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Col. Lamb. O ho! here's the business then; and it seems Darnley was not to be trusted with it; ha, ha! and pr'ythee, what is the mighty secret that is transacting between Seyward and you?

Charl. That's what he would have known, indeed; but you must know, I don't think it proper to let you tell him neither, for all your sly manner of asking.

Lady Lamb. Your charity is too far concerned for me.

Dr Cant. Ah! don't say so, don't say so. You merit more than mortal man can do for you. Lady Lamb. Indeed you over-rate me.

Dr Cant. I speak it from my heart; indeed, indeed, indeed I do.

Lady Lamb. O dear! you hurt my hand, sir. Dr Cant. Impute it to my zeal, and want of words for expression: precious soul! I would not harm you for the world; no, it would be the whole business of my life

Lady Lamb. But to the affair I would speak to you about.

Col. Lamb. Pray take your own time, dear madam; I am not in haste to know, I assure you. Charl. Well, but hold; on second thoughts, you shall know part of this affair between Seyward and me; nay, I give you leave to tell Darnley too, on some conditions: 'tis true, I did design to have surprised you-but now-mind's altered, that's enough. Col. Lamb. Ay, for any mortal's satisfaction- silk. but here comes my lady.

Enter Lady LAMBERT.

--my

Dr Cant. Ah, thou heavenly woman!
Lady Lamb. Your hand need not be there, sir.
Dr Cant. I was admiring the softness of this

Lady Lamb. Ay, but I'm ticklish.

Dr Cant. They are indeed come to prodigious perfection in all manufactures: how won

with nature: that all this soft and gaudy lustre should be wrought from the labours of a poor worm!

Lady Lamb. But our business, sir, is upon another subject: Sir John informs me, that he thinks himself under no obligations to Mr Darnley, and therefore resolves to give his daughter to you.

Lady Lamb. Away, away, colonel and Char- derful is human art! here it disputes the prize lotte; both of you, away this instant. Charl. What's the matter, madam? Lady Lamb. I am going to put the doctor to his trial, that's all. I have considered the proposals you have made me to-day, colonel, and am convinced it ought not to be delayed an instant: so just now, as your father was composed in the arm chair to his afternoon's nap, I told the doctor in a half whisper, that I should be glad to have a word in private with him here; and he said he would wait upon me presently. You must know, Charlotte, Sir John has been pressing me to speak to you in his favour, and has desired me to hear what the doctor had to say upon that subject; but must I play a traiterous part now, and, instead of persuading you to the doctor, persuade the doctor against you?

Charl. Dear madam, why not? one moment's truce with the prude, I beg of you; don't startle at his first declaration, but let him go on till he shews the very bottom of his ugly heart.

Lady Lamb. I warrant you, I'll give a good account of him--but, as I live, here he comes. Charl. Come, then, brother, you and I will be comode, and steal off.

[Exeunt CHARLOTTE and Colonel. Enter Doctor CANTWELL.

[The Colonel listening. Dr Cant. Here I am, madam, at your ladyship's command; how happy am I that you think me worthy

Lady Lamb. Please to sit, sir.

Dr Cant. Well, but, dear lady, ha! You can't conceive the joyousness I feel at this so much desired interview. Ah, ah! I have a thousand friendly things to say to you; and how stands your precious health? is your naughty cold abated yet? I have scarce closed my eyes these two nights with my concern for you; and every watchful interval has sent a thousand sighs and prayers to Heaven for your recovery.

Dr Cant. Such a thing has been mentioned, madam; but, to deal sincerely with you, that is not the happiness I sigh after; there is a soft and serious excellence for me, very different from what your step-daughter possesses.

Lady Lamb. Well, sir, pray be sincere, and open your heart to me.

Dr Cant. Open my heart! Can you then, sweet lady, be yet a stranger to it? Has no action of my life been able to inform you of my real thoughts? I hope you imagine not that it was from ill-will, or any other account but yours, that I urged Sir John to restrain your assemblies and visits: no, blessed creature, it proceeded from a zealous transport: I could not bear to see the gay, the young, and the impertinent, daily crowding round you, without a certain grudge; I might say, envy.

Lady Lamb. Well, sir, I take all this, as I suppose you intend it, for my good and spiritual welfare.

Dr Cant. Indeed I mean your cordial service, Lady Lamb. I dare say you do: you are above the low momentary views of this world.

