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money in one pocket, 'tis like a man's whole occasion—But this town's full of pick-pocketsestate in one county-These five in my fob—I'll I'll go home again.

[Erit whistling keep these in my hand, lest I should have present

ACT II.

SCENE 1-Continues.

gives us a notion of the sweetness of her beauty Enter POUNCE, and Captain CLERIMONT, with and behaviour. A name that glides through halt his arm in a scarf.

a dozen tender syllables, as Elismunda, Clidamira,

Deidamia ; that runs upon vowels off the tongue, Pounce. You are now well enough instructed both in the aunt and niece, to form your beha- with consonants.—Tis strange rudeness those

not hissing through one's teeth, or breaking them viour.

familiar names they give us, when there is AureCapt. But to talk with her apart is the great lia, Saccharissa, Gloriana, for people of condimatter.

tion; and Celia, Chloris, Corinna, Mopsa, for Pounce. The antiquated virgin has a mighty their maids and those of lower rank. affectation for youth, and is a great lover of men

Aunt. Look ye, Biddy, this is not to be supand money-One of these, at least, I am sure 1 can gratify her in, by turning her pence in the ported. I know not where you learn’d this nice annuities, or the stocks of one of the companies ; despise it, your mother was a Bridget afore you,

iy; but I can tell you, forsooth, as much as you! some way or other I will find to entertain her, and an excellent housewife. and engage you with the young lady.

Niece. Good madam, don't upbraid me with Cupi. Since that is her ladyship’s turn, so busy my mother Bridget, and an excellent housewife

. and fine a gentleman as Mr Pounce must needs

Aunt. Yes, I say, she was, and spent her tims be in her good graces.

in better learning than ever you did not in readPounce. So shall you too-But you must not be seen with me at first meeting; I'll dog 'em, in writing out receipts for broths, possets, caudles,

ing of fights and battles of dwarfs and giants; but while you watch at a distance.

(Exeunt. and surfeit-waters, as became a good country genEnler Aunt and Niece.

tlewoman. Niece. Was it not my gallant that whistled so

Niece. My mother and a Bridget ! charmingly in the parlour before he went out this dunt. Yes, niece, I say again your mother, my morning ? He's a most accomplish'd cavalier. sister, was a Bridget! the daughter of her mo

Auni. Come, nicce, come - You don't do well ther Margery, of her mother Cicely, of her moto make sport with your relations, especially with ther Alice. a young gentleman that has so much kindness for Niece. Have you no mercy? O, the barbarous you.

genealogy Niece. Kindness for me! What a phrase is Aunt. Of her mother Winifred, of her mother there to express the darts and fames, the sighs Joan. and languishings of an expecting lover!

Niece. Since you will run on, then I must dunt. Pray, niece, forbear this idle trash, and needs tell you I am not satisfied in the point of talk like other people. Your cousin Humphry my nativity. Many an infant has been placed in will be true and hearty in what he says, and that's a cottage with obscure parents, 'till by chance a great deal better than the talk and compliment some ancient servant of the family has known it of romances.

by its marks. Niece. Good madam, don't wound my ears Aunt. Ay, you had best be search’d - That's with such expressions. Do you think I can ever like your calling the winds the fanning gales, belove a man that's true and hearty? What a pea- fore I don't know how much company; and the sant-like amour do these coarse words import !

tree that was blown by it, had, forsooth, a spirit Truc and hearty! Pray, aunt, endeavour a little imprison'd in the trunk of it. at the embellishment of your style.

Nrece. Ignorance! Aunt. Alack-a-day, cousin Biddy, these idle Aunt. Then a cloud this morning had a flying romances have quite turu'd your head.

dragon in it. Niece. How often must I desire you, madam,

Niece. What
eyes you

that
you

could see to lay aside that familiar name, cousin Biddy ? nothing? For my part, I look upon it to be a proI never hear it without blushin :--Did you ever digy, and expect something extraordinary will meet with an heroine, in those idle romances as wappen to me before night-But you have a you call 'em, that was terni'd Biuldı?

gross relish of things. What noble descriptions in Aunt. Ah! cousin, cousin-These are mere romances had been lost, if the writers had been vapours, indeed— Nothing but vapours

persons of your gout? Niece. No, the heroine has always something dunt. I wish the authors had been hang’d, soft and engaging in her name -Something that and their books burnt, before you had seen 'em.

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street.

