done something to be ashamed of-and then we'll blush once for all.

Enter TATTLE and ANGELICA.

Jer. I'll take care, and

Val. Whisper.

Ang. Nay, Mr Tattle, if you make love to me, you spoil my design; for I intend to make you my confident.

Scand. How's this! Tattle making love to Angelica!

Tatt. But, madam, to throw away your person-such a person! and such a fortune, ou a madman!

Ang. I never loved him till he was mad; but, don't tell any body so.

Tatt. Tell, madam? alas, you don't know me. I have much ado to tell your ladyship how long I have been in love with you-but, encouraged by the impossibility of Valentine's making any more addresses to you, I have ventured to declare the very inmost passion of my heart. Oh, madam, look upon us both. There, you see the ruins of a poor decayed creature! Here, a complete lively figure, with youth and health, and all his five senses in perfection, madam; and to all this, the most passionate lover

Ang. O, fie for shame! hold your tongue. A passionate lover, and five senses in perfection! When you are as mad as Valentine, I'll believe you love me; and the maddest shall take me. Val. It is enough. Ha! who's there; Mrs Fruil. O Lord, her coming will spoil all. [To JEREMY. Jer. No, no, madam; he won't know her; if he should, I can persuade him.

Val. Scandal, who are these? Foreigners? If they are, I'll tell you what I think. Get away all the company but Angelica, that I may discover my design to her. [Whispers.

Scand. I will. I have discovered something of Tattle, that is of a piece with Mrs Frail. He courts Angelica; if we could contrive to couple them together-Harkee [Whispers.

Mrs Fore. He won't know you, cousin; he knows nobody.

Fore. But he knows more than any body.Oh, niece, he knows things past, and things to come, and all the profound secrets of time.

Tatt. Look you, Mr Foresight; it is not my way to make many words of matters, and so I│ shan't say much. But, in short, d'ye see, I will hold you a hundred pounds now, that I know more secrets than he.

Fore. How? I cannot read that knowledge in your face, Mr Tattle. Pray, what do you know?

Tatt. Why, d'ye think I'll tell you, sir? Read it in my face! No, sir, it is written in my heart; and safer there, sir, than letters written in juice of lemon, for no fire can fetch it out. I am no blab, sir.

Val. Acquaint Jeremy with it; he may easily bring it about. They are welcome, and I'll tell them so myself. [To SCANDAL.] What, do you look strange upon me! Then I must be plain[Coming up to them.] I am Honesty, and hate an old acquaintance with a new face.

[SCANDAL goes aside with JEREMY. Tatt. Do know me, you Valentine? Val. You! who are you? I hope not. Tatt. I am Jack Tattle, your friend.

Val. My friend! What to do? I'm no married man, and thou canst not lie with my wife. I am very poor, and thou canst not borrow money Then what employment have I for a

of me. friend?

Tatt. Ha! a good open speaker, and not to be trusted with a secret.

well.

Ang. Do you know me,
Val. Oh, very
Ang. Who am I?

Valentine?

Val. You're a woman-one, to whom Heaven gave beauty, when it grafted roses on a briar.You are the reflection of heaven in a pond; and he, that leaps at you, is sunk. You are all white, a sheet of lovely spotless paper, when you were first born; but you are to be scrawled and blotted by every goose's quill. I know you; for I loved a woman, and loved her so long, that I found out a strange thing; I found out what a woman was good for.

Tatt. Ay, prithee, what's that?
Val. Why, to keep a secret.
Tatt. O Lord!

Val. O, exceeding good to keep a secret; for, though she should tell, yet she is not believed. Tatt. Ha! good again, faith.

Jer. [JEREMY and SCANDAL whisper.] I'll do it, sir.

Scand. Mr Foresight, we had best leave him. He may grow outrageous, and do mischief. Fore. I will be directed by you.

Jer. [To Mrs FRAIL.] You'll meet, madam.— I'll take care every thing shall be ready. Mrs Frail. Thou shalt do what thou wilt; in short, I will deny thee nothing.

Tatt. Madam, shall I wait upon you?

[To ANGELICA. Ang. No, I'll stay with him. Mr Scandal will protect me. Aunt, Mr Tattle desires you would give him leave to wait upon you.

Tatt. Pox on't, there's no coming off, now she has said that—Madam, will you do me the honour?

Mrs Fore. Mr Tattle might have used less ceremony.

[Exeunt MRS FRAIL, MR and MRS FORESIGHT and TATTLE.]

Scand. Jeremy, follow Tattle. [Exit JEREMY. Ang. Mr Scandal, I only stay till my maid comes, and because I have a mind to be rid of Mr Tattle.

Scand. Madam, I am very glad that I overheard

Ang. Oh Heavens! you won't leave me alone with a madman?

