little to the pur­pose.

Ay, indeed, and so it is sure enough—So, as you have nothing more to say, I think I had best leave you to yourself.

[Page 47]

Avast, avast!—If you are for running a-head so, I must bring you to your bearings.

Ah, but you can't tho', for I never will bear you.

Lookee, d'ye see, Miss, I came hither to have some serious discourse with you, because as how I intended to have mess'd with you for life, but if so be you can't steer a steady course without all this tacking, why, it will be a thing impossible to grapple with you for half a glass together.

Well, then, I will speak my mind, tho' Mama shou'd lock me up for it—I detest the sight of you—if you were as handsome as you are ugly, and as young as you are old, yet still I shou'd hate you—My heart is set upon Mr. Woodford, and have him I will, tho' I creep through an iron grate, or jump out of a garret window to him.

So! she has slipt her anchor, and run out to sea; while I am all aground here, and must wait for a spring tide to set me afloat again.

Well, Mr. Sedley, your arguments are so persuasive, there's no resisting them—I consent then, that both marriages be celebrated this evening.

And, to free you from any jealousy of Miss Bloomer, I request, Madam, that she may be invited as a witness, on this joyful occasion.

I vow, that's cruel in you, besides, poor Lady! it will look like insult in me—But, bless me, Captain, where's the child gone to?

Right a head, yonder, sailing in the wind's eye.

Well, Captain, what success?

Success!—Why, d'ye see, I believe I have steer'd by a wrong chart, and mayhap, if I don't tack about, I may chance to be wreck'd upon the shallows.

Oh, dear Captain, von must not mind [Page 48]her—She's young and ignorant of her good—I was just so [...] her age, but she'll know better before long.

Why, to be sure, Widow, I do think she [...] a little teaching, and will lay a wager, she does not know a cat from a capstan—But, no matter for that,—all in good time—patience is a good stream anchor—If I thought I stood fair for the harbour of her good-will, why, 'tis not a little squally weather, or variation of the wind, should hinder [...] from ven­turing.

I'll ensure your successing—My Lady and I have entirely settled matters—At our return in the evening, every thing is to be finally concluded—You'll have your writings ready.

Ay, ay, I can produce the log-book of my estate at a minute's warning.

And, Captain, I think the greatest punish­ment you can inflict on your nephew for his disobe­dience, will be to oblige him to be a spectator of the ceremony.

Right, my Boy, so it will.

A letter for Mr. Sedley.

For me!—With your leave, my Lady.—

Miss Bloomer!—Her very name has raised a tumult in my soul!

Dear Mr. Sedley, you seem discom­posed—

No, Madam, perfectly easy.

Sure no unlucky accident has hap­pened to disturb our happiness?

[Page 49]

No, Madam, none.

I'm afraid there has,—You had bet­ter stay here till every thing is over.

Fulsome old Witch!

Importance, Madam, some urgent business demands me for a lit­tle time—I shall not stav long.

Mr. Sedley—And may I depend up­on you?

Undoubtedly, Madam.

Stay, Mr. Sealey—Perhaps, this is some affair with a lady, and—

Don't be uneasy, Madam,—Was there ever an [...] so provoking

Captain, you'll ex­cuse me, I'll send up your servant.

[...] stay, another word—Had not I better [...] then—

Pray, Madam, stay till I come back, and then—your may go to Jamaica, if you please.

Oh, the sweet creature!—I wish this affair was over—If I should be disappointed now—Well, I shan't have a moment's comfort, till I have absolutely secured him mine.

And, noint my block, if ever you'll let him have a moment's comfort afterwards.

Steady, boys, steady!

Hey!—Avast!—What's here?

All's safe—all's safe, your honour—

steady, steady's the word—No [...]ear of b [...]ging, [...] Swab keeps a dead reckoning.

You lubberly dog! how came you in this trim?

No matter—All's safe—I've been tossing the Can to Mrs. Erippery's health—And now, if your wor­ship's gl [...]y vill turn out, we will scud homewards with a [...] gale.

[Page 50]

You deserve to be lash'd to the gangway, you drunken water-spout, and if I come along side of you, I'll be soon foul of your forelights.

Bless you precious limbs, no, no, noble Captain, safe's the word, safe's the word—I'm the man will stand by you, while I have a stick standing, or can carry a rag of canvass—So, follow in my wake, as soon as you please.

Sheer off—do—The dog knows I regard him for old acquantance sake,—To be sure, a better sailor never step'd upon forecastle—He has work'd many a hard gale, and never flinched—ah! 'tis such brave fellows as he, that man our fleets, and shew our topsails to the enemy—Ay, ay, Old England may well say, that a British seaman, is one of the nobiest characters, the word can boast of.

ACT IV.

I Own to you, Miss Belgrove, that, so far from being indifferent about Miss Bloomer, my heart never was more devoted to her, than at present—In vain, my reason shews the folly of my conduct, love has got possession of my soul with such absolute dominion, that every other passion bows to its resistless sway.