Niece. Simplicity!

and has, I believe, made ready the deeds, those Aunt. A parcel of improbable lies.

barbarous deeds. Niece. Indeed, madam, your raillery is coarse. Aunt. What, Mr Pounce a creature too ! Nay,

Aunt. Fit only to corrupt young girls, and fill now I'm sure you're ignorant-You shall stay, their heads with a thousand foolish dreams of I and you'll learn more wit from him in an hour, don't know what.

than in a thousand of your foolish books in an Niece. Nay, now, madam, you grow extrava age--Your servant, Mr Pounce. gant.

Enter POUNCE. Aunt. What I say is not to vex, but advise you for your good.

Pounce. Ladies, I hope I don't interrupt any Niece. What, to burn Philocles, Artaxerxes, private discourse. Oroondates, and the rest of the heroic lovers, Aunt. Not in the least, sir. and take my country booby, cousin Humphry, for Pounce. I should be loath to be esteemed one an husband !

of those who think they have a privilege of furt. Oh dear, oh dear, Biddy! Pray, good inixing in all companies, without any business, dear, learn to speak and act like the rest of the but to bring forth a loud laugh, or vain jest. world; come, come, you shall marry your cousin, Nece. He talks with the mien and gravity of and live comfortably:

a Paladin.

[ Asidr. Niece. Live comfortably! What kind of life Pounce. Madam, I bought the other day at is that? A great heiress live confortably! Pray, three and an half, and sold at seven. aunt, learn to raise your ideas -What is, I Aunt. Then pray, sir, sell for me in time. wonder, to live comfortably?

Niece, mind him : he has an infinite deal of Aint. To live comfortably, is to live with pru-witdence and frugality, as we do in Lombard Prunce. This that I speak of was for you

I never neglect such opportunities to serve my Niece. As we do_That's a fine life indeed, friends. with one servant of each sex Let's see how Aunt. Indeed, Mr Pounce, you are, I protest, many things our coachman is good for--He without flattery, the wittiest man in the world. rubs down his horses, lays the cloth, whets the Pounce. I assure you, madam, I said last night knives, and sometimes makes beds.

before an hundred head of citizens, that Mrs BarAunt. A good servant should turn his hand to sheba Tipkin was the most ingenious young lady Every thing in a family.

in the liberties. Niece. Nay, there's not a creature in our fami Aunt. Well, Mr Pounce, you are so facetious ly, that has not two or three different duties; as -But you are always among the great onesJohn is butler, footman, and coachman; so Mary 'Tis no wonder you have it. is cook, laundress, and chamber-maid.

Niece. Idle ! Idle ! Aunt. Well, and do you laugh at that?

Pounce. But, madam, you know Alderman Nuece. No -not I- nor at the coach horses, Grey-Goose, he's a notable joking man - Well, though one has an easy trot for my uncle's ri says he, here's Mrs Barsheba's health-She's my ding, and t'other an easy pace

for your side-sad inistress. dle.

Aunt. That man makes me split my sides with Aunt. And so you jeer at the good-manage- laughing, he's such a wag-(Mr Pounce pretends ment of your relations, do you?

Grey-Goose said all this, but I know 'tis his own Niece. No, I'm well satisfied that all the house wit, for he's in love with me.)

[Apurt. are creatures of business; but, indeed, was in Pounce. But, madain, there's a certain affair I hopes that my poor lap-dog might have lived with should communicate to you.

(4 part. me upon my fortune without an employinent; Aunt. Ay, 'tis certainly so-He wants to but iny uncle threatens every day to make hin a break his mind to me. turnspit, that he too, in his sphere, may help us

(Captain CLERIMONT pissing to live comfortably.

Pounce. Oh, Captain Clerimont, Captain CleAunt. Hark ye, cousin Biddy.

rimont.--Ladies, pray let me introduce this Niere. I vow I'm out of countenance, when young gentleman ; he's my friend, a youth of our butler, with his careful face, drives us all great virtue and goodness, for all be is in a red stowed in a chariot drawn by one horse ambling, coat. and t'other trotting with his provisions behind Aunt. If he's your friend, we need not doubt for the family, from Saturday night till Monday his virtue. morning, bound for Hackney—Then we make a Capt. Ladies, you are taking the cool breath comfortable figure indeed.

of the morning. Aunt. So we do, and so will you always, if Niece. A pretty phrase.

(Aside. you marry your cousin Humphry.

Aunt That's the pleasantest time, this warm Niece. Name not the creature.

weather. Aunt. Creature! what, your own cousin a Capt. On, 'tis the season of the pearly dews, creature!

and gentle zephyrs. Nurce. Oh, let's be going, I see yonder ano Niece. Ay? pray mind that again, aunt. ther creature that does my uncle's law business,

[Aside.

