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ever too hard for me till now.-Oh, Jerry! child, wilt thou vex the mother, that bore thee?

Jer. Ay, for bearing me before wedlock, as you say but I will teach you to call a Blackacre a bastard, though you are never so much my mother.

Mrs Black. Well, I am undone! not one trick left! Cruel sir, a word with you, I pray.

Free. In vain, madam; you have no way to release yourself now, but by the bonds of matri

mony.

Mrs Black. How, sir, how! matrimony! that were but to sue out an habeas corpus, for a removal from one prison to another.

Free. Bailiffs, away with her!

Mrs Black. Oh, stay, sir! can you be so cruel as to bring me under covert baron again, and put it out of my power to sue in my own name? but I see, sir, your aim in all this; and, if you think proper, to make us both easy, I will, out of my jointure, secure you an annuity of three hundred pounds a year, and pay your debts; and that's all you younger brothers desire to marry a widow for, I am sure.

Free. Now, madam, you are come to the point I wanted to bring you to: but you shall find I will not be behind hand with you in generosity; I believe I need not tell you, widow, that I have suffered some injuries from your family, and there is now an estate in it, which lawfully and honestly belongs to me.

Mrs Black. Why, sir, I do remember something, and if you will be so good as to let me speak to my attorney

Free. As for that, madam, there is no occasion-the land in question brings in about four hundred pounds a year; secure me that, and your person and your son, you are welcome to dispose of as you please.

Jer. What! I hope, master guardian, you are not making agreements without me!

Free. No, no. First, widow, you must say no more, that he is a bastard; have a care of that: and then he must have a settled exhibition of one hundred pounds a year, and a nag of assizes, kept by you, but not upon the common.

Mrs Black. Well, I can grant all this. Jer. Aye, aye, fair words butter no cabbage: but, guardian, make her sign-sign and seal; or otherwise, if you knew her as well as I, you would not trust her word for a farthing.

Free. I warrant you, 'squire. Come, my lawyer, with writings ready drawn, is within, and in haste.

Mrs Black. Make a rule against me! a paltry jackanapes! [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-OLIVIA's house. OLIVIA Seated at a table, with candles, and a small cabinet. Oliv. Sure, no intrigue was ever attended with so many odd circumstances as this of mine: I al

ways knew Varnish was a silly fellow, but I thought he had too much experience to mistake a man for a woman. I am glad I picked a quarrel with Eliza, however; because, now, people will never believe I was in her power, but take for malice whatever she may say to my disadvantage. But 'tis just the hour I appointed my young sailor. And, as if my husband had not committed blunders enough already, he is again conveniently gone out of town, to give me a better opportunity of entertaining him: but I married him for a convenience. Hold, don't I hear somebody treading softly along the passage!

Enter FIDELIA, through the back scene.
Who's there? my dear!
Fide. My life!

Oliv. Well, this is kind; now, I think, you really love me, because you are punctual to your assignation. I was afraid the misadventure, when you was here last, would have frightened you from coming any more; and then I should have been so unhappy

Fide. Why, really, madam, I was under some apprehensions.

Oliv. Go, you little coward! you a son of Neptune, and talk of fear! but stay, I'll lock the door, though there be no occasion for it, but to keep out your fears, and those ugly fits you tel me you are subject to.

Man. [At the door.] You have impudence enough to give me fits, and make revenge still impotent.

Oliv. What do you say?
Fide. Madam!

Oliv. I thought I heard you speak-come-sit down here-what makes you so pensive? Fide. I am thinking, madam, if your husband should surprise us again!

Oliv. There's no danger; he's ten miles out of town by this time; however, don't mention his name, lest it should prove ominous.

Fide. Well, but wont you give me the satisfaction of telling you how I abused him last?

Oliv. I have heard enough of it: I hate any discourse, when he, or Manly, must be part of the subject. No, let me rather resume the conversation I began yesterday—Are you willing to go off with me?

Fide. Whither, madam?

