SCENE I.

Enter Lord HARDY.

L. Hardy. Now, indeed, I am utterly undone but to expect an evil softens the weight of it when it happens; and pain, no more than pleasure, is in reality so great as in expectation. But what will become of me?-How shall I keep myself even above worldly want?-Shall I live at home, a stiff, melancholy, poor man of quality; grow uneasy to my acquaintance, as well as myself, by fancying I am slighted where I am not; with all the thousand particularities which attend those whom low fortune and high spirit make malcontents? No!-We have a brave prince on the throne, whose commission I bear, and a glorious war, in an honest cause, approaching, Clapping his hand on his sword] in which this shall cut out bread for me, and may, perhaps, equal that estate to which my birth entitled me -But what to do in present pressures-Ha, [Calling.

Trim!

Trim. My lord!

Enter TRIM.

L. Hardy. How do the poor rogues that are to recruit my company?

Trim. Do, sir! They have eat you to your last guinea.

L. Hardy. Were you at the agent's?
Trim. Yes.

L. Hardy. Well, and how?

Trim. Why, sir, for your arrears you may have eleven shillings in the pound; but he'll not touch your growing subsistence under three shillings in the pound interest; besides which, you must let his clerk, Jonathan Item, swear the peace against you, to keep you from duelling, or insure your life, which you may do for eight per cent. On these terms he'll oblige you, which he would not do for any body else in the regiment; but he has a friendship for you.

L. Hardy. Oh, I am his humble servant! but he must have his own terms; we cann't starve, nor must the fellows want. But methinks this is a calm midnight:-I have heard no duns today.

Trim. Duns, my lord! Why, now your father's dead, and they cann't arrest you, I shall grow a little less upon the smooth with them than I have been. Why, friend, says I, how often must I tell you my lord is not stirring? His lordship has not slept well; you must come some other time: your lordship will send for him when you are at leisure to look upon money affairs: or, if they are so saucy, so impertinent as to press a man of your quality for their own, there are canes, there's Bridewell, there's the stocks for your ordinary

tradesmen; but to an haughty, thriving, CoventGarden mercer, silk, or lace-man, your lordship gives your most humble service to him, hopes his wife is well; you have letters to write, or you would see him yourself. but you desire he would be with you punctually on such a day, that is to say, the day after you are gone out of

town.

L. Hardy. Go, sirrah; you are scurrilous: I won't believe there are such men of qualityD'ye hear, give my service, this afternoon, to Mr Cutpurse, the agent, and tell him I am obliged to pay him for his readiness to serve me, for i am resolved to pay my debts forthwith.

[A voice without.] I don't know whether he is within or not. Mr Trim, is my lord within? L. Hardy. Trim, see who it is: I am not within, you know. [Exit TRIM. Trim. [Without.] Yes, sir, my lord is above; pray walk up.

L. Hardy. Who can it be? he owns me too.➡

Enter CAMPLEY and TRIM. Dear Tom Campley, this is kind-You are an extraordinary man, indeed, who, in the sudden accession of a noble fortune, can still be yourself, and visit your less happy friends.

Camp. No, you are, my lord, the extraordinary man, who, on the loss of an almost princely fortune, can be master of a temper that makes you the envy, rather than pity of your more fortunate, not more happy friends.

L. Hardy. Oh, sir, your servant !-But let me gaze on thee a little- -I ha'n't seen thee since we came home into England.-Most exactly, negligently, genteelly dressed.-I know there is more than ordinary in this. [Beating CAMPLEY'S breast.] Come, confess who shares with me here. I must have her real and poetical nameCome, she is in sonnet, Cynthia ; in prose, Mis

tress

Camp. One you little dream of, though she is, in a manner, of your placing there.

L. Hardy. My placing there!

Camp. Why, my lord, all the fine things you have said to me in the camp, of my lady Char lotte, your father's ward, ran in my head so very much, that I made it my business to become acquainted in that family, which I did by Mr Cabinet's means, and am now in love in the same place with your lordship.

L. Hardy. How! in love in the same place. with me, Mr Campley?

Camp: Ay, my lord, with t'other sister, with

t'other sister.

L. Hardy. What a dunce was I, not to know which, without your naming her? Why, thou art the only man breathing fit to deal with herBut my lady Charlotte; there's a woman!