Certainly, you Lovers, are the most in­consistent set of beings in the world—Absolute con­tradictions—You love and hate, swear and forswear, whine and rage;—Resolve one moment, and break it the next—Tear the false image from your hearts this hour, and worship it with the grossest adulation the following one.

I confess it, Madam, yet in me you'll not behold such a Proteus—I can love, without being blind.

Impossible, for all lovers are blind, at least to the faults of their mistresses—But, no more of this—Take my word for it, Miss Bloomer is deser­ving of your best wishes, and, tho' I cannot entirely defend the sprightly, tho' sometimes, imprudent sal­lies of my fair friend; yet, I think them so venially agreeable, that they almost carry their excuse in the commission.

And, yet, in the present case, 'tis certain she encourages the addresses of some designing rascal, who, probably wants to make a prey of her person and fortune.

[Page 52]

I own it looks like it—When I saw her this morning, she hinted a new conquest of a Lord, and by the circumstances, I suspect Mrs. Fashion of being the contriver of the whole design.

Have you seen Miss Bloomer since you left Mrs. Fashion's?

No, I called at her house directly after, but she was not at home, upon which, apprehending some bad consequences, I thought the best thing I could do, would be to acquaint you, and request your assistance.

You oblige me infinitely, Madam—I'll un­ravel this villainy, or—

Stay, do nothing unadvisedly—Let me go again to Miss Bloomer's, and endeavour to learn whether she has seen this impostor.

You are right, Madam—But, pray, don't drop a hint of your suspicions—Conviction will come stronger, when attended with danger, and open detec­tion—Meanwhile, I'll just step home, and be back time enought for your return.

Poor Gentleman!—Oh, Lud! what fools this Love makes of the wisest of us—I swear, if the whimsical, inconsistent urchin, dare have the assurance to attack me, I'd muster up all my courage, and—and—run away from him, as fast as I could.

Oh, my dear Lady! what an unfortu­nate woman am I?

Bless me! what new matter for won­der?—Have you made another mistake?

Surely, I was born to be unhappy!

I can't help saying, you deserve it—The next time I call at your house, you shall suffer me to be affronted in the manner I was last.

[Page 53]

You have ample revenge, I can assure you—Oh, I shall never forgive myself, no, not if I was to live a thousand years, for being accessary to the death of so sweet, so lovely, so good-natured a gen­tleman.

Death! whose death?

And yet, alas! I am innocent—'Tis those bright eyes alone, that have done all this mischief.

Oh, if that be all, I'll readily under­take to cure all the evil done by them.

No, no, he's too far gone to cure—He's a dying man.

Dying!—Who in the name of won­der is dying?

Lord Flamwell—No sooner had you left the house, than, seiz'd with a fit of despair, he shut himself up in his chamber, and—

Rayed like a madman, then, when he was tired—let himself out again.

How can you be so barbarous!—But mark the consequences—He had searce been a quarter of an hour there, when we were alarmed with the groans of a dying person, and forcing the door open, found him weltring in his blood.

Oh, heavens! is it true?

A surgeon was immediately sent for, but on examination, he declared the wound mortal, and that nothing could save his life.

I am petrified with horror!

Oh! oh! oh!

that ever I should live to see this day!—The sweet youth!—I loved him, as if he had been my own son!—What will his family say to me?—Oh! oh! oh! oh!

But, are there no hopes of his reco­very?

No, not the least—He can't live two hours!

Poor gentleman!—I sincerely pity him.

[Page 54]

Ah! what signifies pity—If you would make him some amends for your cruelty, and condescend to visit him directly—

I visit him!

Yes—consider can you be so hard-hearted as refuse him the only consolation he can receive in his last moments?

You do not surely advise me to it.

From my soul I do—Dear Mrs. Fashion, said he, in faltering accents—Go to the unrelenting fair one, tell her, I die the victim of her obduracy—True, I was not worthy of aspiring to such excellence—But, if she will deign once more to look upon me, I'll implore her forgiveness, and, as a small atonement for my folly and presumption, request her acceptance of my fortune—That, though she could not love me liv­ing, she may compassionate my memory.

His generosity affects me—I heartily with he may recover, but beg leave to decline his offer.

Really, Miss, I did not think you could have been so ungratesul—What harm can there be in visiting a dying man?

I am abore suspecting any harm, but scorn to take advantage of his weakness for me.

'Tis no advantage—What do his friends value the few thousands he can bestow?—Come, I must persuade you to accept them.

Indeed, Mrs. Fashion, though I am far from being void of humanity, yet upon this oc­casion you must excuse me; you may assure him, that, if wisnes—

No, no,—In all probability, he will not be alive in an hour's time—The very sight of you wou'd satisfy him, and then he would die contented.

