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he it is for whom I'm thus anxious and malicious, and to gain whom I would sacrifice every thing? Snake. Now, indeed, your conduct appears consistent but how came you and Mr. Surface so confidential?

Lady S. For our mutual interest. I have found him out a long time since. I know him to be artful, selfish, and malicious-in short, a sentimental knave; while, with Sir Peter, and indeed with all his acquaintance, he passes for a youthful miracle of prudence, good sense, and benevolence.

Snake. Yes: yet Sir Peter vows he has not his equal in England-and above all, he praises him as a man of sentiment.

Lady S. True-and with the assistance of his sentiment and hypocrisy, he has brought him entirely into his interest with regard to Maria; while poor Charles has no friend in the house, though, I fear, he has a powerful one in Maria's heart, against whom we must direct our schemes.

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Joseph S. My dear Lady Sneerwell, how do you do to-day? Mr. Snake, your most obedient.

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Lady S. Maria, my dear, how do you do?— What's the matter?

Maria. Oh! there is that disagreeable lover of mine, Sir Benjamin Backbite, has just called at my guardian's, with his odious uncle, Crabtree; so I slipt out, and ran hither to avoid them. Lady S. Is that all?

Joseph S. If my brother Charles had been of the party, madam, perhaps you would not have been so much alarmed.

Lady S. Nay, now you are severe; for I dare swear the truth of the matter is, Maria heard you were here.-But, my dear, what has Sir Benjamin done, that you should avoid him so?

Maria. Oh, he has done nothing-but 'tis for what he has said: his conversation is a perpetual libel on all his acquaintance.

Joseph S. Ay, and the worst of it is, there is no advantage in not knowing him-for he'll abuse a stranger just as soon as his best friend; and his uncle Crabtree's as bad.

Lady S. Snake has just been rallying me on our mutual attachment; but I have informed him of our real views. You know how useful he has been to us, and, believe me, the confidence is not ill placed. Lady S. Nay, but we should make allowance.-Joseph S. Madam, it is impossible for me to sus-Sir Benjamin is a wit and a poet. pect a man of Mr. Snake's sensibility and discern

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serves

Lady S. O lud! you are going to be moral, and forget that you are among friends.

Joseph S. Egad, that's true!-I'll keep that sentiment till I see Sir Peter; however, it is certainly a charity to rescue Maria from such a libertine, who, if he is to be reclaimed, can be so only by one of your ladyship's superior accomplishments and understanding.

Snake. I believe, Lady Sneerwell, here's com. pany coming; I'll go and copy the letter I mentioned to you.--Mr. Surface, your most obedient. Joseph S. Sir, your very devoted. [Erit SNAKE.] Lady Sneerwell, I am very sorry you have put any further confidence in that fellow.

Maria. For my part, I own, madam, wit loses its respect with me, when I see it in company with malice.- What do you think, Mr. Surface?

Joseph S. Certainly, madam; to smile at the jest which plants a thorn in another's breast, is to become a principal in the mischief.

Lady S. Pshaw!-there's no possibility of being witty without a little ill nature: the malice of a good thing is the barb that makes it stick.-What's your opinion, Mr. Surface?

Joseph S. To be sure, madam; that conversation, where the spirit of raillery is suppressed, will ever appear tedious and insipid.

Maria. Well, I'll not debate how far scandal may be allowable; but in a man, I am sure, it is always contemptible. We have pride, envy, rivalship, and a thousand little motives to depreciate each other. but the male slanderer must have the cowardice of a woman before he can traduce one.

Enter Servant.

Serv. Madam, Mrs. Candour is below, and if your ladyship's at leisure, will leave her carriage.

Lady S. Beg her to walk in.-[Exit Servant.] Now, Maria, however, here is a character to your taste; for though Mrs. Candour is a little talkative, everybody allows her to be the best natured and best sort of woman.

Maria. Yes, with a very gross affectation of good nature and benevolence, she does more mis. chief than the direct malice of old Crabtree.

Joseph S. 1'faith that's true, Lady Sneerwell: whenever I hear the current running against the characters of my friends, I never think them in such danger as when Candour undertakes their defence,

Lady S. Hush!-here she is!—

Enter Mrs. CANDOUR.

Mrs. Can. My dear Lady Sneerwell, how have you been this century?- -Mr. Surface, what news do you hear though indeed it is no matter, for I think one hears nothing else but scandal.