Camp. Oh! that Harriot! to embrace that beauteous

L. Hardy. Ay, Tom; but methinks your head runs too much on the wedding-night only, to make your happiness lasting: mine is fixed on the married state :-I expect my felicity from Lady Charlotte, in her friendship, her constancy, her piety, her household cares, her maternal tenderness-But tell me, I wonder how you make your approaches in besieging such a sort of creature; she that loves addresses, gallantry, fiddles; that reigns and delights in a crowd of admirers. If I know her, she is one of those you may easily have a general acquaintance with, but hard to make particular.

Camp. You understand her very well-You must know, I put her out of all her play, by carrying it in a humorous manner: I took care, in all my actions, before I discovered the lover, that she should, in general, have a good opinion of me; so that she is now extremely at a loss how to throw me, from the familiarity of an acquaintance, into the distance of a lover; but I laugh her out of it: when she begins to frown and look grave at my mirth, I mimic her till she bursts out a laughing.

L. Hardy. That's ridiculous enough. Camp. By Cabinet's interest over my lady Brumpton, with gold and flattery to Mrs Fardingale, an old maid her ladyship has placed about the young ladies, I have easy access at all times, and am this very day to be admitted by her into their apartment- -I have found, you must know, that she is my relation.

L. Hardy. Her ladyship has chose an odd companion for ladies. young

Camp. Oh, my lady's a politician: she told Tattleaid, one day, that an old maid was the best guard for young ones; for they, like eunuchs in a seraglio, are vigilant out of envy of enjoyment they cannot themselves arrive at. But, as I was saying, I have sent my cousin Fardingale a song, which she and I are to practise to the spinetThe young ladies will be by, and I am to be left alone with Lady Harriot. If you'll meet me at Toms', have a letter ready; I will, myself, deliver it to your mistress, conduct you into the house, and tell her you are there, and find means to place you together. You must march under my command to-day, as I have many a one under yours.

L. Hardy. But, faith, Tom, I shall not behave

Camp. Ha, ha, ha! this is a campaigner too! Why, my lord, that's the condition Harriot would have me in, and then she thinks she could have me; but I, that know her better than she does herself-But I shall make her no such sacrifice. 'Tis well my lady Charlotte's a woman of so solid an understanding: I don't know another that would not use you ill for your high value.

L. Hardy. But, Tom, I must see your song you have sent your cousin Fardingale, as you call her. Camp. This is lucky enough-[Aside.]—No, hang it, my lord, a man makes so silly a figure when his verses are reading-Trim, thou hast not left off thy loving and thy rhyming:-Trim's a critic: I remember him a servitor at Oxon. [Giving a paper to TRIM.] I give myself into his hands, because you sha'n't see them till I am goneMy lord, your servant-you sha'n't stir.

L. Hardy. Nor you neither, then. [Struggling. Camp. You will be obeyed.

[Exeunt; Lord HARDY waits on him down. Trim. What is in this song-Ha!-Don't my eyes deceive me?—A bill of three hundred pounds! {Reads.

'Mr Cash,

[Pulling off his hat, and bowing.] Your very humble servant, good Mr Campley. Ay, this is poetry; this is a song, indeed-Faith, I'll set it, and sing it myself- -Pray, pay to Mr William Trim-so far in recitative Three hundred —[Singing ridiculously.]—hun-dred-hundred

-Hundred thrice repeated, because 'tis three hundred pounds: I love repetitions in music, when there is a good reason for it--Pods, after the Italian manner. If they would bring me such sensible words as these, I would outstrip all your composers for the music prize. This was honestly done of Mr Campley; though I have carried him many a purse from my master, when he was ensign to our company in Flanders.

mean-but I am-I am, my lord-In short, I am overjoyed.

L. Hardy. Overjoyed! thou art distractedWhat ails the fellow? Where is Campley's song? Trim. Oh, my lord, one would not think it was in him! Mr Campley is really a very great poetAs for the song, it is only as they all end in rhyme owe, woe; isses, kisses; boy, joy-but, my lord, the other in long heroic blank verse.[Reading it with a great tone.] Pray, pay to Mr William Trim, or order, the sum of -How sweetly it runs!-Pactolian guineas chink in every line.

L. Brump. Watching me! Why, I had none but by own servants by turns.

Sab. I mean, attending to give notice of your death. I had, all your long fit of sickness, last winter, at half-a-crown a-day, a fellow waiting at your gate to bring me intelligence; but you unfortunately recovered, and I lost all my obliging pains for your service.

L. Brump. Ha, ha, ha! Sable, thou'rt a very impudent fellow. Half-a-crown a-day to attend my decease! and dost thou reckon it to me?