What shall I do?—

Nay, don't hesitate at performing a chari­table action.

[Page 55]

Well, well—You have persuaded me.

Ah, you are a sweet, good Lady, and I hope will be rewarded for your tenderness—Then, you promise to come immediately?

I do.

Blessings on that complying countenance!—Could I but live to see you married to my wish, I should then be a happy woman!

So! so!—These eyes of mine will be brought in guilty of murder!—Well! I am certainly an unaccountable mortal—Though my heart feels the most delicate touches of sensibility, yet, this love of admiration hurries me, unthinkingly, into a thousand errors—Positively, I will reform—Ay, but how?—Why, marry—Oh, lud, the cure would be worse than the disease—And yet, was Sedley my doctor, I think he cou'd qualify the bitter portion—In [...], I'm absolutely determined—on—what? To be as good as I can.

Talk not of danger, my sweet girl! who could be separated from you so long, and not pur­chase such precious moments at any risque?

O dear! what a bounce my heart gave when I saw you—I'm frightened out of my wits at your rashness—If my Mamma catches us, we are undone for ever.

You need not fear, Miss, your Mamma's in too great a concatenation herself, tomind you; and she has sent all the servants out, about one fribalous thing, or other—However, to make sure, I'll stand centry myself for you, so make good use of your time, you young rogues.

My impatience would not let me wait the success of a scheme I had concerted with Sedley, this [Page 56]morning; I was resolved to see you, so made use of my key of the gate at the end of the lane, to let myself into the garden, from whence I slipt up the back stairs.

You are too venturesome, yet, I'm glad you are come to my relief—My Mamma insists posi­tively upon my marrying your Uncle to-night.

I know it, my angel, but we will disap­point her, if you'll consent to let me convey you to a place where we may be united beyond the power of separation.

I would run any hazard to avoid so hateful a union—And, yet, Woodford, should you behave unkindly to me, when I'm under your protection, it would break my heart.

He must be a villain indeed, who could wrong such innocence—No, rely upon my truth and honour—Let me but lead you from hence, now we have this favourable opportunity, and before we are missed, I hope we shall be far enough out of the reach of a pursuit.

With all my heart—For, to confess the truth, I should like to be run away with into Scot­land above all things—O lud! it will be so pleasant, so spirited, so fashionable, and make such a noise in the world!—Why, 'tis the very thing I have been wishing for, ever since I thought of marriage.

I am happy to find you so readily approve of it.

O dear! there is nothing gives a girl the air of consequence an elopement does—To have one's name bandied about in all the newspapers in the king­dom, with "We hear, that yesterday morning, the only daughter of Lady Younglove eloped with a young gentleman of family, and great expectations—They were immediately pursued by the young Lady's relations, out in vain—The guardian pow­ers of love and beauty had taken them under their [Page 57]protection—Phaeton lent them his chariot, Cupid was the winged Charioteer, and Hymen on the op­posite banks of the Tweed, with open arms, wel­comed them into the dominions of joy and happi­ness!"

My charming girl!—How your words animate me—I hope the event will prove equal to our most sanguine expectations—But, let us not waste the precious moments—Come, and—

Stay, stay, not so hasty—Let me descend a little from my heroics to the level of common sense—Stop here a few moments, while I just step up stairs for some of my best cloaths.

No, no, my dear, we shall have no occa­sion for them.

Ah, but I'm afraid we shall tho'—And if I can slip into my mamma's closet, I'll steal some of her jewels out.

Not for the world—You are the only jewel I wish to possess—Let us deal honourably, and trust to her generosity for the future.

Then I'm afraid you'll trust to a broken reed.

No matter, my love, we will put it to the test—I am sensible of the great hazard we both run by this precipitate step, which nothing, but the fear of losing you for ever, could urge me to—You, per­haps, have not considered it so seriously.

Why no, truly, I seldom consider about the matter—Reflection I know, will come time enough afterwards.

Then can you, my rose-bud, in case your mamma is not reconciled to us, relinquish all hopes of a coach, with every other attendant on polite life, and be content to live in a cottage with love and me?

I must own, that I should like a coach pro­digiously, but then I like you better—And if gran­deur is only to be purchased at the expence of hap­piness, [Page 58]a sig for it, and every other fine thing—Do you continue but to love me, and I shall be as happy as the day is long.

My generous girl! whilst I have life, it shall be my study ro repay such obligations—Come, let us go down the back stairs, and proceed to Sed­ley's, where I have a chaise waiting for us.

Oh, undone! undone!—Here's your un­cle, Sir Whiffling Trifle, and a French gentleman along with him, coming up stairs.

Zounds! how unfortunate!

Oh, quite misfortunate indeed!

O, dear! what will become of us?

Is there no place to hide me in?

O none, Sir, except you creep up the chim­ney, and so on to the top of the next house.

Well, I am resolved—Frippery, leave the room directly.

Yes, Sir, O lud, O lud!