Oliv. Any where-to Lapland, or India—I repeat it once more-I have a sufficient fortune to make us happy. [Trampling without. Fide. Hist! don't I hear a noise? Oliv. No, no. [Trampling. Fide. Pray, madam, listen: I am sure I hear the motion of feet upon the stairs.

Oliv. I tell you it is no such thing. [Trampling. Fide. Hark! it grows louder.

Oliv. Be silent, then-there's somebody tampering with the lock of the door. Step gently this way-[VARNISH speaks within]-Death and

confusion, 'tis my husband! I heard him speak | Varnish! Are you the happy man?--You! You! to the footboy-he has sent him round to bar-Speak, I say-But your guilty silence tells me the garden gate. all. Well, I will not upbraid you; let your own reflections be your punishment-Fare ye well, sir!

Fide. I thought, madam, your husband was out of town, you said.

Oliv. No, no, 'tis he. Fool that I was, to trust in his pretended ignorance, or think his reconcilement real! he has laid this train purposely for my undoing. He has stopt the only passage we could get out by; and I know his revengeful temper so well, if he finds us here, he'll murder us. Let us escape your way by the balcony here, take this cabinet, it contains jewels and bank notes to a considerable value; here, put out the candles, while I go into the next room and pull down the curtains.

Enter MANLY.

[Erit.

Fide. This cabinet, I believe, is yours, sir. Man. It is mine now, indeed; and shall never escape from me again, at least to her.

Fide. Did you ever hear such a wretch, sir? Man. A wretch! why she makes love like a devil in a play. But she wanted to elope with you, sir; you never told me that!

Fide. Oh, sir, I have not told you half her wickedness; [loud noise] but they are breaking open the door. What shall I do, sir?

Man. Stay where you are, and fear nothing. Now we shall see who this happy man is she calls

husband.

Enter VARNISH.

Var. With much labour and forcing, I have atI last gained admittance: but now, to find out the occasion of all this privacy and barricading-I heard people talk in the room, I am sure-Ha! what's here?

Man. Sword and dark lantern, villain, are some odds; however, I believe I shall be able to deal with you-don't be frightened, my little volunteer.

Fide. Only for your life, sir.

Var. Damnation! two at once-but I'll make sure of one of them at least.

Fide. Murder! help! murder!

Enter OLIVIA, and then FREEMAN, LORD PLAU-
SIBLE, and NOVEL.

Free. Look yonder, captain, to the volunteer; he is hurt, and I believe fainting.

Fide. No, sir, 'tis only my fright, not yet well over: I shall recover here in the next room. Man. My boy hurt?

Enter MRS BLACKACRE and JERRY,

Mrs Black. I dare swear there is something going forward contrary to the statute; and as, in that remarkable case, Stokes plaintiff, against Jenkins and other defendants-But I'll take minutes; for perhaps one side or other may chuse to bring it into the courts.

Jer. Well, my mother will never let the law alone, I see that; for when she's at a loss for wherewithal to go herself, she's for setting other people at it.

Man. Oh Heaven!-Freeman, come here!
Free. How now? What's the matter?
Man. More miracles still-The volunteer's a
woman!

All. A woman!

Fide. Dear captain, spare my blushes; yet, wherefore should I be ashamed of a virtuous and generous passion? Yes, I am a woman, I own it; and, through love for the worthiest of men, have attempted to follow him in this disguise; partly out of fear to disclose my sentiments, for knew of his engagements to that lady; and the constancy of his nature, which nothing but herself could have changed.

Man. Dear madam, I desired you to bring me out of confusion, and you have given me more: I know not what to speak to, or how to look upon you; the sense of my rough and ill usage gives me more pain, now it is over, than you felt when you suffered it: but, if my affections, once prostituted to such a woman

Oliv. My breast burns with fury, indignation, disdain, and must have vent. Coxcomb, idiot, brute! But think not long to triumph, for I go to have such vengeance on ye

L. Plau. Madam, will you permit me the honour of your fair hand? Oliv. What means this uproar? Distraction! Oliv. Take it. [Strikes him, and Erit. my husband has got in! then we shall have mur- Nov. Ha, ha, ha! There's for your gentleder indeed. Oh stay, you must not kill one una-man-ushership, my lord! Well, what do you ble to defend himself! lights! lights! think of her now? Did not I always tell you she was a jilt?