Dr Cant. Why, I should be so; and yet, alas! I find this mortal clothing of my soul is made like other men's, of sensual flesh and blood, and has its frailties.

Lady Lamb. We all have those, but yours are well corrected by your divine and virtuous contemplations.

Dr Cant. Alas, madam, my heart is not of stone: I may resist, call all my prayers, my fastings, tears and penance to my aid; but yet, I am

not an angel; I am still but a man; and virtue may strive, but nature will be uppermost.-I love you, then, madam.

Lady Lamb. Hold, sir. You've said enough to put you in my power. Suppose I now should let my husband, your benefactor, know the favour you design him?

Dr Cant. You canot be so cruel.

Lady Lamb. Nor will, on this condition: that instantly you renounce all claim and title to Charlotte, and use your utmost interest with Sir John, to give her, with her full fortune, to Mr Darnley.

Enter Colonel LAMBERT.

Col. Lamb. Villain, monster, perfidious and ungrateful traitor! Your hypocrisy, your false zeal is discovered: and I am sent here by the hand of insulted Heaven, to lay you open to my father, and expose you to the world.

Dr Cant. Ha!

Lady Lamb. O, unthinking colonel !

hereabouts; and while I was talking to my lady, rushed in upon us-you know the subject, sir, on which I was to entertain her; and I might speak of my love for your daughter with more warmth than, perhaps, I ought; which the colonel over-hearing, he might possibly imagine I was addressing my lady herself; for I will not suspect, no, Heaven forbid! I will not suspect that he would intentionally forge a falsehood to dishonour me.

Sir J. Lamb. Now, vile detractor of all virtue, is your outrageous malice confounded?-What he tells you is true; he was talking to my lady by my consent; and what he said, he said by my orders. Good man, be not concerned, for I see through their vile design. Here, thou curse of my life, if thou art not lost to conscience, and all sense of honour, repair the injury you have attempted, by confessing your rancour, and throwing yourself at his feet.

Dr Cant. Oh, Sir John! for my sake-I will throw myself at the colonel's feet; nay, if

Col. Lamb. Well, sir, what have you to say for that will please him, he shall tread on my neck. yourself?

Dr Cant. I have nothing to say to you, coJonel, nor for shall have my you-but you prayers. Col. Lamb. Why, you profligate hypocrite, do you think to carry off your villainy with that sanctified air?

Dr Cant. I know not what you mean, sir. I have been in discourse here with my good lady, by permission of your worthy father.

Col. Lamb. Dog, did my father desire you to talk of love to my lady?

Dr Cunt. Call me not dog, colonel: I hope we are both brother christians.-Yes, I will own I did beg leave to talk to her of love; for, alas, I am but a man; yet if my passion for your dear sister, which I cannot controul, be sinful

Lady Lamb. Your noise, I perceive, is bringing up Sir John; manage with him as you will at present; I will withdraw, for I have an aftergame to play, which may yet put this wretch effectually into our power. [Exit.

Enter Sir JOHN LAMBERT. Sir J. Lamb. What uproar is this? Col. Lamb. Nothing, sir, nothing; only a little broil of the good doctor's here-You are well rewarded for your kindness; and he would fain pay it back with triple interest to your wife: in short, sir, I took him here in the very fact of making a criminal declaration of love to my lady. Dr Cant. Why, why, Sir John, would you not let me leave your house? I knew some dreadful method would be taken to drive me henceO, be not angry, good colonel; but indeed, and indeed, you use me cruelly.

Sir J. Lamb. Horrible, wicked creature!— Doctor, let me hear it from you.

DrCant. Alas, sir, I am in the dark as much. as you; but it should seem, for what purpose he best knows, your son hid himself somewhere

Sir J. Lamb. What! mute, defenceless, hardened in thy malice?

Col. Lamb. I scorn the imputation, sir; and with the same repeated honesty avow, however cunningly he may have devised this gloss, that you are deceived.What I tell you, sir, is true--these eyes, these ears, were witnesses of his audacious love, without the mention of my sister's name; directly, plainly, grossly tending to abuse the honour of your bed.

Sir J. Lamb. Villain, this instant leave my sight, my house, my family, for ever! Wife, children, servants, are all leagued against this pious man, and think to weary me by groundless clamours to discard him; but all shall not do. Your malice falls on your own wicked heads; to me it but the more endears him.