Don't be alarmed, my dear,—follow me, and fear nothing.

So, Monsieur Finesse, you really think my Mu­seum contains more curiosities than—Hey, Mr. Woodford! in the name of all that's wonderful, what brought you here?

A design, Sir Whiffling, which your com­ing has unluckily interrupted, though not prevented—Let me beg of you therefore, to entertain Mon­sieur Finesse with the remainder of your invaluable curiosities, while I attend your niece down stairs.

I am astonished!—Hold, hold, Sir! you may go when, and where you please, but my niece shall not stir.

[Page 59]

You see, Sir Whif­fling, all resistance is in vain.

Help! murder! help!

Not so loud, as you value your life.

For pity's sake, Monsieur, draw and as­sist me.

Pardonnez moy, Monsieur, I beg to be ex­cuse.

Lookee, Sir Whiffling, if you offer to molest me before I'm down stairs, and out of doors, the conse­quences may be fatal—Remember that caution as you regard your safety.

Do you think they are down stairs yet?

No, Monsieur, wait a leatle bit longer.

Draw your sword, and see if they be gone.

To oblige you, I vill draw my sword, but, je vous demande pardon, I have more politesse dan to go before in your own house.

Hush!—I believe we may venture now—Come, follow me then.

Oui, Monsieur, I shall take de great care not to go first.

My dear Lady, I have impatiently expected you.

How does his Lordship?

Just alive, that's all.

Then there's no occasion for my dis­turbing him.

The greatest in the world—He cannot die in peace till he has seen you.

[Page 60]

I wish our interview was over—You'll be sure to stay all the time in the room with me.

Certainly—Nay, don't hesitate but let me lead you to him.

My Lord!—My Lord!—'Tis all over—My Lord!

Oh!—disturb me not—let me expire in quiet—'Tis not my charmer's voice.

Still raving on you.—My sweet Lord, com­pose yourself—I have brought Miss Bloomer to take a last farewell.

I am very faint—Ah, Madam, would I had strength to thank you for this favour!

Be composed, my Lord—I am hear­tily sorry for your misfortune, and that I was the in­nocent occasion of it.

I bless the hour, since it has procured me this satisfaction—I am weak with the loss of blood—Might I intreat you to come a little nearer—

Do, my dear Miss Bloomer, sit down here—His Lordship cannot speak loud.

I have but few moments to spare—On that table, Madam, lies my will, properly attested—In it you will find the respect I have entertained for you.

Pray, my Lord, excuse me, and give it to those who better deserve it.

By my faith, he will not, so no more words.

I have but one request to make, and then—I die composed.

Name it, my Lord,

[Page 61]

That you might be legally mine, and—

My lord!

And after my death, without interruption, quietly to enjoy my title as well as fortune.

I am greatly obliged to your Lordship, but give me leave positively, to decline both.

Nay, now, Miss Bloomer, I really think you are very wrong—Consider, what an advantage it will be to you.

I despise advantages obtained in such a manner.

Indeed, you are too delicate—It will be a public and honourable testimony of his love and gratitude.

I desire no such testimonies, and, if that was your design, you'll find you've lost your aim.

Can you refuse such a trifling, momentary satisfaction to a man who is just leaving the world?

Can you be so inhuman, to load a man just leaving the world, with such a weight as matrimony?

Come, all this is feigned—You must and shall be Lady Flamwell—the Chaplain is waiting without—I'll call him in, and he'll soon run over the words—Here, Mr. Ty'em,—walk in, walk in!

Mrs. Fashion!—Stay!—What do you mean by using me thus?—I'll leave your house instantly.

Are the parties ready?

No, Sir—Have a care what you are about—If you dare proceed a step further in this affair, you shall be made a public example of.

[Page 62]

My gentle Lady, can you suffer me to die in despair?

My ungentle Lord! I am not to be trick'd in this manner—Cease your idle solicitations.

Not but with my life—Your cruelty has given me new vigor

And thus I seize my happiness.

Hold off!—What! have I been de­ceiv'd!—ensnar'd!—'Tis plain—Villain!—who are you?

A man, Madam, who is resolved to make a proper use of this advantage—Come, Madam, you have no time for deliberation—Either this moment let me make you honourably mine, or—necessity will compel me to make use of force to oblige you.

Monster! I detest you, and despise your threats!—Dare not for your life, Sir, to bar my way.

Verily, you are righteously joined together, and I am ready to affirm, that the ceremony is per­formed.

How am I beset!

You must comply—There is no possibility of escaping.

Help! murder! help!

'Tis all in vain.

Help! help! for heaven's sake!

Hold, miscreants! or this moment is your last.

Look to the Lady, she faints—

Look to the gentleman here, first—He seems to be in the worst condition.

What a scene of horror!—Dear Woodford, [Page 63]do you secure that wicked woman without, while I assist Miss Bloomer.