Joseph S. Just so, indeed, ma'am.

Mrs. C. Oh, Maria! child,-what! is the whole affair off between you and Charles?-his extravagance, I presume-the town talks of nothing else. Maria. I am very sorry, ma'am, the town has so little to do.

Mrs. C. True, true, child: but there's no stopping people's tongues. I own I was hurt to hear it, as I indeed was to learn, from the same quarter, that your guardian, Sir Peter, and Lady Teazle, have not agreed lately as well as could be wished. Maria. Tis strangely impertinent for people to busy themselves so.

Mrs. C. Very true, child:-but what's to be done?-People will talk-there's no preventing it. Why, it was but yesterday I was told that Miss Gadabout had eloped with Sir Filigree Flirt.-But, Lord! there's no minding what one hears; though, to be sure, I had this from very good authority.

Maria. Such reports are highly scandalous. Mrs. C. So they are, child-shameful, shameful! But the world is so censorious, no character escapes. -Lord, now, who would have suspected your friend, Miss Prim, of an indiscretion? Yet such is the ill-nature of people, that they say her uncle stopt her last week, just as she was stepping into the York mail with her dancing-master.

Maria. I'll answer for't, there are no grounds for that report.

Mrs. C. Ah, no foundation in the world, I dare swear; no more, probably, than for the story circulated last month, of Mrs. Festino's affair with Colonel Cassino ;-though, to be sure, that matter was never rightly cleared up.

Joseph S. The license of invention some people take is monstrous indeed.

Maria. 'Tis so,-but, in my opinion, those who report such things are equally culpable.

Mrs. C. To be sure they are; tale-bearers are as bad as the tale-makers-'tis an old observation, and a very true one: but what's to be done, as I said before? how will you prevent people from talking? To-day, Mrs. Clackitt assured me, Mr. and Mrs. Honeymoon were at last become mere man and wife, like the rest of their acquaintance. She likewise hinted that a certain widow, in the next street, had got rid of her dropsy, and recovered her shape in a most surprising manner. And at the same time, Miss Tattle, who was by, affirmed, that Lord Buffalo had discovered his lady at a house of no extraordinary fame; and that Sir Harry Bouquet and Tom Saunter were to measure swords on a similar provocation.-But, Lord, do You think I would report these things?-No, no! tale-bearers, as I said before, are just as bad as the tale-makers.

Joseph S. Ah! Mrs. Candour, if everybody had your forbearance and good nature!

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Enter CRABTREE and Sir BENJAMIN BACKDEF. Crab. Lady Sneerwell, I kiss your hand. Mrs. Candour, I don't believe you are acquainted with my nephew, Sir Benjamin Backbite? Egad! ma'am, he has a pretty wit, and is a pretty poet, too; isn't he, Lady Sneerwell? Sir B. O fie, uncle!

Crab. Nay, egad, it's true; I back him at a rebus or a charade against the best rhymer in the kingdom.-Has your ladyship heard the epigram he wrote last week on Lady Frizzle's feather catching fire?-Do, Benjamin, repeat it, or the charade you made last night extempore at Mrs. Drowzie's conversazione. Come now; -your first is the name of a fish, your second a great naval commander, and

Sir B. Uncle, now-pr'ythee

Crab. I'faith, ma'am, 'twould surprise you to hear how ready he is at these things. Lady S. I wonder, Sir Benjamin, you never publish anything.

Sir B. To say truth, ma'am, 'tis very vulgar to print; and as my little productions are mostly satires and lampoons on particular people, I find they circulate more by giving copies in confidence to the friends of the parties. However, I have some love elegies, which, when favoured with this lady's smiles, I mean to give the public.

Crab. 'Fore Heaven, ma'am, they'll immortalize you!-you will be handed down to posterity, like Petrarch's Laura, or Waller's Sacharissa.

Sir B. Yes, madam, I think you will like them, when you shall see them on a beautiful quarto page, where a neat rivulet of text shall murmur through a meadow of margin.-'Fore Gad they will be the most elegant things of their kind!

Crab. But, ladies, that's true-have you heard the news!

Mrs. C. What, sir, do you mean the report of Crab. No, ma'am, that's not it-Miss Nicely is going to be married to her own footman. Mrs. C. Impossible!

Crab. Ask Sir Benjamin.

Sir B. 'Tis very true, ma'am; everything is fixed, and the wedding liveries bespoke. Crab. Yes-and they do say there were very pressing reasons for it.

