misfortunes in England are such as make you justly regret your leaving that place.

L. Hurdy. There is a person in England may make those losses insensible to me.

L. Char. Indeed, my lord, there have so very few of quality attended his majesty in the war, that your birth and merit may well hope for his favour.

L. Hardy. I have, indeed, all the zeal in the world for his majesty's service, and most grateful affection for his person, but did not then mean him. L. Char. But can you, indeed, impartially say, that our island is really preferable to the rest of the world, or is it arrogance only in us to think so? L. Hardy. I profess, madam, that little I have seen has but more endeared England to me; for that medley of humours which perhaps distracts our public affairs, does, methinks, improve our private lives, and makes conversation more various, and consequently more pleasing-Every where else, both men and things have the same countenance.-In France you meet with much civility and little friendship; in Holland, deep attention, but little reflection; in Italy, all pleasure, but no mirth-but, here with us, where you have every where pretenders, or masters in every thing, you cann't fall into company wherein you shall not be instructed or diverted.

L. Char. I never had an account of any thing from you, my lord, but I mourned the loss of my brother-you would have been so happy a companion for him-With that right sense of yours-My lord, you need not bow so obsequiously, for I do you but justice-But you sent me word of your seeing a lady in Italy very like me -Did you visit her often?

L. Hardy. Once or twice; but I observed her so loose a creature, that I could have killed her for having your person.

L. Char. I thank you, sir; but Heaven, that preserves me unlike her, will, I hope, make her more like me-But your fellow-traveller-His relations themselves know not a just account of him.

L. Hardy. The original cause of his fever was a violent passion for a fine young woman he had not power to speak to-but I told her his regard for her as passionately as possible,

L. Char. You were to him what Mr Campley has been to you-Whither am I running!-Poor -your friend-Poor gentleman.

L. Hardy. I hope, then, as Campley's cloquence is greater, so has been his success, L. Char. My lord!

L. Hardy. Your ladyship's

Enter Lady HARRIOT.

L. Har. Undone! undone !-Tattleaid has found, by some means or other, that Campley brought my lord Hardy hither:-We are utterly ruined; my lady's coming.

L. Hardy. I'll stay and confront her.

L. Char. It must not be

-we are too much

Wid. Ladies, your servant-I fear I interrupt you:-Have you company? Lady Harriot, your servant!-Lady Charlotte, your servant!-What, not a word?-Oh, I beg your ladyship's pardonLady Charlotte, did I say? My young Lady Brumpton, I wish you joy.

L. Char. Oh, your servant, Lady Dowager Brumpton-That's an appellation of much more joy to you.

Wid. So smart, madam!--but you should, methinks, have made one acquainted-Yet, madam, your conduct is seen through.

L. Char. My conduct, Lady Brumpton!
Wid. Your conduct, Lady Charlotte.

[Coming up to each other. L. Char. Madam, 'tis you are seen, through all your thin disguises.

Wid. I seen! By whom?

L. Char. By an all-piercing eye; nay, by what you much more fear, the eye of the world-The world sees you, or shall see you; it shall know your secret intemperance, your public fastingLoose poems in your closet, an homily on your toilette-Your easy skilful practised hypocrisy, by which you wrought on your husband basely to transfer the trust and ward of us, two helpless virgins, into the hands and care of-I cannot name it-You're a wicked woman.

L. Har. [Aside.] Oh, rare sister! 'Tis a fine thing to keep one's anger in stock by one: we that are angry and pleased every half hour have nothing at all of this high-flown fury. Why, she rages like a princess in a tragedy! Blessings on her tongue.

Wid. Is this the effect of your morning lectures, your self-examination,-all this fury?

L. Chur. Yes, it is, madam:-if I take pains to govern my passions, it shall not give licence to others to govern 'em for me.

Wid. Well, Lady Charlotte, however ill you deserve it of me, I shall take care, while there are locks and bars, to keep you from Lord Hardy-from being a lieger lady-from carrying a knapsack.

L. Char. Knapsack! Do you upbraid the po verty your own wicked arts have brought him to?-Knapsack! Oh, grant me patience :-Can I hear this of the man I love? Knapsack! I have not words. [Stamps about the room. Wid. I leave you to cool upon it :-love and anger are very warm passions. [Exit.

in her power.

