THE

FOUNDLING.

The lines marked with inverted commas, "tbus,' are omitted in the representation.

ACT I.

SCENE, an Apartment in Sir Roger Belmont's House. Enter Young Belmont and Col. Raymond.

M

BELMONT.

Y dear Colonel, you are as unlettered in love as I am in war. What, a woman, a fine woman, a coquette, and my fifter! and to be won by whining! Mercy on us! that a well-built fellow, with common fense, should take pains to unman himfelf, to tempt a warm girl of two-and-twenty to come to bed to him!I fay, again, and again, Colonel, my fifter's a woman.

Col. And the very individual woman that I want, Charles.

Bel. And of all women in the world, the least fit for thee. An April day is lefs changeable than her humour. She laughs behind her fan at what she should not understand; calls humility meannefs, and blufhing the want of education. In all affairs with a man, fhe goes by contraries; if you tell her a merry ftory, fhe fighs; if a ferious one, the laughs; for yes, the fays no, and for no, yes; and is mistress of such obedient features, that her looks are always ready to confirm what her tongue utters.

Col. Fine painting, upon my word, and no flattery! Bel. This is the lady. Now for the lover. A fellow made up of credulity and fufpicion; believing where he fhould doubt, and doubting where he should believe; jealous without caufe, and fatisfied without proof. A great

boy,

boy, that has loft his way, and blubbering through every road, but the right, to find his home again; ha, ha, ha! Col. Mighty florid, indeed, Sir!

Bel. Come, come, Colonel; Love, that can exalt the brute to a man, has fet you upon all-fours. Women are indeed delicious creatures; but not what you think them. The first wifh of every mother's daughter is power, the fecond mifchief: the way to her heart is by indifference, or abufe; for whoever owns her beauty, will feel her tyranny: but if he calls her ugly, or a fool, fhe'll fet her cap at him, and take pains for his good opinion.

Col. And fo, fubmiffion and flattery are out of your fyftem?

Bel. For fubmiffion and flattery, I fubftitute impudence and contradiction; thefe two, well managed, my dear, will do more with beauty in an hour, than fine fpeeches in a year. Your fine woman expects adoration, and receives it as common incenfe, which every fool offers; while the rude fellow, who tells her truth, claims all her attention. Difficulty endears conqueft. To him only The appears what the fhould be to all; and while the la bours with her natural charms to fecure him, fhe's loft herself.

Col. Why, faith, Charles, there may be fome mufic in these wild notes; but I am fo far gone in the old ballad, that I can fing no other words to any tune.

Bel. Ha, ha! Thou poor mournful nightingale in a cage, fing on then; and I'll whistle an upper part with thee, to give a little life to the measure.

Col. That will be kind; for Heaven knows, I have need of affistance !-Pr'ythee, tell me, dost think Rosetta wants understanding?

Bel. No, faith, I think not.

Col. Good-humour ?

Bel. Hum- -She's generally pleased.

Col. What then can reconcile her behaviour to me, and her fondness for fuch a reptile as Faddle? A fellow made up of knavery and noife, with fcandal for wit, and impudence for raillery; and fo needy, that the very devil might buy him for a fingle guinea. I fay, Charles, what can tempt her even to an acquaintance with this fellow?

Bel. Why, the very understanding and good-humour

you

you speak of. A woman's understanding is defign, and her good-humour mischief. Her advances to one fool are made only to teize another.

Col. Sir, your most humble fervant.

Bel. And her good-humour is kept alive by the fuccefs of her plots.

Col. But why fo conftant to her fool?

Bel. Because her fool's the fitteft for her purposeHe has more tricks than her monkey, more prate than her parrot, more fervility than her lap-dog, more lies than her woman, and more wit than her Colonel. And faith, all these things confidered, I can't blame my fifter for her conftancy.

Col. Thou art a wild fellow, and in earnest about nothing but thy own pleasures-and fo we'll change the fubject. What fays Fidelia ?

Bel. Why, there, now!-That a man can't instruct another, but he must be told, by way of thanks, how much he stands in need of affiftance himself!

Col. Any new difficulties?

Bel. Mountains, Colonel, a few mountains in my way. But if I want faith to remove them, I hope I shall have ftrength to climb them, and that will do my bufinefs. Col. She's a woman, Charles.

Bel. By her outfide one would guefs fo; but look a little farther, and, except the ftubbornnefs of her temper, fhe has nothing feminine about her. She has wit without pertnefs, beauty without confcioufnefs, pride without infolence, and defire without wantonnefs. In short, fhe has

every thing

Col. That you would wish to ruin in her. Why, what a devil are you, Charles, to fpeak fo feelingly of virtues, which you only admire to destroy !

Bel. A very pretty comforter, truly!

Col. Come, come, Charles, if he is as well born as you pretend, what hinders you from cherishing thefe qualities in a wife, which you would ruin in a mistress? Marry her, marry her.

Bel. And hang myself in her garters the next morning, to give her virtues the reward of widowhood. Faith, I must read Pamela twice over firft. But fuppofe her not

born

born as I pretend, but the outcast of a beggar, and obliged to chance for a little education.

Col. Why, then her mind is dignified by her obscurity; and you will have the merit of raifing her to a rank which fhe was meant to adorn. And where's the mighty matter in all this? You want no addition to your fortune, and have only to facrifice a little unneceffary pride to neceffary happiness.

Bel. Very heroical, upon my word! And fo, my dear Colonel, one way or other, I must be married, it feems.

Col. If Fidelia can be honeft, my life on't, you are of my mind within this fortnight. But, pr'ythee, fince I am not to believe your former account of her, who is this delicious girl, that must and will get the better of your pride?

Bel. A fifter of the Graces, without mortal father or mother; the dropped from the clouds in her cradle, was lulled by the winds, christened by the rains, fostered by a hag, fold for a whore, fentenced to a rape, and rescued by a rogue-to be ravished by her own confent. There's mystery and hieroglyphic for you! and every fyllable, my dear, a truth, beyond apocrypha.

ry.

Col. And what am I to understand by all this?

Bel. Faith, juft as much as your understanding can carA man in love is not to be trusted with a fecret. Col. And, pray, most discreet Sir, is Rofetta acquainted with her real history?

Bel. Not a circumftance. She has been amufed, like you, and still believes her to be the fifter of a dead friend of mine at college, bequeathed to my guardianship. But the devil, I find, owes me a grudge, for former virtues ; for this fifter of mine, who doats upon Fidelia, and be lieves every thing I have told her of her family and for tune, has very fairly turned the tables upon me. She talks of equality of birth, forfooth; of virtue, prudence, and good fenfe; and bids me blefs my ftars for throwing in my way the only woman in the world that has good qualities enough to redeem my bad ones, and make me, what the fays every man ought to be a good husband. Col. Was ever poor innocent fellow in fuch diftrefs! But what fays the old gentleman, your father?

Bel