Pounce. Sha’n't we repose ourselves on yon Capt. Had we not fought near a wood, we der seat? I love improving company, and to com- should ne'er have got legs enough to have come municate.

home upon. The joiner of the Foot Guards has Aunt. 'Tis certainly so- -He's in love with made his fortune by it. me, and wants opportunity to tell me so—I don't Niece. I shall never forgive your general-He care if we do—He's a most ingenious man. has put all my ancient heroes out of countenance ;

[Aside. he has pulled down Cyrus and Alexander, as Exeunt Aunt and POUNCE. much as Louis le Grand-But your own part in Cupt. We enjoy here, madam, all the pretty that action ? landscapes of the country, without the pains of Capt. Only that slight hurt, for the astrologer going thither.

said at my nativity – Nor fire, nor sword, nor Niece. Art and nature are in rivalry, or rather pike, nor musket shall destroy this child, let hinr confederacy, to adorn this beauteous park with but avoid fair eyes—But, madam, mayn't I crave all the agreeable variety of water, shade, walks, the name of her that has captivated my heart ? and air.-- What can be more charming than these Niece. I cann't guess whom you mean by that flowery lawns ?

description; but if you ask my name I must Capt. Or these gloomy shades?

confess you put me ipon revealing what I always Niece. Or these embroider'd valleys?

keep as the greatest secret I have—for, would Capt. Or that transparent stream?

you believe it—they have call'd me—I don't Niecc. Or these bowing branches on the banks know how to own it, but have call’d me—Bridget. of it, that seem to admire their own beauty in Capt. Bridget ? the crystal mirror?

Niece. Bridget. Cupt. I am surprised, madam, at the delicacy of Capt. Bridget ? your phrase

Can such expressions come from Niece. Spare my confusion, I beseech you, sir, Lombard-street ?

and if you have occasion to mention me, let it be Niece. Alas! sir, what can be expected from by Parthenissa; for that's the name I have asan innocent virgin, that has been immured al- sumed ever since I came to years of discretion. most one-and-twenty years from the conversa Capt. The insupportable tyranny of parents, tion of mankind, under the care of an Urganda to fix names on helpless infants which they must of an aunt?

blush at all their lives after! I don't think there's Capt. Bless me, madam, bow have you been a sirname in the world to match it.. abused ! many a lady before your age has had an Niece. No? what do you think of Tipkin? hundred lances broken in her service, and as ma Capt. Tipkin! Why, I think if I was a young ny dragons cut to pieces in honour of her. lady that had it, I'd part with it immediately. Niece. Oh, the charming man ! (Aside. Niece. Pray, how would you get rid of it?

Capt. Do you believe Pamela was one-and Capt. I'd change it for another-I could re, twenty before she knew Musidorus ?

commend to you three very pretty syllablesNiece. I could hear him for ever. [Aside. What do you think of Clerinont?

Capt. A lady of your wit and beauty might Niece. Clerimont ! Clerimont ! Very well have given occasion for a whole romance in folio But what right have I to it? before that age.

Capt. If you will give me leave, I'll put you in Niece. Oh, the powers! Who can he be ? Oh, possession of it. By a very few words I can make youth unknown! But let me, in the first place, it over to you, and your children after you. know whom I talk to, for, sir, I am wholly unac Niece. Oh fie! Whither are you running ! quainted both with your person and your history, You know a lover should sigh in private, and lanYou seem, indeed, by your deportment, and the guish whole years before he reveals his passion ; distinguishing mark of your bravery which you he should retire into some solitary grove, and bear, to have been in a conflict-May I not know make the woods and wild beasts his confidantswhat cruel beauty obliged you to such adventures, You should have told it to the echo half a year betill she pitied you?

fore you had discovered it even to my hand-maid. Capt.Oh, the pretty coxcomb! (Aside.] Oh, And yet, besides—to talk to me of children-Did Blenheim! Oh, Cordelia, Cordelia !

you ever hear of an heroine with a big belly? Niece. You mention the place of battle--I Cupt. What can a lover do, madain, now the would fain hear an exact description of it-Our race of giants is extinct? Had I lived in those public papers are so defective, they don't so days, there had not been a mortal six feet higli, much as tell us how the sun rose that glorious but should have own’d Parthenissa for the paraday — Were there not a great many flights of gon of beauty, or measured his length on the vultures before the battle began ?

ground Parthenissa should bare been heard Capt. Oh, madam, they have eaten up half by the brooks and deserts at midnight-the echo's my acquaintance.

burden, and the river's murmur. Niece. Certainly never birds of prey were so Nicce. That had been a golden age, indeed! feasted-By report, they might have lived half a But sce, my aunt has left her grave companion, year on the very legs and arms our troops left and is coming towards us--I cornmand you to behind 'em.

leave ipe.

mon.