Enter CAMPLEY.

our loves; for it is only in the protection of men of honour that we are naturally truly safe:

And woman's happiness, for all her scorn, Is only by that side whence she was born.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I.

Enter Lord HARDY, CAMPLEY, and TRIM.

L. Hardy. That jade Tattleaid saw me upon the stairs; for I had not patience to keep my concealment, but must peep out to see what was become of you.

Camp. But we have advice, however, it seems, from the garrison already-This mistress of Trim's is a mighty lucky accident.

Trim. Ay, gentlemen, she has free egress and regress; and know the French are the best you bred people in the world-she'll be assistantbut, faith, I have one scruple that hangs about me-and that is-Look you, my lord, we servants have no masters in their absence-In a word, when I am with mademoiselle, I talk of your lordship as only a particular acquaintance; that I do business, indeed, for you sometimesneeds say, cries I, that, indeed, my Lord Hardy is really a person I have a great honour for. L. Hardy. Pish! is that all?-I understand

-I must

my

you:-Your mistress does not know that you do me the honour to clean my shoes, or so, upon occasion-Pr'ythee, Will, make yourself as considerable as you please. Trim. Well, then, your lesson is this--She, out of her respect to me, and understanding Mr Campley was an intimate of my friend lord Hardy, and condescending (though she is of a great house in France) to make mantuas for the improvement of the English-which gives her easy admittance-She, I say, moved by these promises, has vouchsafed to bring a letter from my lady Harriot to Mr Campley, and came to me to bring her to him. You are to understand, also, that she is dressed in the latest French cut: her dress is the model of their habit, and herself of their manners-for she is-But you shall see her. [Exit. L. Hardy. This gives me some life!-Cheer up, Tom-But behold the solemnity-Do you see Trim's gallantry? I shall laugh out.

Enter TRIM, leading in Mademoiselle. Trim. My dear Lord Hardy, this is Mademoiselle d'Epingle, whose name you've often heard me sigh-[Lord HARDY salutes her.] Mr Campley,- -Mademoiselle d'Epingle.

[CAMPLEY salutes her. Madem. Votre servante, gentlemen, votre scryante.

Camp. I protest to you I never saw any thing so

becoming as your dress :-Shall I beg the favour you'd condescend to let Mr Trim lead you once round the room, that I may admire the elegance of your habit. [TRIM leads her round. L. Hardy. How could you ask such a thing? Camp. Pshaw! my lord, you're a bashful English fellow-You see she is not surprised at itO, madam, your air!-The negligence, the disis your noble nation! When shall you see an engagement of your manner! Oh, how delicate English woman so dressed?

Madem. De Englise ! poor barbarians, poor savages, dey know no more of de dress, but to cover dere nakedness. [Glides along the room.] Dey be cloded, but no dressed-But, Monsieur Terim, which Monsieur Campley?

Trim. That's honest Tom Campley.
Camp. At your service, mademoiselle.

Madem. I fear I incur de censure, [Pulling out the letter, and recollecting, as loth to deliver it,] designing to honour him in de way of an husbut Mr Terim being your intimate friend, and I, I never make promise to Mr Terim before, and band-So, so:-How do I run away in discourse? now do it accident. par

Camp. Dear Will Trim is extremely obliging, in having prevailed upon you to do a thing that the severity of your virtue, and the greatness of your quality, (though a stranger in the country you now honour by your dwelling in it,) would not let you otherwise condescend to.

Madem. Oh, monsieur! Oh, monsieur ! you speak my very thoughts-Oh, I don't know how! Pardon me to give a billet-it so look! Oh, fie! I cannot stay after it-[Drops it, runs affectedly to the other end of the room, then quite out :-reenters.] I beg ten thousand pardons for go so [Courtesies as going.

mal

a-propos.

L. Hardy. Your servant, good madam-Mr Trim, you know you command here-Pray, if Madame d'Epingle will honour our cottage with longer stay, wait on her in, and entertain herPray, sir, be free.

Trim. My lord, you know your power over me: -I'm all complaisance. [Leads her out. Camp. Now to my dear epistle.

My obedient servant! Thy obedience shall ever be as voluntary as now-Ten thousand thousand kisses on thee-thou dear paper-Look you, my lord-What a pretty hand it is?