Sab. Look you, gentlemen, don't stand staring at me-I have a book at home, which I call my Dooms-day Book, where I have every man of quayou should drop-Nay, my lord, if you had re flected upon your mortality, half so much as poor f

L. Hurdy. No, sirrah; now we have no occasion for it.

Trim. No, my lord, only to stare him full in the face after I have received this money, not say a word, but keep my hat on, and walk out; or, perhaps, not hear, if any I meet with speak to me, but grow stiff, deaf, and short-sighted to all my old acquaintance, like a sudden rich man, as I am; or, perhaps, my lord, desire Cutpurse's clerk to let me leave fifty pounds at their house, payable to Mr William Trim, or order-till I come that way-or, a month or two hence, may have occasion for it-I don't know what bills may be drawn upon me-Then, when the clerk begins

to stare at me, till he pulls the great goose quill from behind his ear, [Pulls a handful of farthings out] I fall a-reckoning the pieces, as I do these farthings.

L. Hardy. Well, sirrah, you may have your humour, but be sure you take fourscore pounds, and pay my debts immediately-if you meet any officer you ever see me in company with, that looks grave at Cutpurse's house, tell him I'll speak with himWe must help our friends-But learn moderation, you rogue, in your good fortune.-Be at home all the evening after, while I wait at Toms' to meet Campley, in order to see Lady Charlotte. My good or ill in her alone is found, And in that thought all other cares are drown'd.

[Exit. Trim. Oh dear, dear, three hundred pounds! [Exit.

Enter SABLE, Lord BRUMPTON, and TRUSTY. Sab. Why, my lord, you cann't in conscience put me off so: I must do according to my orders, -cut you up and embalm you, except you'll come down a little deeper than you talk of:-You don't consider the charges I've been at already. L. Brump. Charges! for what?

Sub. First, twenty guineas to my lady's woman, for notice of your death, (a fee I've before now known the widow herself go halves in;) but no matter for that—in the next place, ten pounds for watching you all your long fit of sickness last winter

thus- -in short, I cannot keep this a secret, under the whole money I am to have for burying you.

L. Brump. Trusty, if you think it safe in you to obey my orders after the deed Puzzle told his clerk of, pay it him.

Trusty. I should be glad to give it out of my own pocket, rather than be without the satisfaction of seeing you witness to it.

L. Brump. I heartily believe thee, dear Trusty. Sab. Then, my lord, the secret of your being alive is now safe with me.

Trusty. I'll warrant I'll be reveng❜d of this unconscionable dog.—[Aside.]— -My lord, you must your closet I fear somebody's coming. [Exeunt SAB. one way, and L. BRUMPT. and TRUSTY another.

to

SCENE II-Draws, and discovers Lady CHARLOTTE reading at a Table; Lady HARRIOT playing at a glass to and fro, and viewing herself.

L. Har. Nay, good sage sister, you may as well talk to me [Looking at herself as she speaks] as sit staring at a book, which I know you cann't attend-Good Dr Lucas may have writ there what he pleases, but there's no putting Francis, Lord Hardy, now Earl of Brumpton, out of your head, or making him absent from your eyes. Do but look on me now, and deny it if you can,

L. Char. You are the maddest girl— [Smiling. L. Har. Look ye, I knew you could not say it and forbear laughing-[Looking over CHARLOTTE.]-Oh, I see his name as plain as you do -F-r-a-n, Fran, c-i-s, cis, Francis: 'tis in every line of the book.

L. Char. [Rising.] 'Tis in vain, I see, to mind any thing in such impertinent company-but granting 'twere as you say, as to my Lord Hardy, 'tis more excusable to admire another than one's self.

L. Har. No, I think not-Yes, I grant you, than really to be vain at one's person; but I don't admire myself--Pish! I don't believe my eyes have that softness-[Looking in the glass.] They a'n't so piercing: no; 'tis only stuff; the men will be talking- -Some people are such admirers of teeth-Lord, what signifies teeth! [Shewing her

teeth.] A very black-a moor has as white teeth as I-No, sister, I don't admire myself, but I've à spirit of contradiction in me-You don't know I'm in love with myself, only to rival the men. L. Char. Ay, but Mr Campley will gain ground ev'n of that rival of his, your dear self.

L. Har. Oh what have I done to you, that you should name that insolent intruder-A confident, opinionative fop-No, indeed: if I am, as à poetical lover of mine sighed and sung of both

sexes

The public envy, and the public care, I sha'n't be so easily catched-I thank himwant but to be sure I should heartily torment him, by banishing him, and then consider whether he should depart this life or not.