Lady S. Why, i have heard something of this before.

Mrs. C. It can't be-and I wonder any one should believe such a story, of so prudent a lady as Miss Nicely.

Mrs. C. I confess, Mr. Surface, I cannot bear to bear people attacked behind their backs; and when Sir B. O lud! ma'am, that's the very reason ugly circumstances come out against our acquaint-'twas believed at once. She has always been so ance, I own I always love to think the best. By- cautious and so reserved, that everybody was sure the-by, I hope 'tis not true that your brother is there was some reason for it at bottom. absolutely ruined?

Joseph S. I am afraid his circumstances are very bad indeed, ma'am.

Ms. C. Ah! I heard so—but you must tel him

Mrs. C. Why, to be sure, a tale of scandal is as fatal to the credit of a prudent lady of her stamp as a fever is generally to those of the strongest constitutions. But there is a sort of puny, sickly

reputation, that is always ailing, yet will outlive the robuster characters of a hundred prudes.

Sir B. True, madam,—there are valetudinarians in reputation as well as constitution; who, being conscious of their weak part, avoid the least breath of air, and supply their want of stamina by care and circumspection.

Mrs. C. That I will, with all my soul, ma'am.Poor dear girl, who knows what her situation may be! [Exit Mrs. CANDOUR. Lady S. 'Twas nothing but that she could not bear to hear Charles reflected on, notwithstanding their difference.

Sir B. The young lady's penchant is obvious. Crab. But Benjamin, you must not give up the

Mrs. C. Well, but this may be all a mistake. You know, Sir Benjamin, very trifling circum-pursuit for that: follow her, and put her into good stances often give rise to the most injurious tales. humour. Repeat her some of your own verses. Crab. That they do, I'll be sworn, ma'am.-Did Come, I'll assist you. you ever hear how Miss Piper came to lose her lover and her character last summer at Tunbridge? -Sir Benjamin, you remember it?

Sir B. Oh, to be sure!-the most whimsical circumstance.

Lady S. How was it, pray?

Crab. Why, one evening, at Mrs. Ponto's assembly, the conversation happened to turn on the breeding Nova Scotia sheep in this country. Says a young lady in company, I have known instances of it-for Miss Letitia Piper, a first cousin of mine, had a Nova Scotia sheep that produced her twins.-What! cries the lady dowager Dundizzy (who you know is as deaf as a post), has Miss Piper had twins? This mistake, as you may imagine, threw the whole company into a fit of laughter. However, 'twas the next day everywhere reported, and in a few days believed by the whole town, that Miss Letitia Piper bad actually been brought to bed of a fine boy and a girl; and in less than a week there were some people who could name the father, and the farm-house where the babies were put to nurse.

Lady S. Strange, indeed!

Crab. Matter of fact, I assure you.-O lud! Mr. Surface, pray is it true that your uncle, Sir Oliver, is coming home?

Joseph S. Not that I know of, indeed, sir.

Crab. He has been in the East Indies a long time. You can scarcely remember him, I believe? -Sad comfort whenever he returns, to hear how your brother has gone on!

Joseph S. Charles has been imprudent, sir, to be sure; but I hope no busy people have already prejudiced Sir Oliver against him. He may reform. Sir B. To be sure he may for my part, I never believed him to be so utterly void of principle as people say; and, though he has lost all his friends, I am told nobody is better spoken of by the Jews Crab. That's true, egad, nephew. If the Old Jewry was a ward, I believe Charles would be an alderman: no man more popular there, 'fore Gad! 1 hear he pays as many annuities as the Irish tontine; and that, whenever he is sick, they have prayers for the recovery of his health in all the synagogues.

Sir B. Yet no man lives in greater splendour. They tell me, when he entertains his friends he will sit down to dinner with a dozen of his own securities; have a score of tradesmen waiting in the antechamber, and an officer behind every guest's

chair.

Joseph S. This may be entertainment to you, gentlemen, but you pay very little regard to the feelings of a brother.

Maria. Their malice is intolerable. Lady Sneerwell, I must wish you a good morning: I'm not very well. [Exit MARIA. Mrs. C. O dear! she changes colour very much. Lady S. Do, Mrs. Candour, follow her she may want your assistance.

Sir B. Mr. Surface, I did not mean to hurt you; but depend on't your brother is utterly undone. Crab. O lud, aye! undone as ever man was.— Can't raise a guinea!