I will, and as I shall take your advice in restoring Flora to her mother, will leave Mrs. Fa­shion in the hands of these worthy gentlemen, and wait at your house for your return.

O, Sedley! is it to you that I am in­debted for this providential rescue?—'Tis doubly, doubly welcome.

I am sorry, Madam, that I cannot return the compliment—Mr. Constable, conduct these vil­lains to your own house, till they are properly ex­amined.

Yes, Sir—Come along, my lads, don't be so down-hearted—You are not so bad now as you will be, that's some comfort—The gallows, you know, never can come out of season to you, and so, better late than never.

O, my curst fortune!—Yes, now I see I shall cut a distinguishing figure in the world!

When we last parted, Miss Bloomer, little did I expect we should have met in such a manner—Give me leave to ask, what am I to judge from your appearance here?

The truth—that I was innocently decoyed here, by the wicked woman who keeps this house.

Fain, fain would I believe so, did not other parts of your conduct contradict it.

My conduct, Sir, though faulty in this particular, is in every other respect irreproach­able.

I should be happy indeed, Madam, if you could prove it.

Surprizing!—What right have you, Sir, to call my actions in question?

None, Madam, none—The busy world has done it for you.

[Page 64]

Know, Sir, I rely on my own inte­grity, and despise what you or the world can say of me.

It too plainly appears, Madam, that you have not the least regard for either.

Good heavens! but I will be calm—I see your artifice, you poorly seek an excuse for your own inconstancy—The oaths, the vows, the sighs you so long offered up to me, are now trans­ferred to a more amiable, and deserving object—Lady Younglove, Sir, has sent me an invitation of the kindest nature—

I know it, Madam—Too long have I dan­gled in the train of a Coquette, but I am at last convinced, that the levity of your conduct, forbids me ever to hope the least happiness, with a woman of your gaiety.

Burst, burst, swelling bosom, ere I give you vent.

O, Sir, you are convinced at last—'Tis very well, Sir,—I am satisfied—perfectly satisfied—Then you give me up for ever.

For ever, Madam, by heaven!

Cruel, ungenerous, Sedley!—What have I done to deserve this insult?—especially from you, who of all men, I am least able to bear it from.

Tears! my heart can hold no longer—Madam, Miss Bloomer!—Heaven is my witness, I bleed to wound you thus—I love you! I adore you!—Had I millions they should be yours—But, what can I say?—Thus circumstanced, I am compelled, dear as I love, to bid you eternally farewell—Yet, though I am wretched, compleatly wretched, may the guardian powers of love and innocence, wait on your footsteps, shadow you with their wings, and conduct you to that happiness you have deprived me of.

Stay, rash man, stay—My pride for­bids [Page 65]me to stoop to a vindication—Yet, my weakness confesses, that had it not been for your present be­haviour, I should have preferred you before all the men I ever saw—'Till this moment I knew not half the power you had over me—Yes, cruel Sedley, en­joy that triumph, but at the same time know, I will, if possible, tear your image from my breast, and bury myself where I may never hear your name mentioned.

Hold, my charming angel!—By heaven you shall not go—Thus on my knees

let me intreat for pardon—Forgive the man, who doats on you to distraction, who lives but in your smiles—Abhorred be my tongue for thus wantonly wounding your sensibility, and uttering what my heart dis­claims.

I am astonished!—And, are you really not engaged to Lady Younglove?

By all the powers of love, I am not, nor ever will be—'Twas all an artifice, to serve my friend, and try the strength of your affection—If you refuse my hand, never shall it be the lifeless property of another.

Generous man! I am not worthy of you!—No, Sedley, virtues like yours deserve infi­nitely more than I am able to bestow.

Say not so, my beauteous girl!—You must, you shall be mine—My happiness is centered in you—Blest be the fortunate accident that thus luckily revealed I was not indifferent to you.

And doubly blest let it be, since it has opened my eyes, and shewn me the glaring impropriety of my former conduct—What a dread­ful precipice have I escaped!—How have I—But, my future life best shall speak my sense of the past—Here let me seriously renounce all former follies—Never from this hour, will I be guilty of them—You have at last effectually compleated the arduous [Page 66]task you so long pursued—REFORMED A COQUETTE—And now, if you dare—take her for your pains.

O transport inexprssible!—Am I at last rewarded!

Hey-day! may I believe my eyes!—Here's a change indeed!—Embraching!

O, my dear girl! I am glad you are come.

Really, so am I.—Your humble ser­vant, Mr. Proteus, I am pleased to find you in such spirits—Not an hour ago, you was the resolute de­termined hero—No, no, Madam, I can love with­out being blind.

True, Madam, and without being entirely so; where could I six, but on so deserving an object? You seem surprized: let us adjourn to Lady Young­love's, and in our way thither, I'll let you into my whole design.