L. Char. Indeed, sister, to be serious with you, this vanity in your humour does not at all be

come you.

L. Hur. Vanity! All the matter is, we gay people are more sincere than you wise folks :-all your life's an art-Speak your soul-Look you there [Hauling her to the glass.] Are you not struck with a secret pleasure, when you view that bloom in your look, that harmony in your shape, that promptitude of your mien?

L. Char. Well, simpleton, if I am at first so silly as to be a little taken with myself, I know it a fault, and take pains to correct it.

L. Har. Pshaw! pshaw! talk this musty tale to old Mrs Fardingale; 'tis too soon for me to think at that rate.

L. Char. They that think it too soon to understand themselves, will very soon find it tooBut tell me honestly, don't you like Campley?

L. Har. The fellow is not to be abhorred, if the forward thing did not think of getting me so easily-Oh, I hate a heart I cann't break when I❘ please- What makes the value of dear china, but that 'tis so brittle-Were it not for that, you might as well have stone mugs in your closet. L. Char. Hist, hist, here's Fardingale.

Enter FARDINGALE.

Far. Lady Harriot, Lady Charlotte-I'll entertain you now:-I've a new song, just come hot out of the poet's brain. Lady Charlotte, my cousin Campley writ it, and it's set to a pretty air, I warrant you.

L. Har. 'Tis like to be pretty indeed, of his writing. [Flings away. Far. Come, come, this is not one of your tringham trangham witty things, that your poor poets write: no; 'tis well known my cousin Campley has two thousand pounds a-year-But this is all dissimulation in you.

L. Char. 'Tis so indeed; for is very pretty, Mrs Fardingale.

your

But Harriot thinks that a little unreasonable, to expect one without enduring t'other. Enter Servant.

Serv. There's your cousin Campley to wait on you without.

Far. Let him come in-We shall have the song now.

Enter CAMPLEY.

Camp. Ladies, your most obedient servantYour servant, Lady Charlotte-servant, Lady Harriot. [HARRIOT looks grave upon him.] What's the matter, dear Lady Harriot-Not well? I protest to you I'm mightily concerned-[Pulls out a bottle.] This is a most excellent spirit-snuff it up, madam.

L. Har. Pish! the familiar coxcomb frets me heartily.

Camp. Twill be over, I hope, immediately. L. Char. Your cousin Fardingale has shewn us some of your poetry.

Camp. You should not have called it my poetry.

Far. Who waits there-Pray bring my lute out of the next room-[Enter Servant, with a lute.] You must know I conn'd this song before I came in, and find it will go to an excellent air of old Mr Law's, who was my mother's intimate acquaintance :-my mother's! what do I talk of? I mean my grand-mother's-Oh, here's the lute -Cousin Campley, hold the song upon your hat. [Aside to him.] 'Tis a pretty gallantry to a relation. [Sings and squalls.

I

Let not love, &c.

Oh, I have left off these things many a day. Camp. No;-but you are not assured enough -Take it higher-[In her own squall.]—Thus— know your voice will bear it.

L. Har. Oh, hideous! Oh, the gross flatterer I shall burst-Mrs Fardingale, pray go on; the music fits the words most aptly-Take it higher, as your cousin advises.

Far. Oh, dear madam, do you really like itI do purely to please you-for I cann't sing, alas!

L. Char. We know it, good madam, we know it-But pray

Fur. Let not love, and substantial blisses, is lively enough, and ran accordingly in the tune. [Courtesies to the company.] Now I took it higher. L. Har. Incomparably done! Nothing can equal it, except your cousin sang his own poetry.

Camp. Madam, from my lord Hardy-[Delivers a letter to Lady CHARLOTTE.] How do you say, my lady Harriot; except I sing it myself! Then I assure you I will.

Let not love on me bestow
Soft distress and tender woe;
Then, pr'ythee give me, gentle boy,
None of thy grief, but all thy joy.

L. Char. I ha'n't patience: I must go read my [Exit. Far. Bless me! what's become of Lady Charlotte? [Exit.

L. Har. Mrs Fardingale, Mrs Fardingale, what, must we lose you? [CAMPLEY runs to the door, takes the key out, and locks her in.] What means

this insolence?-A plot upon me. Do you know who I am?

Camp. Yes, madam; you're my lady Harriot Lovely, with ten thousand pounds in your pocket; and I am Mr Campley, worth two thousand ayear-of quality enough to pretend to you-And I do design, before I leave this room, to hear you talk like a reasonable woman, as nature has made you. Nay, 'tis in vain to flounce, and discompose yourself and your dress.