L. Hardy. Why, Tom, thou dost not give me leave to see it you snatch it to your mouth SO -you'll stifle the poor lady.

Camp. Look you, my lord, all along the lines, here went the pen, and through the white intervals her snowy fingers. Do you see? This is her

name.

L. Hardy. Nay, there's Lady Charlotte's name too in the midst of the letter- -Why, you'll not be so unconscionable you're so greedy-you'll give me one kiss, sure.

Camp. Well, you shall, but you're so eager Don't bite me-for you sha'n't have it in your hands-There, there, there-Let go my hand. L. Hardy. What an exquisite pleasure there is in this foolery- -But what shall we do? Camp. I have a thought.-Pr'ythee, my lord, call Trim.

Enter Widow and TATTLEAID. Wid. This was well done of you.-Be sure you take care of their young ladyships: you shall, I promise you, have a snip in the sale of them.

Tat. I thank your good ladyship.

Wid. Is that the porter's paper of how d'ye's? Tat. Yes, madam; he just sent it up: his general answer is, that you are as well as can be expected in your condition; but that you see nobody.

Wid. That's right-[Reading names.] Lady Riggle, Lady Formal-Oh, that Riggle! a pert ogler an indiscreet, silly thing, who is really known by no man, yet, for her carriage, justly

thought common to all; and, as Formal has only the appearance of virtue, so she has only the appearance of vice-What chance, I wonder, put these contradictions to each other into the same coach, as you say they called-Mrs Frances and Mrs Winifred Glebe, who are they?

Tat. They are the country great fortunes, have been out of town this whole year; they are those whom your ladyship said, upon being very well born, took upon them to be very ill bred.

Wid. Did I say so? Really I think it was apt enough, now I remember them-Lady Wrinkle. Oh, that smug old woman! there is no enduring her affectation of youth:-but I plague her: I always ask whether her daughter in Wiltshire has a grandchild yet or not-Lady Worth. I cann't bear her company, she has so much of that virtue in her heart which I have in my mouth only. [Aside.]- -Mrs After-day. Oh, that's she that was the great beauty, the mighty toast about town, that's just come out of the small-pox: she is horribly pitted, they say: I long to see her, and plague her with my condolence. 'Tis a pure ill-natured satisfaction to see one that was a beauty unfortunately move with the same languor and softness of behaviour that once was charming in her; to see, I say, her mortify, that used to kill: ha, ha, ha!-The rest are a catalogue of mere names, or titles they were born to; an insipid crowd of neither good nor bad. But you are sure these other ladies suspect not in the least that I know of their coming?

me.

Tut. No, dear madam; they are to ask for

Wid. I hear a coach-[Exit TATTLEAID.] I have now an exquisite pleasure in the thought of surpassing my lady Sly, who pretends to have out-grieved the whole town for her husband.They are certainly coming. Oh, no!-Here let me-thus let me sit and think-[Widow on her couch; while she is raving, as to herself, TATTLEAID softly introduces the ladies.] Wretched, disconsolate as I am! Oh, welcome, welcome, dear, killing anguish! Oh, that I could lie down and die in my present heaviness! But whathow? Nay, my dear, dear lord, why do you look so pale, so ghastly at me? Wottoo, wottoo! fright thy own trembling, shivering wife!

Tut. Nay, good madam, be comforted. Wid. Thou shalt not have meTATTLEAID.]

-[Pushes

Tat. Nay, good madam, 'tis I, 'tis I, your ladyship's own woman :-'Tis I, madam, that dress you, talk to you, and tell you all that's done in the house every day :-'Tis I

Wid. Is it then possible? Is it then possible that I am left? Speak to me not, hold me not: I'll break the listening walls with my complaints, [Looks surprised at seeing the company, then se verely at TATTLEAID.] Åh, Tattleaid!

1st Lady. Nay, madam, be not angry at her: we would come in, in spite of her: we are your friends, and are as concerned as you are.

Wid. Ah, madam, madam, madam, madam,

I am an undone woman! Oh, me! alas, alas! Oh, Oh! [All join in her notes.] I swoon! I expire! [Faints. 24 Lady. Pray, Mrs Tattleaid, bring something that is cordial to her. [Exit TATTLEAID. 3d Lady. Indeed, madam, you should have patience:-his lordship was old. To die is but going before in a journey we must all take.