Sir B. And every thing sold, I'm told, that was

moveable.

Crab. I have seen one that was at his house.Not a thing left but some empty bottles that were overlooked, and the family pictures, which I believe are framed in the wainscots

Sir B. And I'm very sorry, also, to hear some bad stories against him.

Crab. Oh! he has done many mean things, that's certain.

Sir B. But, however, as he is your brother-
Crab. We'll tell you all another opportunity.

[Exeunt CRABTREE and Sir BENJAMIN. Lady S. Ha! ha! 'tis very hard for them to leave a subject they have not quite run down. Joseph S. And I believe the abuse was no more acceptable to your ladyship than Maria.

Lady S. I doubt her affections are further engaged than we imagine. But the family are to be here this evening, so you may as well dine where you are, and we shall have an opportunity of observing further; in the meantime, I'll go and plot mischief, and you shall study sentiment.

SCENE II-Sir Peter's House.

Enter Sir PETER.

[Exeunt.

Sir P. When an old bachelor marries a young 'Tis now six months wife, what is he to expect?

since Lady Teazle made me the happiest of menand I have been the most miserable dog ever since. We tift a little going to church, and came to a quarrel before the bells had done ringing. I was more than once nearly choked with gall during the honeymoon, and had lost all comfort in life before my friends had done wishing me joy. Yet I chose with caution-a girl bred wholly in the country, who never knew luxury beyond one silk gown, nor dissipation above the annual gala of a race ball. Yet she now plays her part in all the extravagant fopperies of fashion and the town, with as ready a grace as if she had never seen a bush or a grassplot out of Grosvenor-square! I am sneered at by all my acquaintance, and paragraphed in the news. papers. She dissipates my fortune, and contradicts all my humours; yet, the worst of it is, I doubt I love her, or I should never bear all this. ever, I'll never be weak enough to own it.

How

Enter RowLEY. Rowley. Oh! Sir Peter, your servant: how is it with you, sir?

Sir P. Very bad, master Rowley, very bad. I meet with nothing but crosses and vexations. Rowley. What can have happened since yester

day?

Sir P. A good question to a married man!

Rowley. Nay, I'm sure, Sir Peter, your lady cannot be the cause of your uneasiness.

Sir P. Why, has anybody told you she was dead?

Rowley. Come, come, Sir Peter, you love her, notwithstanding your tempers don't exactly agree. Sir P. But the fault is entirely bers, master Rowley. I am, myself, the sweetest tempered man alive, and hate a teazing temper: and so I tell her a hundred times a day.

Rowley. Indeed!

But

Sir P. Ay! and what is very extraordinary, in all our disputes she is always in the wrong! Lady Sneerwell, and the set she meets at her house, encourage the perverseness of her disposition. Then, to complete my vexation, Maria, my ward, whom I ought to have the power of a father over, is determined to turn rebel too, and absolutely refuses the man whom I have long resolved on for her husband; meaning, I suppose, to bestow herself on his profligate brother.

Rowley. You know, sir, I have always taken the liberty to differ with you on the subject of these two young gentlemen. I only wish you may not be deceived in your opinion of the elder. For Charles, my life on't! he will retrieve his errors yet. Their worthy father, once my honoured master, was, at his years, nearly as wild a spark, yet, when he died, he did not leave a more benevolent heart to lament his loss.

Sir P. You are wrong, master Rowley. On their father's death, you know, I acted as a kind of guardian to them both, till their uncle Sir Oliver's eastern liberality gave them an early independence: of course, no person could have more opportunities of judging of their hearts, and I was never mistaken in my life. Joseph is indeed a model for the young men of the age. He is a man of sentiment, and acts up to the sentiments he professes; but for the other, take my word for't, if he had any grain of virtue by descent, he has dissipated it with the rest of his inheritance. Ah! my old friend, Sir Oliver, will be deeply mortified when he finds how part of his bounty has been misapplied.

Rowley. I am sorry to find you so violent against the young man, because this may be the most critical period of his fortune. I came hither with news that will surprise you.

Sir P. What! let me hear.
Rowley. Sir Oliver is arrived, and at this mo-

ment in town.

Sir P. How! you astonish me! I thought you aid not expect him this month.

Rowley. I did not; but his passage has been remarkably quick.