Col. Lamb. Doctor, you have triumphed.
Sir J. Lamb. Wretch, leave my house.

Dr Cant. Hold, good Sir John: I am now recovered from my surprise; let me then be an humble mediator on my account, this must not be---I grant it possible, your son loves me not; but you must grant it too as possible, he might mistake me; to accuse me then, was but the error of his virtue; you ought to love him, thank him for his watchful care.

Sir J. Lamb. O miracle of charity!

Dr Cant. Come, come; such breaches must not be betwixt so good a son and father; forget, forgive, embrace him, cherish him, and let me bless the hour I was the occasion of so sweet a reconcilement.

Sir J. Lamb. Hear this, perverse and reprobate!-Oh, couldst thou wrong such more than mortal virtue!

Col. Lamb. Wrong him! the hardened impudence of this painted charity-

Sir J. Lamb. Peace, graceless infidel !

Col. Lamb. No, sir; though I would hazard life to gain you from the clutches of that wretch,

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Dr Cant. And do you think I take your estate with such views?-Ño, sir-I receive it that I may have an opportunity to rouse his mind to virtue, by shewing him an instance of the forgiveness of injuries ;-the return of good for evil.

Sir J. Lamb. O, my dear friend, my stay, and my guide! I am impatient till the affair is concluded.

Dr Cant. The will of Heaven be done in all things.

Sir J. Lamb. Poor dear man!-[Turning to where the Colonel went off.]--Oh, reprobate, profligate, hardened wretch, to use in this manner a person of his sanctity! [Exeunt.

ACT IV.

did any man since I was born: I'll be sincere

SCENE I.—A Parlour in Sir JOHN LAMBERT'S with you.

House.

Enter CHARLOTTE and SEYward.
Charl. You were a witness, then?
Seyw. I saw it signed, sealed, and delivered,
madam.

Charl. And all passed without the least suspicion ?

Seya. Sir John signed it with such earnestness, and the doctor received it with such a seeming reluctance, that neither had the curiosity to examine a line of it.

Charl. Well, Mr Seyward, whether it succeeds to our ends or not, we have still the same obligations to you. You saw with what a friendly warmth my brother heard your story; and I don't in the least doubt his being able to do something for you.

Seyw. Is it then possible you can have loved another, to whom you never were sincere?

Charl. Alas, you are but a novice in the passion.-Sincerity is a dangerous virtue, and often surfeits what it ought to nourish. Therefore I take more pains to make the man I love believe I slight him, than, if possible, I would to convince you of my esteem and friendship.- -Nay, I'll do more still; I'll shew you all the good nature you can desire; you shall make what love to me you please; but then I'll tell you the consequence: I shall certainly be pleased with it, and that will flatter you till I do you a mischief. Now do you think me sincere?

Seyw. I scarce consider that: but I'm sure you are agreeable.

Charl. Why, look you there, now; do you consider, that a woman had as lief be thought agreeable as handsome; and how can you supof-pose, from one of your sense, that I am not pleased with being told so?

Seyw. What I have done, my duty bound me to; but pray, madam, give me leave, without fence, to ask you one innocent question.

Charl. Freely.

Seyw. Have you never suspected, that in all this affair, I have had some secret stronger motive than barely duty?

Charl. Yes.- -But have you been in no apprehensions I should discover that motive? Seyw. Pray, pardon me; I see already I have gone too far.

Charl. Not at all; it loses you no merit with me, nor is it in my nature to use any one ill that loves me, unless I loved that one again: then, indeed, there might be danger. Come, don't look grave; my inclinations to another shall not hinder me paying every one what's due to their merit: I shall, therefore, always think myself obliged to treat your misfortunes and your modesty with the utmost tenderness.

Seyw. Dear madam, mad as I am, I never hoped for more.

Charl. Then, I'll give you a great deal more; and to shew you my particular good opinion of you, I'll do you a favour, Mr Seyward, I never VOL. IV.

Seyw. Was ever temper so enchanting!-Your good opinion is all I aim at.

Charl. Ay, but the more I give it you, the better you'll think of me still; and then I must think the better of you again; and then you the better of me, upon that too; and so at last I shall think seriously, and you'll begin to think ill of me. But I hope, Mr Seyward, your good sense will prevent all this.

Seyw. I see my folly, madam, and blush at my presumption. Madam, I humbly take my leave. [Exit.