Capt. Thus Oroondates, when Statira dismiss'd starts by rule, and blushes by exampleCould him her

presence, threw himself at ber feet, and I have produced one instance of a lady's comimplored permission but to live.

plying at first sight, I should have gained her pre

[Offering to kneel. mise on the spot - How am I bound to curse the Niece. And thus Statira raised him from the cold constitutions of the Philoclea's and Statira's! earth, permitting him to live and love.

I am undone for want of precedents. (Exit Cupt. CLER. Pounce. I am sure I labour'd hard to favour

your conference; and plied the old woman all the Enter Aunt.

while with something that tickled either her vaAunt. Is not Mr Pounce's conversation very nity or her covetousness: I consider'd all the improving, niece?

stocks, old and new company, her own comNiece. Is not Mr Clerimont a very pretty plexion and youth, partners for sword-blades, name, aunt?

chamber of London, banks for charity, and mine Aunt. He has so much prudence.

adventurers, till she told me I had the repute of Niece. He has so much gallantry.

the most facetious man that ever came to GarraAunt. So sententious in his expressions. way's—For you must know, public knaves and Niece. So polish'd in his language.

stock-jobbers pass for wits at her end of the town, Aunt. All he says, is, methinks, so like a ser as common cheats and gamesters do at yours.

Capt. I pity the drudgery you have gone Niece. All he speaks savours of romance. through; but what's next to be done towards

Aunt. Romance, niece? Mr Pounce! what getting my pretty heroine ? savours of romance?

Pounce. What should next be done, in ordiNiece. No, I mean his friend, the accomplished nary method of things—You have seen her, the Mr Clerimont.

next regular approach is, that you cannot subAunt. Fie, for one of your years to commend sist a moment, without sending forth musical coma young fellow !

plaints of your misfortune, by way of a serenade. Niece. One of my years is mightily govern'd Capt. I can nick you there, sir: I have a by example. You did not dislike Mr Pounce. scribbling army friend, that has wrote a trium

Aunt. Wbat, censorious too? I find there is phant, rare, noisy song, in honour of the late vicno trusting you out of the house-A moment's tory, that will hit the nymph’s fantasque to a fresh air does but make you still the more in love bair: I'll get every thing ready as soon as poswith strangers, and despise your own relations. sible. Niece. I am certainly by the power of an en

Pounce. While you are playing upon the fort, chantment placed among you, but I hope I this I'll be within, and observe what execution you morning employ'd one to seek adventures, and do, and give you intelligence accordingly. break the charm.

Capt. You must have an eye upon Mr HumAunt. Vapours, Biddy, indeed! Nothing but phry, while I feed the vanity of Parthenissa-For

-Cousin Humphry shall break the I am so experienced in these matters, that I know charm.

none but coxcombs think to win a woman by any Niece. Name him not—Call me still Biddy, desert of their own. No, it must be done rather rather than name that brute.

by complying with some prevailing humour of (Exeunt Aunt and Niece. your mistress, than exerting any good quality in

yourself. Enter Captain CLERIMONT and Pounce.

Capt. A perfect Quixotte in petticoats ! I tell 'Tis not the lover's merit wins the field, thee, Pounce, she governs herself wholly by ro But to themselves alone the beauteous yield. -It has got into her very blood She

[Exeunt.

3

vapours

mance

ACT III.

There cannot be a good footman born out of an SCENE I.-A Chamber.

absolute monarchy.

Jen. I'm bebolden to your ladyship, for beEnter Mrs CLERIMONT, Fainlove, (carrying lieving so well of the maid-servants in England: her lup-dog,) and JENNY.

Mrs Cler. Indeed, Jenny, I could wish thou Jen. Madam, the footman that's recommended wert really French: for thou art plain English in to you is below, if your ladyship will please to spite of example-Your arms do but hang on,

and you move perfectly upon joints—Not with Mirs Cler. Oh fie ; don't believe I'll think a swim of the whole person—But I am talking to on't-It is impossible he should be good for any you, and have not adjusted myself to-day: what thing, The English are so saucy with their li pretty company a glass is, to have another self ! berty—I'll bave all my lower servants French Kisses the dog.] The converse is soliloquy! To VOL. IV.