Scand. No, madam; I only leave a madman to his remedy. [Erit. Val. Madam, you need not be very much afraid, for I fancy I begin to come to myself. Ang. Ay, but if I don't fit you, I'll be hanged. [Aside. Val. You see what disguises love makes us put on. Gods have been in counterfeited shapes for the same reason; and the divine part of me, my mind, has worn this masque of madness, and this motly livery, only as the slave of love, and menial creature of your beauty.

Ang. Mercy on me, how he talks!-Poor Valentine!

Val. Sirrah, you lie; I'm not mad. Ang. Ha, ha, ha! you see he denies it. Jer. O Lord, madam! did you ever know any madman mad enough to own it?

Val. Sot, can't you apprehend?

Ang. Why, be talked very sensibly just now. Jer. Yes, madam; he has intervals: but you see he begins to look wild again now.

Val. Why, you thick-skulled rascal, I tell you the farce is done, and I'll be mad no longer. [Beats him.

Ang. Ha, ha, ha! is he mad or no, Jeremy? Jer. Partly, I think-for he does not know his own mind two hours. I'm sure I left him just now in the humour to be mad and I think I have not found him very quiet at the present. [One knocks.] Who's there?

Val. Go see, you sot. I'm very glad that I can move your mirth, though not your compas

sion.

:

Ang. I did not think you had apprehension enough to be exceptious but madmen shew themselves most by over-pretending to a sound understanding, as drunken men do by over-acting

Ang. [Sighs.] I would I had loved you!-for, Heaven knows, I pity you; and, could I have foreseen the bad effects, I would have striven; but that's too late!

Val. What bad effects? what's too late? My seeming madness has deceived my father, and procured me time to think of means to reconcile me to him, and preserve the right of my inheritance to his estate; which otherwise, by articies, I must this morning have resigned. And this I had informed you of to-day, but you were gone before I knew you had been here.

Ang. How! I thought your love of me had caused this transport in your soul, which, it seems, you only counterfeited for mercenary ends and sordid interest.

Val. Nay, now you do me wrong; for, if any interest was considered, it was yours; since I thought I wanted more than love to make me worthy of you.

Ang. Then you thought me mercenary-But how am I deluded, by this interval of sense, to reason with a madman?

Val. Oh, 'tis barbarous to misunderstand me longer.

Enter JEREMY.

Ang. Oh, here's a reasonable creature!-sure he will not have the impudence to persevere! -Come, Jeremy, acknowledge your trick, and confess your master's madness counterfeit. Jer. Counterfeit, madam! I'll maintain him

Jer. Sir, your father has sent to know if you are any better yet.—Will you please to be mad, sir, or how?

Val. Stupidity! you know the penalty of all I'm worth must pay for the confession of my senses.-I'm mad, and will be mad, to every body but this lady.

Jer. So just the very back-side of truth. But lying is a figure in speech, that interlards the greatest part of my conversation.-Madam, your ladyship's woman.

Enter JENNY.

Ang. Well, have you been there?-Come hither. Jenny. Yes, madam! sir Sampson will wait upon you presently. [Aside to ANGELICA. Val. You are not leaving me in this uncertainty?

Never

Ang. Would any thing but a madman complain of uncertainty? Uncertainty and expectation are the joys of life. Security is an insipid thing; and the overtaking and possessing of a wish discovers the folly of the chase. let us know one another better; for the pleasure of a masquerade is done, when we come to shew our faces. But I'll tell you two things before I leave you; I am not the fool you take me for; and you are mad, and don't know it.

[Exeunt ANGELICA and JENNY,

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

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

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

Jer. I have heard them say, sir, they read hard

Hebrew books backwards. May be you begin to read at the wrong end.

Val. They say so of a witch's prayer; and dreams and Dutch almanacks are to be understood by contraries. Yet, while she does not seem to hate me, I will pursue her, and know her, if it be possible, in spite of the opinion of my satirical friend, who says

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

SCENE I-A room in FORESIGHT's house.

Enter ANGELICA and JENNY. Ang. WHERE is sir Sampson? did you not tell me he would be here before me?

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

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

Jenny. I hear him, madam.

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

Enter SIR SAMPSON.

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

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

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

son.

Ang. You're an absolute courtier, sir Samp

Sir Sam. Not at all, madam. Od's-bud, you wrong me: I am not so old, neither, to be a bare courtier, only a man of words. Odd, I have warm blood about me yet, and can serve a lady any way. Come, come, let me tell you, you women think a man old too soon; faith and troth you do. Come, don't despise fifty; Odd, fifty, in a hale constitution, is no such contemptible age!

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

Sir Sam. Outsides, outsides! a pize take them, mere outsides. Hang your side-box beaux; no, I'm none of those, none of your forced trees, that pretend to blossom in the fall, and bud when

they should bring forth fruit. I am of a longlived race, and inherit vigour. None of my ancestors married till fifty; yet they begot sons and daughters till fourscore. I am of your patriarchs, I, a branch of one of your antediluvian families, fellows that the flood could not wash away. Well, madam, what are your commands? Has any young rogue affronted you, and shall I cut his throat? or

Ang. No, sir Sampson, I have no quarrel upon my hands-I have more occasion for your conduct, than your courage, at this time. To tell you the truth, I'm weary of living single, and want a husband.