Churl. Well, he's a pretty young fellow after all, and the very first, sure, that ever heard reason against himself with so good an understanding.Lord, how one may live and learn!-I could not have believed that modesty in a young fellow could have been so amiable. And though I own there is, I know not what of dear delight in indulging one's vanity with them, yet upon serious reflection, we must confess, that truth and sincerity have a thousand charms beyond it. I be

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lieve I had as good confess all this to Darnley, and e'en make up the bustle with him too: but then he will so tease one for instances of real inclination O gad !—I cann't bear the thought on't: and yet we must come together too-Well, Nature knows the way, to be sure, and so I'll e'en trust to her for it.

Enter Lady LAMBERT.

Lady Lamb. Dear Charlotte, what will become of us—The tyranny of this subtle hypocrite is insupportable. He has so fortified himself in Sir John's opinion, by this last misconduct of your brother, that I begin to lose my usual power

with him.

Charl. Pray, explain, madam.

Lady Lamb. In spite of all I could urge, he has consented that the doctor shall this minute come, and be his own advocate with you.

Charl. I'm glad on't; for the beast must come like a bear to the stake. I'm sure he knows I shall bait him.

Lady Lamb. No matter for that; he presses it, to keep Sir John still blind to his wicked designs upon me.Therefore I am come to give you notice, that you might be prepared to receive him.

Charl. I'm obliged to your ladyship. Our meeting will be a tender scene, no doubt on't.

Lady Lami. But I think I hear the doctor coming up stairs. My dear girl, at any rate keep your temper. I shall expect you in my dressingroom, to tell me the particulars of your conduct. [Exit. Charl. He must have a great deal of impudence, to come in this manner to me.

Enter Doctor CANTWELL, and BETTY introducing him.

Betty. Doctor Cantwell desires to be admitted, madam.

Chart. Let him come in.-Your servant, sir.-Give us chairs, Betty, and leave the room.[Exit BETTY.]-Sir, there's a seat. What can the ugly cur say to me!-he seems a little puzzled. [Humming a tune.

Dr Cant. Look ye, young lady, I am afraid, notwithstanding your good father's favour, I am not the man you would desire to be alone with upon this occasion.

Charl. Your modesty is pleased to be in the right.

Dr Cant. I'm afraid'too, notwithstanding all my endeavours to the contrary, that you entertain a pretty bad opinion of me.

Chart. A worse, sir, of no mortal breathing!
Dr Cant. Which opinion is immovable.
Charl. No rock so firm!

Dr Cant. I am afraid, then, it will be a vain pursuit, when I solicit you, in compliance with my worthy friend's desire, and my own inclinations, to become my partner in that blessed estate, in which we may be a comfort and support to each other.

Charl. I would die rather than consent to it.
Dr Cant. In other words, you hate me.
Charl. Most transcendantly!

Dr Cant. Well, there is sincerity, at least, in your confession: you are not, I see, totally deprived of all virtue; though, I must say, I never could perceive in you but very little.

Charl. Oh, fie! you flatter me!

Dr Cant. No; I speak it with sorrow, because you are the daughter of my best friend. But | how are we to proceed now! are we to preserve temper?

Charl. Oh! never fear me, sir; I shall not fly out, being convinced that nothing gives so sharp a point to one's aversion as good breeding; as, on the contrary, ill manners often hide a secret inclination.

Dr Cant. Well then, young lady, be assured, so far am I from the unchristian disposition of returning injuries, that your antipathy to me causes no hatred in my soul towards you; on the contrary, I would willingly make you happy, if it may be done according to my conscience, with the interest of Heaven in view.

Charl. Why, I cann't see, sir, how Heaven can be any way concerned in a transaction between you and me.

Dr Cant. When you marry any other person, my consent is necessary.

Charl. So I hear, indeed!—but pray, doctor, how could your modesty receive so insolent power, without putting my poor father out of countenance with your blushes?

a

Dr Cant. I sought it not; but he would crowd it in among other obligations. He is good-natured; and I foresaw it might serve to pious pur

poses.

Charl. I don't understand you.

Dr Cant. I take it for granted that you would marry Mr Darnley. Am I right?

Charl. Once in your life perhaps you may. Dr Cant. Nay, let us be plain. Would you marry him?

Charl. You're mighty nice, methinks.—Well, I would.

Dr Cant. Then I will not consent.
Charl. You won't?