Sir P. Egad, I shall rejoice to see my old friend. 'Tis sixteen years since we met.-We have had many a day together:-but does he still enjoin us not to inform his nephews of his arrival?

Rowley. Most strictly. He means, before it is known, to make some trial of their dispositions.

Sir P. Ah! there needs no art to discover their merits-however, he shall have his way: but, pray, does he know I am married?

Rowley. Yes, and will soon wish you joy. Sir P. What, as we drink health to a friend in a consumption. Ah! Oliver will laugh at me. We used to rail at matrimony together: but he has been steady to his text. Well, he must be at my house, though!—I'll instantly give orders for his reception. But, master Rowley, don't drop a word that Lady Teazle and I ever disagree.

Rowley. By no means.

Sir P. For I should never be able to stand Noll's jokes; so I'd have him think, Lord forgive me! that we are a very happy couple.

Rowley. I understand you :-but then you must be very careful not to differ while he is in the house with you.

Sir P. Egad, and so we must-and that's impossible. Ah! master Rowley, when an old bachelor marries a young wife, he deserves-no-the crime carries its punishment along with it. [Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I.--Sir Peter's House.

Enter Lady TEAZLE and Sir Peter.

Sir P. Lady Teazle, Lady Teazle, I'll not bear it!

Lady T. Sir Peter, Sir Peter, you may bear it or not, as you please; but I ought to have my own way in everything; and what's more, I will too. What! though I was educated in the country, I know very well that women of fashion in London are accountable to nobody after they are married.

Sir P. Very well, ma'am, very well;-so a husband is to have no influence, no authority?

Lady T. Authority! No, to be sure if you wanted authority over me, you should have adopted me, and not married me: I am sure you were old enough.

Sir P. Old enough!-ay-there it is. Well, well, Lady Teazle, though my life may be made unhappy by your temper, I'll not be ruined by your extravagance.

Lady T. My extravagance! I'm sure I'm not more extravagant than a woman of fashion ought to be.

Sir P. No, no, madam, you shall throw away no more sums on such unmeaning luxury. 'Slife! to spend as much to furnish your dressing-room with flowers in winter as would suffice to turn the Pantheon into a green-house, and give a fête champêtre at Christmas.

Lady T. Lord, Sir Peter, am I to blame, because flowers are dear in cold weather! You should find fault with the climate, and not with me. part, I'm sure, I wish it was spring all the year round, and that roses grew under our feet!

For my

Sir P. Oons! madam-if you had been born to this, I shouldn't wonder at your talking thus; but you forget what your situation was when I married you.

Lady T. No, no, I don't; 'twas a very disagree able one, or I should never have married you.

Sir.P Yes, yes, macam, you were then in somewhat a bumbler style:-the daughter of a plain country squire. Recolle t, Lady Teazle, when I saw you first sitting at your tambour, in a pretty figured linen gown, with a bunch of keys at your side; your hair combed smooth over a roll, and your apartment hung round with fruits in worsted, of your own working.

Lady T. O, yes! I remember it very well, and a curious life 1 led.-My daily occupation to inspect the dairy, superintend the poultry, make extracts from the family receipt book,-and comb my aunt Deborah's lap-dog.

Sir P. Yes, yes, ma'am, 'twas so indeed. Lady T. And then, you know, my evening amusements! To draw patterns for ruffles, which I had not materials to make up; to play Pope Joan with the curate; to read a novel to my aunt; or to be stuck down to an old spinet to strum my father to sleep after a fox-chase."

Sir P. I am glad you have so good a memory. Yes, madam, these were the recreations I took you from; but now you must have your coach-vis-àvis-and three powdered footmen before your chair; and, in the summer, a pair of white cats to draw you to Kensington-gardens. No recollection, I suppose, when you were content to ride double, behind the butler, on a dock'd coach-horse.

Lady T. No-I swear I never did that: I deny the butler and the coach-horse.

Sir P. This, madam, was your situation; and what have I done for you? I have made you a woman of fashion, of fortune, of rank; in short, I have made you my wife.

Lady T. Well, then,--and there is but one thing more you can make me add to the obligation, and that is

Sir P. My widow, I suppose?
Lady T. Hem! hem!

Sir P. I thank you, madam-but don't flatter yourself; for though your ill conduct may disturb my peace of mind, it shall never break my heart, I promise you however, I am equally obliged to you for the hint.

Lady T. Then why will you endeavour to make yourself so disagreeable to me, and thwart me in every little elegant expense!