Sir Sam. Od's-bud, and it is pity you should! Odd, would she would like me! then I should hamper my young rogues: odd, would she would! faith and troth, she's devilish handsome! -[Aside.]—Madam, you deserve a good husband; and 'twere pity you should be thrown away upon any of these young idle rogues about the town. Odd, there's ne'er a young fellow worth hanging-that is, a very young fellowPize on them, they never think beforehand of any thing--and if they commit matrimony, 'tis as they commit murder; out of a frolic; and are ready to hang themselves, or to be hanged by the law, the next morning. Odso, have a care, madam.

Ang. Therefore, I ask your advice, sir Sampson. I have fortune enough to make any man easy that I can like; if there were such a thing as a young agreeable man, with a reasonable stock of good-nature and sense-for I would neither have an absolute wit, nor a fool.

Sir Sam. Odd, you are hard to please, madam: to find a young fellow that is neither a wit in his own eye, nor a fool in the eye of the world, is a very hard task. But, faith and troth, you speak very discreetly. I hate a wit; I had a son that was spoilt among them; a good, hopeful lad, till he learnt to be a wit-and might have risen in the state. But, a pox'on't, his wit ran him out of his money, and now his poverty has run him out of his wits.

Ang. Sir Sampson, as your friend, I must tell

you, you are very much abused in that matterhe's no more mad than you are.

Sir Sam. How, madam! would I could prove it!

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

Sir Sam. Odsbud, I believe she likes me [Aside.]-Ah, madam, all my affairs are scarce worthy to be laid at your feet; and I wish, madam, they were in a better posture, that I might make a more becoming offer to a lady of your incomparable beauty and merit. If I had Peru in one hand, and Mexico in t'other, and the eastern empire under my feet, it would make me only a more glorious victim, to be offered at the shrine of your beauty.

Ang. Bless me, sir Sampson, what's the matter?

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

man, and I'll make it appear-Odd, you're devilish handsome. Faith and troth, you're very handsome; and I'm very young, and very lusty. Odsbud, hussy, you know how to choose! and so do I. Odd, I think we are very well met. Give me your hand; odd, let me kiss it; 'tis as warm and as soft-as what?-odd, as t'other hand!—give me t'other hand; and I'll mumble them, and kiss them, till they melt in my mouth.

Ang. Hold, sir Sampson-you're profuse of your vigour before your time. You'll spend your estate before you come to it.

Sir Sam. No, no; only give you a rent-roll of my possessions-ah, baggage! I warrant you for a little Sampson. Odd, Sampson is a very good name for an able fellow. Your Sampsons were strong dogs from the beginning.

Ang. Have a care, and don't overact your part. If you remember, Sampson, the strongest of the name, pulled an old house over his head at last.

[Exeunt.

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

Ang. O fie, sir Sampson, what would the world

say?

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

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

Sir Sam. Odd, you're cunning, a wary baggage! Faith and troth, I like you the better. But, I warrant you, I have a proviso in the obligation in favour of myself. Body o' me, I have a trick to turn the settlement upon the issue-male of our two bodies begotten. Ödsbud, let us find children, and I'll find an estate!

Ang. Will you? well, do you find the estate, and leave the other to me.

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

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

Sir Sam. With all my heart. Come in with me, and I'll lend you the bond. You shall consult your lawyer, and I'll consult a parson. Odzooks, I'm a young man; Odzooks, I'm a young

Enter TATTLE and JEREMY.

Tatt. Is not that she, gone out just now? Jer. Aye, sir, she's just going to the place of appointment. Ah, sir, if you are not very faithful and close in this business, you'll certainly be the death of a person, that has a most extraordinary passion for your honour's service.

Tatt. Aye, who's that?

Jer. Even my unworthy self, sir. Sir, I have had an appetite to be fed with your commands a great while-and now, sir, my former master having much troubled the fountain of his understanding, it is a very plausible occasion for me to quench my thirst at the spring of your bounty. I thought I could not recommend myself better to you, sir, than by the delivery of a great beauty and fortune into your arms, whom I have heard you sigh for.

Tutt. I'll make thy fortune; say no more.Thou art a pretty fellow, and canst carry a message to a lady, in a pretty soft kind of phrase, and with a good persuading accent.

Jer. Sir, I have the seeds of rhetoric and ora tory in my head-I have been at Cambridge.

Tatt. Aye; 'tis well enough for a servant to be bred at an university; but the education is a little too pedantic for a gentleman. I hope you are secret in your nature, private, close, ha?

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

Tatt. Aye? who's he, though? a privy counsellor?

Jer. O ignorance ![Aside.]—A cunning Egyptian, sir, that with his arms could over-run the country, yet nobody could ever find out his head-quarters.