Dr Cant. My conscience will not suffer me. I know you to be both luxurious and worldlyminded; and you would squander upon the vanities of the world those treasures which ought to be better laid out.

Charl. Hum!-I believe I begin to conceive you.

Dr Cant. If you can think of any project to satisfy my conscience, I am tractable. You know there is a considerable moiety of your fortune which goes to my lady in case of our disagree

ment.

Charl. That's enough, sir.-You think we should have a fellow-feeling in it. At what sum do you rate your concurrence to my inclinations? that settled, I am willing to strike the bargain.

Dr Cant. What do you think of half?
Charl. How! two thousand pounds!

Dr Cant. Why, you know you gain two thousand pounds; and really the severity of the times for the poor, and my own stinted pittance, which cramps my charities, will not suffer me to require less.

Charl. But how is my father to be brought into this?

Dr Cant. Leave that to my management. Charl. And what security do you expect for the money?

Dr Cant. Oh! Mr Darnley is wealthy: when I deliver my consent in writing, he shall lay it down to me in bank bills.

Charl. Pretty good security! viso though.

Dr Cant. Name it.

-on one pro

Charl. That you immediately tell my father that you are willing to give up your interest to Mr Darnley.

Dr Cant. Hum !-stay-I agree to it; but in the mean time, let me warn you, child, not to expect to turn that, or what has now passed between us, to my confusion, by sinister construction, or evil representation to your father. I am satisfied of the piety of my own intentions, and care not what the wicked think of them; but force me not to take advantage of Sir John's good opinion of me, in order to shield myself from the consequences of your malice.

Charl. Oh! I shall not stand in my own light: I know your conscience and your power too well, dear doctor!

Dr Cant. Well, let your interest sway you. Thank Heaven, I am actuated by more worthy motives.

Charl. No doubt on't.

Dr Cant. Farewell, and think me your friend. [Exit.

Enter Colonel LAMBERT.

Charl. What this fellow's original was, I know not; but by his conscience and cunning he would make an admirable Jesuit.

Col. Lamb. Charlotte!

Charl. You may come in. Well, I hope you bring me a good account of the doctor.-What success?

Col. Lamb. All I could wish!-Seyward has given so strong and so fair a detail of his frauds and villanies of every kind, that my Lord Chief Justice made not the least hesitation to grant his warrant; and I have a tipstaff at the next door, when I give the word to take him.

Charl. Why should you not do it immediately? Col. Lamb. Have a little patience; I have a farther design in my head.- -But pray, sister, what secret's this that you have yet behind, in those writings that Seyward brought you?

Charl. Oh! that's what I cann't tell you.But, by the way, what have you done with Darnley: why is not he here?

Col. Lamb. He has been here: but you must

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Darn. To find you thus alone, madam, is an happiness I did not expect, from the temper of our last parting.

Charl. I should have been as well pleased now to have been thanked, as reproached, for my good-nature; but you will be in the right, I find.

Darn. Indeed, you take me wrong. I literally meant that I was afraid you would not so soon think I had deserved this favour.

Charl. Well then, one of us has been in the wrong, at least.

Darn. 'Twas I, I own it-more is not in my power: all the amends possible I have made you: my very joy of seeing you has waited, till what you had at heart, unasked, was perfected for a rival, whom you had so justly compassionated.

Charl. Pooh! but why would you say unasked now? don't you consider your doing it so is half the merit of the action?-Lord! you have no art: you should have left me to have taken notice of that.-Only imagine now, how kind and handsome an acknowledgment you have robbed me of.

Darn. And yet how artfully you have paid it. With what a wanton charming case you play upon my tenderness!

Charl. Well, but were not you silly now? Darn. Come, you shall not be serious: you cann't be more agreeable.

Charl. Oh! but I am serious.

Darn. Then I'll be so. Do you forgive me

all?

Charl. What?

Darn. Are we friends, Charlotte?

Charl. O, Lord! but you have told me nothing of poor Seyward?

Darn. Must you needs know that before you answer me?

Charl. Lord! you are never well till you have talked one out of countenance.

Darn. Come, I won't be too particular; you shall answer nothing.- -Give me but your hand only.

Charl. Psha! I won't pull off my glove, not I.
Durn. I'll take it as it is then.
Charl. Lord! there, there; eat it, eat it.
Darn. And so I could, by Heaven!

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