Sir P. 'Slife, madam, I say, had you any of these little elegant expenses when you married me?

Lady P. Lud, Sir Peter! would you have me be out of the fashion!

Sir P. The fashion, indeed! What had you to do with the fashion before you married me?

Lady T. For my part, I should think you would like to have your wife thought a woman of taste.

Sir P. Ay-there again-taste-Zounds! madam, you had no taste when you married me!

Lady T. That's very true, indeed, Sir Peter; and after having married you, I should never pre. tend to taste again, I allow. But now, Sir Peter, since we have finished our daily jangle, I presume I may go to my engagement at Lady Sneerwell's.

Sir P. Ay, there's another precious circumstance -a charming set of acquaintance you have made there.

Lady T. Nay, Sir Peter, they are all people of rank and fortune, and remarkably tenacious of reputation.

granted, they deal exactly in the same manner with me. But, Sir Peter, you know you promised to come to Lady Sneerwell's too.

Sir P. Well, well, I'll call in just to look after my own character.

Lady T. Then indeed you must make haste after me, or you'll be too late. So, good bye to ye. [Exit. Sir P. So I have gain'd much by my intended expostulation: yet, with what a charming air she contradicts everything I say, and how pleasingly she shows her contempt for my authority! Well, though I can't make her love me, there is great satisfaction in quarrelling with her; and I think she never appears to such advantage as when she is doing everything in her power to plague me. [Exit SCENE II.-Lady Sneerwell's House. Company sitting at the back of the stage at Card Tables.

Lady SNEERWELL, Mrs. CANDOUR, CRABTREF,
Sir BENJAMIN BACKBITE, and JOSEPH SURFACE,
discovered; Servants attending with Tea, &c.
Lady S. Nay, positively we will hear it.
Joseph S. Yes, yes, the epigram, by all means.
Sir B. O plague on't uncle! 'tis mere nonsense.
Crab. No, no; 'fore Gad, very clever for an ex-
tempore!

Sir B. But, ladies, you should be acquainted with the circumstance. You must now, that one day last week, as Lady Betty Curricle was taking the dust in Hyde Park, in a sort of duodecimo phaeton, she desired me to write some verses on her ponies; upon which I took out my pocket-book, and in one moment produced the following:

Sure never were seen two such beautiful ponies; Other horses are clowns, but these macaronies: To give them this title I'm sure is not wrong, Their legs are so slim, and their tails are so long. Crab. There, ladies, done in the smack of a whip, and on horseback too.

Joseph S. A very Phœbus, mounted-indeed, Sir Benjamin.

Sir B. O dear, sir! trifles-trifles.

Enter MARIA and Lady TEAZLE. Mrs. C. I must have a copy.

Lady S. Lady Teazle, I hope we shall see Sir Peter ?

Lady T. I believe he'll wait on your ladyship presently.

Lady S. Maria, my dear, you look grave. Come, you shall sit down to piquet with Mr. Surface. Maria. I take very little pleasure in cards-however, I'll do as your ladyship pleases.

Lady T. I am surprised Mr. Surface should sit

Sir P. Yes, egad, they are tenacious of reputation with a vengeance: for they don't choose any-down with her; I thought he would have embraced body should have a character but themselves! this opportunity of speaking to me, before Sir Such a crew! Ah! many a wretch has rid on a Peter came. hurdle who has done less mischief than these utterers of forged tales, coiners of scandal, and clippers of reputation.

Lady T. What! would you restrain the freedom of speech?

Sir P. Ah! they have made you just as bad as any one of the society.

Lady T. Why, I believe I do bear a part with a tolerable grace.

Sir P. Grace, indeed!

Lady T. But 1 vow I bear no malice against the peple I abuse.-When I say an ill-natured thing, as out of pure good-humour; and I take it for

[Aside. Mrs. C. Now, I'll die, but you are sc scandalous, I'll forswear your society,

Lady T. What's the matter, Mrs. Candour? Mrs. C. They'll not allow our friend Miss Vermilion to be handsome.

Lady S. O, surely, she is a pretty woman.
Crab. I am very glad you think so, ma'am.
Mrs. C. She has a charming fresh colour.
Lady T. Yes, when it is fresh put on.

Mrs. C. O fie! I'll swear her colour is natural: I have seen it come and go.

Lady T. I dare swear you have, ma'am: it goes off at night, and comes again in the morning.

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