Enter footboy, with lights.

Man. Now, sir, where are you? Freeman, look to the door.-Hold, my dearest, after so much kindness past between us, I cannot part with you yet-Freeman, let no body out; for, notwithstanding your lights, we are still in the dark, till this gentleman turns his face-How!

L. Plau. Take it from me, Mr Novel, she's a lady of great virtue and delicacy; though, indeed, I could not have believed her fingers to have been quite so hard.

Mrs Black. But, pray, captain Manly, word with you. Is not this my cousin Olivia's house and furniture? And do you eject her,

seize on her goods and chattels vi et armis? Ecod, if I was she, I'd make demand-bring my

trover.

Man. Good Mrs Blackacre, be pacified; if your cousin had her deserts, the law would be her greatest enemy. And now, madam, let me beg of you to accept of this, and, with it, my heart; both, I confess, too small a recompense for your merit; for you deserve the Indian world, and I would go thither, out of covetousness, for your sake.

Fide. Your heart, sir, is a present of that value, I can never make any return for it: but I can give you back such a present as this, which I got by the death of my father, a gentleman of the north, whose only child I was; [gives paper.] therefore left me in the present possession of 2000l. a year. The name of my family is Grey; my other, Fidelia; the rest of my story you shall know, when I have fewer auditors.

Man. Nay, madam, you now take from me all power of making you any compliment on my part. I was going to tell you, that, on your account only, I would forego the pleasures of a retirement I have long wished for, and be reconciled again to the world, which was grown odious to me but if I should, I doubt my friend here would say it was your estate made me friends with it.

Free. I must confess I should; for I think most of our quarrels to the world are just such as we sometimes have to a handsome woman, only because she won't grant us as many favours as we could wish.

Man. Nay, if you are a Plain Dealer, too, give me your hand; and, for your two sakes, though I have been so lately deceived in both sexes, I will believe there are still in the world good-natured friends who are not prostitutes, and handsome women worthy to be friends. [Exeunt omnes.

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Scene-A gallery in LORD TOUCHWOOD's house, with chambers adjoining.

ACT I

SCENE I-A gallery in LORD TOUCHWOOD'S

house, with chambers adjoining.

Enter CARELESS, crossing the stage, with his hat, gloves, and sword in his hands, as just risen from table; MELLEFONT following him.

Mel. NED, Ned, whither so fast! What, turned flincher! Why, you will not leave us?

Care. Where are the women? I am weary of guzzling, and begin to think them the better company.

Mel. Then thy reason staggers, and thou art almost drunk.

Care. No, faith, but your fools grow noisy; and, if a man must endure the noise of words

without sense, I think the women have more musical voices, and become nonsense better.

Mel. Why, they are at the end of the gallery, retired to their tea and scandal, according to their ancient custom after dinner. But I made a pretence to follow you, because I had something to say to you in private, and I am not like to have many opportunities this evening.

Care. And here is this coxcomb most critically come to interrupt you.

Enter BRISK.

Brisk. Boys, boys, lads, where are you? What, do you give ground? Mortgage for a bottle, ha? Careless, this is your trick; you are always spoiling company by leaving it.

Care. And thou art always spoiling company | noise and impertinence keep my Lady Touchby coming into it. wood's head from working: for hell is not more busy than her brain, nor contains more devils than that imaginations.

Brisk. Pooh, ha, ha, ha! I know you envy me. Spite, proud spite, by the gods! and burning envy. I'll be judged by Mellefont here, who gives and takes raillery better, you or I. Pshaw, man; when I say you spoil company by leaving it, I mean you leave nobody for the company to laugh at. I think there I was with you, ha! Mellefont?

Mel. O' my word, Brisk, that was a home thrust-you have silenced hini.