Enter TATTLEAID, loaded with bottles; 3d Lady takes a bottle from her, and drinks.

4th Lady. Lord, how my lady Fleer drinks! I have heard, indeed, but never could believe it of her. [Drinks also. 1st Lady. But, madam, don't you hear what the town says of the jill-flirt, the men liked so much in the Park?Hark ye--Was seen with him in a hackney-coach--and silk stockingskey-hole-his wig,-on the chair— [Whispers by interruption 2d Lady. Impudent flirt, to be found out! 3d Lady. But I speak it only to you. 4th Lady. Nor I, but to one more.

[Whispers next Woman. 5th Lady. I cann't believe it; nay, I always thought it, madam. [Whispers the Widow. Wid. Sure, 'tis impossible!-The demure, prim thing-Sure all the world is hypocrisy-Well, I thank my stars, whatsoever sufferings I have, I have none in my reputation. I wonder at the men:-I could never think her handsome. has really a good shape and complexion, but no mien; and no woman has the use of her beauty without mien: her charms are dumb; they want utterance. But whether does distraction lead me to talk of charms?

She

1st Lady. Charms! A chit's, a girl's charms ! -Come, let us widows be true to ourselves; keep our countenances and our characters; and a fig for the maids; I mean, the unmarried.

2d Lady. Ay, since they will set up for our knowledge, why should not we for their ignorance?

3d Lady. But, madam, o' Sunday morning, at church, I court'sied to you, and looked at a great fuss, in a glaring light dress, next pew. That strong masculine thing is a knight's wife, pretends to all the tenderness in the world, and would fain put the unwieldy upon us, for the soft, the languid. She has of a sudden left her diary, and set up for a fine town lady; calls her maid Cisley her woman; speaks to her by her surname of Mrs Cherryfist; and her great foot-boy, of nineteen, big enough for a trooper, is stripped into a lace coat, now Mr Page, forsooth.

4th Lady. Oh, I have seen her-Well, I heartily pity some people for their wealth; they might have been unknown else-You would die, madam, to see her and her equipage. I thought the honest fat tits, her horses, were ashamed of their finery; they dragged on as if they were all at plough, and a great bashful-look'd booby behind, grasp❜d the coach as if he had held one.

5th Lady. Alas! some people think there is nothing but being fine to be genteel; but the high prance of the horses, and the brisk insolence of the servants, in an equipage of quality, are inimitable,-but to our own beasts and ser

vants.

1st Lady. Now you talk of an equipage, I envy this lady the beauty she will appear in in a mourning coach, it will so become her complexion; I confess I myself mourned for two years for no other reason.-Take up that hood there. Oh, that fair face with a veil !

[They take up her hood. -But I have been told,

Wid. Fie, fie, ladies !indeed, black does become.

2d Lady. Well, I'll take the liberty to speak it: -There is young Nutbrain has long had (I'll be sworn) a passion for this lady: but ''ll tell you one thing I fear she'll dislike, that is, he is younger than she is.

3d Lady. No, that's no exception; but I'll tell you one, he is younger than his brother.

Wid. Ladies, talk not of such affairs. Who could love such an unhappy relict as I am? But, dear madam, what grounds have you for that idle story?

4th Lady. Why, he toasts you, and trembles where you are spoke of. It must be a match. Wid. Nay, nay, you rally; you rally; but I know you mean it kindly. 1st Lady. I swear we do.

[TATTLEAID whispers the Widow. Wid. But I must beseech you, ladies, since you have been so compassionate as to visit and accompany my sorrow, to give me the only comfort I can now know,-to see my friends cheerful, and to honour an entertainment Tattleaid has prepared within for you. If I can find strength enough, I'll attend you: but I wish you would excuse me; for I have no relish of food or joy, but will try to get a bit down in my own chamber.

1st Lady. There is no pleasure without you. Wid. But, madam, I must beg of your ladyship not to be so importune to my fresh calamity, as to mention Nutbrain any more. I am sure there is nothing in it. In love with me, quoth-a!

[Is led off. Exeunt Ladies, &c.

Enter Mademoiselle, and CAMPLEY, in wo

man's clothes, carrying her things. Madem. I am very glad to be in de ladies antichamber:-1 was shamed of you, you such im. pudent look: besides, me wonder you were not seized by the constable, when you pushed de man into de kennel.