Here, take my hand—My heart has not been so much at ease a long time—And, if girls were but wise enough to consult their own happiness, instead of their trisling with fools and coxcombs, they would seek for it where it can only be found—In the arms of men of sense, and virtue.

ACT V.

UPON my word, Miss, this is the most oddest affair I was ever extricated in during the whole current of my life—After getting so artificially off as you did, for Mr. Sedley to dissuade your lovyer to return you to your mamma again, instead of flou­rishing away to Scotland without redemption—Well! I own its above my compacity to find out.

Ay, or mine either—I'm sure, I never looked so foolish in all my life, as when I found we were not to be married.

And well you might, Miss, to have all your schemes confisticated in such a manner.

And then, Frippery, to be disappointed of such a delightful jaunt, and exposed to the ridicule of all one's acquaintance—'Tis, enough to make me cry my eyes out.

Ay, my dear, so it is—And, pray, what end did he impose by this wise scheme?

Why, as by such a precipitate step we should entirely forfeit the favour of his uncle, and my mamma, without the least chance of recovery, he persuaded Woodford to wait the issue of a scheme which he is going to execute immediately—For my part, if it does succeed, I shall lose half the plea­sure I expected in being married in Scotland.

You are right, Miss, and speak the sensa­tions of most of the girls who go there—Why, I might have been married three years ago to Mr. Scraper, Lord Supple's footman, but that we could not raise [Page 68]money enough between us to get there, and I was determined never to follow the vulgar fashion, of be­ing asked in church.

So, my pretty runaway Miss! I have you safe once more, thanks to Mr. Sedley, and shall take care to keep you so.

Perhaps you may be mistaken

It is mighty well, mamma, but you would not like to be served so yourself.

Go, hussey, you are a pert spoiled girl—Now, Frippery, after this last generous act of Mr. Sedley's, I think, I can't have the least doubt of his sincerity, truth, and tenderness.

Doubt, Madam! it would be downright fi­delity even to inspect him of such a thing.

How tediously the lazy minutes drawl, to a heart impatient of its bliss like mine!—Frip­pery, do you think I am elegantly enough dressed for my bridal day?

Elegant, my Lady!—Why, you are the very moral of gentility—Your new cork-rump be­comes you mightily—And Mr. Friz, the hair-dresser, [...] your head is now at least half a foot higher [...] the handsome Duchess's.

I am glad of it—O, the dear, sweet [...]!—He promised to be here about this time—I [...] he was come—My patience is almost exhausted, [...] I tremble left any accident should rob me of my expected happiness.

If she should be disappointed now.

I warrant your Ladyship need not fear—No, no, Mr. Sedley is too much of a gentleman to refuse you any thing.

My beauteous widow!

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My long expected love!

I wish my mamma would not be quite so fond before company.

My dear Lady, I have been obliged to trespass on your patience, in order to bring these witnesses of my happiness.

Ay, ay, widow, we have crowded all the sail we could to be in at the first broadside, and now, as we all seem in the line, suppose we hoist the signal for engaging?

With all my heart, Captain, the sooner, the better.

Bravely spoken, and I'll answer, that you'll not be the first to cry out quarter.

Oh, Miss Bloomer! I am happy to see you—My dear, this is an unexpected favour—Well, now, after your known partiality for Sedley, can you forgive his infidelity to you?—I protest it gives me pain to rob you of such a sweet man.

Your Ladyship is too good—I should be vain indeed, were I to pretend to dispute a heart with one of your Ladyship's age and experience.

Ha! ha! ha! very pleasant—And yet, I really wonder, what the men can see in me so to follow and admire—Especially, when they sacrifice such youth and beauty—But, I hope no bad consequences will follow your disappointment—No hanging, or drowning—O lud! I positively will give up all thoughts of him, sooner than be the death of any person.

What a malicious devil.

I hope, Madam, I have now removed every shadow of doubt which your Ladyship might have entertained of my sincerity.

Entirely, Sir, entirely—And, in or­der to convince the world of my disinterested love for so deserving an object—Previous to the cere­mony, which is to make me happy for ever—there [Page 70]is a deed of gift—

—properly attested, of half my fortune at present, and, the other half at my death.

My dear Lady, what can I say to such un­bounded, such unmerited proofs of your goodness?

Say! zounds, man, say nothing—The wi­dow had rather be thanked in deed than in word.

I am afraid, Captain, it is not in my power to please the Lady either way.

O fie, Mr. Sedley, don't think so—I assure you I am not the unreasonable woman you take me for.

I am glad of it, Madam, as I must speedily put you to the trial.

I think, Sir, I can stand any trial you'll please to make.

I wish we may find it so, Madam—By your misplaced, and with justice I may say, ridiculous in­clination, my Lady, for I cannot call it love, you have been so far blindly infatuated, as to make me sole master of your fortune without reserve—

How!—Am I awake?

Faith, I believe not—But, there seems a storm rising that will quickly call all hands to work.