N

take him.

have company that never contradicts or displeases | Who can keep up their good humour at an Engus! The pretty visible echo of our actions. (Kisses lish visit ?- They sit as at a funeral, silent in the the dog. How easy, too, it is to be disencun. midst of many candles-One, perhaps, alarms the ber'd with stays, where a woman has any thing room—'Tis very cold weather-then all the mutes like shape; if no shape, a good air-But I look play their fans—till some other question happens, best when I'm talking.

and then the fans go off again.[Kisses the lup-doy in FAINLOVE's arms. Jen. You always look well.

Enter Boy Mrs Cler. For I'm always talking, you mean Boy. Madam, your spinet-master is come. so; that disquiets thy sullen English temper, but Mrs Cler. Bring him in, he's very pretty comI don't really look so well when I am silent pany. If I do but offer to speak— Then I may say that Fain. His spinet is, he never speaks himself. Oh, bless me, Jenny, I am so pale, 1 am afraid of Mrs Cler. Speak, simpleton! What then, he myself I have not laid on half red enough keeps out silence, does not he? (Enter.]—Oh, What a dough-baked thing I was before I im- sir, you must forgive me, I have been very idleproved myself, and travelled for beauty —How- Well, you pardon me? (Master bows) Did ever, my face is very prettily design d to-day. you think I was perfect in the song ?-{Bows.]

Fain. Indeed, madam, you begin to have so But, pray let me hear it once more. Let us see fine an hand, that you are younger every day it.

(Reads. than other. Mrs Cler. The ladies abroad used to call me

SONG. Mademoiselle Titian, I was so famous for my With studied uirs and practised smiles, colouring; but, pr’ythee, wench, bring me my Flaviu my ruvish'd heart beguiles : black eye-brows out of the next room.

The charms we make, ure ours alone, Jen. Madam, I have 'em in my hand.

Nature's works are not our own. Fain. It would be happy for all that are to see you to-day, if you could change your eyes too. Her skilful hand gites ev'ry grace,

Mrs Cler. Gallant enough—No, hang it, I'll And shows her fancy in her face ; wear these I have on; this mode of visage takes She feeds with art an amorous rage, mightily; I had three ladies last week came over Nor fears the force of coming age. to my complexion-I think to be a fair woman this fortnight, 'till I find I'm aped too much–I You sing it very well: But, I confess, I wisku believe there are an hundred copies of me al- you'd give more into the French manner.-Obready.

serve me hum it à la Françoise. Jen. Dear madam, won't your ladyship please to let me be of the next countenance you leave

With studied airs, gr. off? Mrs Cler. You may, Jenny—but I assure you

The whole person, every limb, every nerve sings it is a very pretty piece of ill-nature, for a woman

-the English way is only being for that time that has any genius for beauty, to observe the

a mere musical instrument, just sending forth a servile imitation of her manner, her motion, her sound, without knowing they do so Now I'll glances, and her smiles.

give you a little of it like an English.womanFain. Ay, indeed, madam, nothing can be so

You are to suppose I've denied you twenty times, ridiculous as to imitate the inimitable.

look'd silly, and all that—Then with hands and

face insensibleMrs Cler. Indeed, as you say, Fainlove, the

-I have a mighty cold. French mien is no more to be learn’d than the

With studied airs, 8c. language, without going thither— Then, again, to see some poor ladies who have clownish, penuri

Enter Servant. ous English husbands, turn and torture their old Serv. Madam, Captain Clerimont, and a very clothes into so many forms, and dye 'em into so strange gentleman, are come to wait on you. many colours, to follow me-What say’st,Jenny? Mrs Cler. Let him and the very strange genWhat say'st ? Not a word?

tleman come in. Jen. Why, madam, all that I can say

Fuin. Oh! madam, that's the country gentleMrs Cler. Nay, I believe, Jenny, thou hast no man I was telling you of. thing to say, any more than the rest of thy countrywomen-The splenetics speak just as the Enter HUMPHRY and Captain CLERIMONT, ther lets 'em-They are mere talking barome Fain. Madam, may I do myself the honour to ters—Abroad, the people of quality go on so recommend Mr Gubbin, son and heir to Sir eternally, and still go on, and are gay and enter- Harry Gubbin, to your ladyship’s notice ? tain—In England discourse is made up of nothing Mrs Cler. Mr Gubbin, I am extremely pleased but question and answer.— I was t'other day at with your suit, 'tis antique, and originally from a visit, where there was a profound silence for, France. I believe, the third part of a minute.

Humph. It is always lock'd up, madam, when Jen. And your ladyship there?

I'm in the country. My father prizes it mightily. Mrs Cler. They infected me with their dulness. Mrs Cler. 'Twould make a very pretty dan

wea

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