L. Har. If there are swords, if they are men of honour, and not all dastards, cowards, that pretend to this injured person

[Running round the room. Camp. Ay, ay, madam, let 'em come-That's putting me in my way: fighting's my trade-but you've used all mankind too ill to expect so much service-in short, madam, were you a fool, I should not desire to expostulate with you.

[Seizing her hand. L. Har. Unhand me, ravisher !-—[Pulls her hand from him, and runs round the room, CAMPLEY after her.

Camp. But, madam, madam, madam, why, madam! [Sings.

Pr'ythee, Cynthia, look behind you;
Age and wrinkles will o'ertake you.

L. Har. Age, wrinkles, small-pox, nay, any thing that's most abhorrent to youth and bloom, were welcome in the place of so detested a crea

ture.

Camp. No such matter, Lady Harriot:-I would not be a vain coxcomb, but I know I am not detestable, nay, know where you've said as much, before you understood me for your servant. Was I immediately transformed because I became

your lover?

L. Har. My lover, sir! Did I ever give you reason to think I admitted you as such?

Camp. Yes, you did, in your using me illHow do you answer yourself for some parts of your behaviour to me as a gentleman-Do but consider, madam, I have long loved you-bore with this fantastic humour through all its mazes -Nay, do not frown-for 'tis no better-I love with too sincere, too honest a devotion, and would have your mind as faultless as your person, which 'twould be, if you'll lay aside this vanity

[She walks about less violently, but more confused.] Had I not better tell you of it now, than when you were in my power: I should be then too generous to thwart your inclination.

L. Har. That is indeed very handsomely said. Why should I not obey reason as soon as I see it-[Aside.] Since so, Mr Campley, I can, as ingeniously as I should then, acknowledge that I have been in an error.

[Looking down on her fan. Camp. Nay, that's too great a condescension. Oh, excellence! I repent! I see 'twas but justice in you to demand my knees, [Kneeling] my sighs, my constant, tenderest regard and service-And you shall have 'em, since you are above 'em.

L. Hur. Nay, Mr Campley, you won't recal

me to a fault you have so lately shewn me→I will not suffer this-No more ecstasies! But pray, sir, what was't you did to get my sister out of the room?

Camp. You may know it; and I must desire you to assist my lord Hardy there, who writ to her by me-For he is no ravisher, as you called me just now.He is now in the houseAnd I would fain gain an interview.

L. Har. That they may have-But they'll make little use of it; for the tongue is the instrument of speech to us of a lower form: they are of that high order of lovers, who know none but eloquent silence, and can utter themselves only by a gesture, that speaks their passion inexpressible--and what not fine things.

Camp. But pray let's go into your sister's closet, while they are together.

L. Hur. I swear I don't know how to see my sister-she'll laugh me to death to see me out of my pantoufles, and you and I thus familiarHowever, I know she'll approve it.

Camp. You may boast yourself an heroine to her, and the first woman that was ever vanquished by hearing truth, and had sincerity enough to receive so rough an obligation, as being made acquainted with her faults-Come, madam, stand your ground bravely: we'll march in to her thus.

[She leaning on CAMPLEY. L. Har. Who'll believe a woman's anger more? I've betray'd the whole sex to you, Mr Campley. [Exeunt.

Re-enter Lord HARDY and CAMPLEY. Camp. My lord, her sister, who now is mine, will immediately send her hither-But be yourself-Charge her bravely-I wish she were a cannon-an eighteen-pounder, for your sakeThen, I know, were there occasion, you'd be in

the mouth of her.

I

L. Hardy. I long, yet fear to see her-I know am unable to utter myself.

Camp. Come, retire here till she appears.

Enter Lady CHARLOTTE.

L. Char. Now is the tender moment now approaching. [Aside.] There he is. [They approach and salute each other, trembling.] Your lordship will please to sit. [After a very long pause, stolen glantes, and irresolute gestures,] your lordship, I think, has travelled those parts of Italy where the armies are.

L. Hardy. Yes, madam.

L. Char. I think I have letters from you, dated Mantua.

L. Hardy. I hope you have, madam-and that their purpose

L. Char. My lord!

[Looking serious and confused. L. Hardy. Was not your ladyship going to say something!

L. Char. I only attended to what your lordship was going to say-that is, my lord-But you were, I believe, going to say something of that garden of the world, Italy--I am very sorry your