Well! I declare this is charming!

I am above making an improper use of such an advantage—I designed at first, but to serve my friend, and now my end is fully answered—Give me leave therefore, in the presence of this good com­pany, to restore these writings to their just owner.

Oh, I shall faint! this is too much, too much to bear!

Poor mamma! So, it is indeed, to lose both money and husband—Sir, I have not words to thank you as I ought.

Am I betrayed then!—You base de­luder! villain!

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Ha! ha! ha! I hope your Ladyship will forgive his infidelity to you—I protest it gives me pain to rob you of such a sweet man.

Confusion! are all my ravishing dreams of happiness come to this!—Oh, the incon­stancy of mankind! there's neither love, faith, truth, or honour amongst them.

But, I hope, no bad consquences will follow your disappointment—No hanging, or drowning—O lud! I positively will give up all thoughts of him, sooner than be the death of any person.

Come, my Lady, forgive this innocent ar­tifice, and look upon me as your best friend—You might have fallen a dupe to some designing villain—who, taking advantage of your weakness, would have ruined your family, and entailed perpetual misery on yourself.

So! we are all run on a lee shore, here!—Why, widow, you have kept a devilish bad reckon­ing—But I thought how it would be—As for your generosity, Mr. Sedley, in favour of my little cock­boat, why, I heartily thank you—And, as soon as the parson can tip us a cocket, we'll steer away for matrimony harbour, directly.

I'm afraid, Captain, wind and tide are so much against you, that you'll hardly be able to reach the port this trip.

How's this!—Do you refuse to take con­voy too?

No, provided I chuse my confort—I'm sure, if I kept company with you, I should soon be obliged to take you in tow.

Whew!

Here's a fresh gale sprung up!

I think, Captain, you have kept a bad reckoning.

And now, Woodford, thanks to Mr. Sed­ley's [Page 72]generosity, I have it in my power to manifest my love—Here, take my hand, my fortune's more than sufficient to enable us to live happily, though not splendidly—But, were it not, be assured, I would chearfully prefer poverty and a cottage, with the ob­ject of my choice, before riches and the most splen­did palace with the man I dislike.

Right, Madam, the temple of Hymen was reared by virtue, and only occasionally embel­lished by Plutus.—Captain, I am sure, if you seri­ously consider every thing, you will soon be of the young Lady's mind.

May-hap not, for when I am resolved on doing any thing, I never think about the matter.

Dear uncle, make my happiness complete by restoring me to your favour—Recollect what a cruel constraint you were putting upon both our in­clinations.

And, you young dog, do you recollect what a cruel constraint you are putting upon mine?

I know, Captain, you are a noble-spirited, worthy-hearted Briton—Only reflect, with such a great disparity of years and temper, what a ridicu­lous figure you must make united to so blooming a girl.

Ay, for all the world, like David and Abishag, in our old tapestry hangings.

Come, be generous, and act like yourself—Fill up the marriage settlements with your nephew's name, instead of your own, and receive the thanks, nay, the blessings of the young couple, for so lau­dable an act.

Upon my knees, uncle, let me beg—

Rise, you land spaniel—When did you ever see a seaman in such a posture?—Had it been for a brother tar, why, I should not have held council about it.

Well! it is some comfort, to find others in the same situation with myself.

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So! after rigging myself out for a cruize to the unknown islands, my orders are countermand­ed, I am to be dock'd, and laid up for life, as unfit for service.

Why, an please your honour, I do think your works are too much damaged, to venture out to sea again—You'd certainly founder in the first storm.

Do you think so, Swab?—Then let us tack about, and alter our course—Come hither, nephew, I forgive you what's past—You shall go master in my stead, and here are bills of freight and lading for the voyage—But, harkee, as you are a young sea­man, take my advice—Don't crowd too much sail, or you'll be apt to overset.

Never fear, uncle, I'll steer by your di­rection—your goodness to me on this occasion—

No fair-weather speeches, but mind your business—And, d'ye hear, boy, by way of encou­ragement to serve his Majesty, you shall have a thou­sand pounds bounty money for every young volun­teer you produce, as soon as ever they are able to cry, Huzza! King George and his navy for ever—Ay, damme! tho' you should have above the royal dozen!

There spoke the true spirit of a British seaman.

What say you. Widow?—As we both have been a couple of ridiculous old fools, to make a­mends, will you join with me, and do the same?

Do the same, Captain?—I did not rightly understand you—You have not, surely, any notion of paying your addresses to me?

To you!—Avast there, sheer off——No, sooner than be tack'd to such a spit-fire, I'd turn a gun into my powder-room, and blow myself up.

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A monster!—A savage bear!—Fit only for Greenland!

Well! a Greenland bear is better than a Lapland witch, at any time.

Come along, Frippery—The men have neither eyes, ears, or understanding!

Ay, ay, let her have sea-room enough, or she'll run foul of some of you.