Cump. Why, should I have let him kissed me? Madem. No; but if you had hit him wit fan, and say, Why, sure, saucy-box,-it been enough: beside, what you hitted de gentleman for offer kisse me?

Camp. I beg pardon, I did not know you were pleased with it.

those fair eyes upon, madam, Your most faithful,

[Shewing her step. Camp. But pr'ythee, mademoiselle, why have you lost your English tongue all of a sudden? Methought, when the fellow called us French whores, as we came along, and said we came to starve their own people, you gave them pretty plain English:-he was a dog, a rascal, you'd send him to the stocks.

Mudem. Ha, ha, ha! I was in a passion, and betrayed myself; but you are my lover's friend, and a man of honour, therefore know you will do nothing to injure us. Why, Mr Campley, you must know I can speak as good English as you; but I don't, for fear of losing my customers: -The English will never give a price for any thing they understand; nay, I have known some of your fools pretend to buy with good-breeding, and give any rate, rather than not be thought to have French enough to know what they are doing:-strange and far-fetched things they only like: Don't you see how they swallow gallons of the juice of tea, while their own dock-leaves are trod under foot? Mum-My lady Harriot.

Enter Lady HARRIOT.

Madame, votre servante, servante.

Most obedient, humble servant,
THOMAS CAMPLEY?

What does he mean?-But bless me more, by turning!-Oh, 'tis he himself! [Looking about, observes CAMP. smile.] Oh, the hoyden! the romp!--I did not think any thing could add to your native confidence: but you look so very bold in that dress, and your arms fall off, and your petticoats, how they hang!

Camp. Mademoiselle, voulez vous de salville l'eau de Hongrie, chez Monsieur Marchant de Montpelier-Dis for your teet. [Shewing his trinkets.] De Essence; a little French book, for teach de elder brother make compliments. Will you, I say, have any thing that I have? Will you have all I have, madam?

Lady Har. Yes, and, for the humour's sake, will never part with this box while I live; ha, ha, ha!

Camp. But, Lady Harriot, we must not stand laughing; as you observe in your letter, delays are dangerous in this wicked woman's custody of you; therefore, I must, madam, beseech you, and pray, stay not on niceties, but be advised.

Lady Har. Mr Campley, Í have no will but

yours.

Madem. Oui.

Lady Hur. Well, and how? Is that it in your hand?

Madem. Oui.

Lady Har. Well, then, why don't you give it me?

Madem. Oh, fie, lady! dat be so right Englise : -De Englise mind only de words of de lovers; but de words of de lovers are often lie, but de action no lie.

Lady Har. What does the thing mean? Give me my letter.

Madem. Me did not deliver your letter.
Lady Har. No!

Madem. No: me tell you me did drop it to see Mr Campley how cavalier take it up. As dese me did drop it, so monsieur run to take it up.[They both run to take it up; Madem. takes it up.]-Dus he do--Dere deletter- -Very well, very well. Oh, l'amour! You act de manner Mr Campley-Take it up better than I :-Do you not see it?

[They both run; HARRIOT gets it.

Lady Har. What you please.

Camp. Madame d'Epingle, I must desire you to comply with a humour of gallantry of ours:You may be sure I'll have an eye over the treatment you have upon my account-only to change habits with Lady Harriot, and let her go while you stay.

Mudem. Wit all my heart.

[Offers to undress herself. Lady Har. What! before Mr Campley? Madem. Oh! Oh! very Anglaise! Dat is so Englise:-All women of quality in France are dress and undress by a valet-de-chambre : de man chamber-maid help complexion better den de woApart to HAR.

man.

Lady Har. Nay, that's a secret in dress, mademoiselle, I never knew before; and am so unpolished an English woman, as to resolve never to learn even to dress before my husband. Oh, indecency! Mr Campley, do you hear what mademoiselle says ?

Madem. Oh, hist !—Bagatelle.

Lady Har. Well, we'll run in, and be ready in an instant.

[Exeunt Lady HARRIOT and Mademoiselle. Camp. Well, I like her every minute better and better. What a delicate chastity she has! There is something so gross in the carriage of some wives, (though they are honest too,) that they lose their husband's hearts for faults which,