Brisk. Oh, my dear Mellefont, let me perish, if thou art not the soul of conversation, the very essence of wit, and spirit of wine-The deuce take me, if there were three good things said, or one understood, since thy amputation from the body of our society-Heh! I think that's pretty, and metaphorical enough: Egad, I could not have said it out of thy company--Careless, ha ! Care. Hum, what is it?

Brisk. O, mon cœur! What is it! Nay, gad, I will punish you for want of apprehension: the deuce take me, if I tell you.

Mel. No, no, hang him, he has no taste-But, dear Brisk, excuse me, I have a little business. Care. Prithee, get thee gone: thou see'st we are serious.

Mel. We'll come immediately, if you'll but go in, and keep up good humour and sense in the company: Prithee do-they'll fall asleep else.

Brisk. Egad so they will-Well, I will, I will; gad you shall command me from the zenith to the nadir. But the deuce take me, if I say a good thing till you come. But, prithee, dear rogue, make haste, prithee make haste, I shall burst else. And yonder your uncle, my lord Touchwood, swears he will disinherit you, and sir Paul Plyant threatens to disclaim you for a son-in-law, and my lord Froth won't dance at your wedding to-morrow; nor the deuce take me, I won't write your epithalamium-and see what a condition you are like to be brought to.

Mel. Well, I will speak but three words, and follow you.

Brisk. Enough, enough. Careless, bring your apprehension along with you. [Exit BRISK.

Care. Pert coxcomb!

Mel. Faith, 'tis a good-natured coxcomb, and has very entertaining follies-You must be more humane to him; at this juncture it will do me service. I'll tell you, I would have mirth continued this day at any rate, though patience purchase folly, and attention be paid with noise.There are times, when sense may be unseasonable, as well as truth. Prithee, do thou wear none to-day; but allow Brisk to have wit, that thou mayst seem a fool.

Care. Why, how now, why this extravagant proposition?

Mel. O, I would have no room sign, for I am jealous of a plot VOL. II.

for serious deI would have

Care. I thought your fear of her had been over. Is not to-morrow appointed for your marriage with Cynthia, and her father sir Paul Plyant come to settle the writings this day, on pur pose?

Mel. True; but you shall judge, whether I have not reason to be alarmed. None, besides you and Maskwell, are acquainted with the secret of my aunt Touchwood's violent passion for me. Since my first refusal of her addresses, she has endeavoured to do me all ill offices with my uncle; yet has managed them with that subtilty, that to him they have borne the face of kindness, while her malice, like a dark lanthorn, only shone upon me, where it was directed. Still it gave me less perplexity to prevent the success of her displeasure, than to avoid the importunities of her love; and, of two evils, I thought myself favoured in her aversion: but, whether urged by her despair, and the short prospect of time she saw to accomplish her designs; whether the hopes of revenge, or of her love, terminated in the view of this my marriage with Cynthia, I know not; but this morning she surprised me in my bed.

Care. Was there ever such a fury! It is well nature has not put it into her sex's power to ravish. Well, bless us! proceed. What followed ?

Mel. What at first amazed me; for I looked to have seen her in all the transports of a slighted and revengeful woman: but when I expected thunder from her voice, and lightning in her eyes, I saw her melted into tears, and hushed into a sigh. It was long before either of us spoke; passion had tied her tongue, and amazement mine. In short, the consequence was thus: she omitted nothing, that the most violent love could urge, or tender words express; which, when she saw had no effect, but still I pleaded honour and nearness of blood to my uncle, then came the storm I feared at first; for, starting from my bedside like a fury, she flew to my sword, and, with much ado, I prevented her doing me or herself a mischief: having disarmed her, in a gust of passion she left me, and in a resolution, confirmed by a thousand curses, not to close her eyes, till they had seen my ruin.

Care. Exquisite woman! But, what the devil! does she think thou hast no more sense than to get an heir to disinherit thyself? for, as I take it, this settlement upon you is with a proviso, that your uncle have no children.

Mel. It is so. Well, the service you are to do me will be a pleasure to yourself. I must get you to engage my lady Plyant all this evening, that my pious aunt may not work her to her interest; and, if you chance to secure her to yourself, you may incline her to mine. She is handsome, and

Y

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