Please your honour, since you are sharing the prize-money, I hope you'll not be angry if I put in my claim?

What wind blows now?

A fair gale, your honour; if I can but press yon painter tender into service.

Oh, are you in that quarter?—Have you a mind to desert your commander in distress?

No, your honour, never while I have life—, she seems a neat tight-sailing thing, and her upper works are in such nice order, that I should like, of all things, to go master.

But, hearkee, have you hail'd her yet, to know whether she'd chuse to take you on board?

Why, no, your honour; I'm too good a seaman to launch out on so long a cruize without my commander's leave.

Well, then, Swab, if that's the case, after her directly, and bring her too as soon as possible.

I warrant your honour; to give a good ac­count of her—He must stand many a hard broadside that takes her from me.

Hey day! here's a Venetian galley, and a whole squadron of Turkish cruizers in full chace of her.

True, Captain, I have been oblig'd to ran for it, and glad to find this harbour open.

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Say you so, then let me stand in—I'll soon make them tack about, and sheer off.

No occasion, Captain, I'll stand my ground now, and face them—Well, good folks, I see by those smiles that are seated on your counte­nances, that every thing is happily settled—I give you joy—I met these gentlemen in my way hither, they would not believe me, so are come to receive their dismission from your own lips.

Is this true, my dear girl, that you have the inhumanity to be the death of all my hopes?

And can you, Miss Bloomer, behold my sufferings without a touch of pity?

The time has been, gentlemen, when I could have play'd on your follies, and encou­raged them with the highest pleasure—At present, I am disposed to be more serious—Therefore, in a word, I beg I may not be honoured with your ad­dresses more, as you may rest assured, that I never will give you, or any others, the least encourage­ment.

And this, my dear, is your positive reso­lution?

Positive.

Upon my soul, my dear, I am sorry for your taste—But to shew you how fashionably easy I am, under my disappointment—May elegance re­nounce me, if I ever ask you again—So, ladies and gentlement, wishing you all happiness, I have the honour, sans ceremonie, to remain, till my latest moments, your most devoted humble servant.

Ha! ha! ha!—As to you, Sir Whif­ling, I hope your philosophy will teach you to bear this event with equal resignation.

O, I'll answer for my uncle——Give him another antedeluvian cockle-shell, and he'll renounce the sex for ever.

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Not so pert, Miss—Madam, your frankness charms me—I begin to perceive that I de­serve ridicule for the folly of my pursuits—But, to shew you, that, tho' I am old, I am not incorrigi­ble, I'll from this moment bid adieu to all thoughts of love, and devote the remainder of my life to more noble studies than either brickbats, cinders, or mutilated statues.

Now, Belgrove, are not these genu­ine fruits of reformation?

Ha! Monsieur Finesse, come back—Why in such a hurry?

Je demande pardon for my intrusion—You be upon de private business—Je revendrai demain, I'll come again to-morrow.

No, Sir, the present time will do better—Hearkee, villain! what motive cou'd induce you to destroy my peace, by your infamous misrepresentations of Miss Bloomer?—No evasion, wretch!

or this moment shall be your last.

O dear Sir! prenez garde!—Con­sider how soon you may frighten a pauvre French­man out of his wits.

What, my admirer, Monsieur Finesse, is it to you I am so much indebted?

Ah, Madame! have pitie!—I confesse, I have been von grand rogue—But, je vous en sup­plie—I beseech you to forgive me.

Rise!—A moment's reflection shews me that you are a wretch beneath my resentment.

I'l est vrai—It is true. indeed, Sir.

Hearkee, suppose we tar and feather him, and then send him home to his own country, to par­lez vous with his relations.

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By no means, Captain—But, hence from my sight, let me never see you more.

Vous me faites trop d' honneur—You do me too much honour.

The Frenchman, of character and probity, I admire and esteem—Virtue is not confin'd to clime or complexion, its radient emanations illumine every nation—Yet still, I would not fashionably encourage the resuse of foreign countries, while native merit lies buried in oblivion.

So, Captain, you and I seem the only disconsolate, unprovided creatures in the whole group—We certainly should make a match of it, to com­plete the evening's entertainment.

No, no, fair Lady, you have some other land in view—As for me—But, no more of what's past—Let us enjoy the present moments.

And look forward, uncle, to those scenes of bliss which open to our view.

True, Boy, and as this seems but a bad harbour to anchor long in, let us all steer away for my cabin, where you shall have the best cheer an old bachelor can give, and as hearty a welcome as the bravest sailor in the navy.

We accept your offer, Captain, happy in having our adventures brought to so agreeable a con­clusion—I only beg leave to remark—That though our follies and vices justly deserve the comic lash—Yet, when, instead of persevering, we nobly ac­knowledge our errors, and amend—Satire then loses her sting, our foibles turn to virtues, and, the most permanent felicity arises from THE MISTAKES OF THE HEART.