the world is becoming in no man but a husband. An hour hence, come up the back stairs to my closet. Adieu, mon mignon. I am glad you are punctual. I'll conceal myself to observe your interview-Oh, torture! but this wench must not see it. [Aside. Fain. Be sure you come time enough to save my reputation. Cler. Sen. Remember your orders, distance becomes no man but an husband. Fain. I am glad you are in so good humour on the occasion; but you know me to be but a bully in love, that can bluster only till the minute of engagement-But I'll top my part, and form my conduct by my own sentiments-If she grows coy, I'll grow more saucy-'Twas so I was won myself Cier. Sen. Well, my dear rival-your assignation draws nigh-you are to put on your transport, your impatient throbbing heart won't let you wait her arrival-let the dull family thing and husband, who reckons his moments by his cares, be content to wait; but you are gallant, and measure time by ecstasies. Fain. I hear her coming to your post, good husband: know your duty, and don't be in the way when your wife has a mind to be in private-to your post, into the coal-hole. Enter Mrs CLERIMONT. Welcome, my dear, my tender charmer-Oh! to my longing arms- -feel the heart pat, that falls and rises as you smile or frown-Oh, the ecstatic moment!-I think that is something like what has been said to me. [Aside. Mrs Cler. Very well, Fainlove-I protest I value myself for my discerning-I knew you had fire through all the respect you shewed me-But how came you to make no direct advances, young gentleman-why was I forced to admonish your gallantry? Fain. Why, madam, I knew you a woman of breeding, and above the senseless niceties of an English wife. The French way is, you are to go so far, whether they are agreeable or not: If you are so happy as to please, nobody that is not of a constrain'd behaviour, is at a loss to let you know it. Besides, if the humbles ervant makes the first approaches, he has the impudence of making a request, but not the honour of obeying a com mand. Mrs Cler. Right-a woman's man should conceal passion in a familiar air of indifference. Now, there's Mr Clerimont; I cann't allow him the least freedom, but the unfashionable fool grows so fond of me, he cannot hide it in public. Fain. Ay, madam; I have often wondered at your ladyship's choice of one who seems to have so little of the beau monde in his carriage, but just what you force him to while there were so many pretty gentlemen[Dancing. Mrs Cler. O, young gentleman, you are mightily mistaken, if you think such animals as you, and pretty Bean Titmouse, and pert Billy Butterfly, though I suffer you to come in, and play about my rooms, are any ways in competition with a man whose name one would wear. Fain. Oh, madam! then I find we areMrs Cler. A woman of sense must have respect for a man of that character; but, alas! respect —is respect! Respect is not the thing—respect has something too solemn for soft moments-You things are more proper for hours of dalliance. Cler. Sen. [Peeping.] How have I wronged this fine lady !——I find I am to be a cuckold out of her pure esteem for me. Mrs Cler. Besides, those fellows for whom we have respect, have none for us; I warrant on such an occasion Clerimont would have ruffled a woman out of all form, while youCler. Sen. A good hint comes on. -now, my cause [Aside. Fain. Since, then, you allow us fitter for soft moments, why do we misemploy 'em? Let me kiss that beauteous hand, and clasp that graceful frame. Mrs Cler. How, Fainlove! What, you don't design to be impertinent-but my lips have a certain roughness on 'em to-day, ha'n't they? Fain. [Kissing.] No-they are all softnesstheir delicious sweetness is inexpressible here language fails-let me applaud thy lips, not by the utterance, but by the touch of mine. Enter CLERIMONT, Senior, drawing his sword. Cler. Sen. Ha, villain! ravisher! invader of my bed and honour! draw. Mrs Cler. What means this insolence, this intrusion into my privacy? What, do you come into my very closet without knocking? Who put this into your head? Cler. Sen. My injuries have alarm'd me, and I'll bear no longer, but sacrifice your bravado, the author of 'em. Mrs Cler. O poor Mr Fainlove-Must he die for his complaisance, and innocent freedoms with me? How could you, if you might? Oh! the sweet youth! What, fight Mr Fainlove? What will the ladies say? Fain. Let me come at the intruder on ladies private hours—the unfashionable monsterI'll prevent all future interruption from him -let me come[Drawing his sword. Mrs Cler. O the brave pretty creature? Look at his youth and innocence-He is not made for such rough encounters-Stand behind mePoor Fainlove!―There is not a visit in town, sir, where you shall not be displayed at full length for this intrusion-I banish you for ever from my sight and bed. Cler. Sen. I obey you, madam; for distance is becoming in no man but an husband- -[Giving her the letter, which she reads, and falls into a swoon.]-I've gone too far-[Kissing her. The impertinent was guilty of nothing but what my indiscretion led her to- -This is the first kiss I've had these six weeks-but she awakes.Well, Jenny, you topp'd your part, indeedCome to my arms, thou ready, willing fair one! -Thou hast no vanities, no niceties; but art thankful for every instance of love that I bestow on thee[Embracing her. Mrs Cler. What! am I then abused? Is it a wench then of his? Oh, me! was ever poor abused wife, poor innocent lady, thus injured! [Runs and seizes FAINLOVE's sword. Cler. Sen. Oh, the brave pretty creature! Hurt Mr Fainlove! Look at his youth, his innocence- -Ha, ha! [Interposing. Fain. Have a care, have a care, dear sirknow myself she'll have no mercy. Mrs Cler. I'll be the death of her come on- -Stand from between us, Mr Clerimont-I would not hurt you. let me Pushing and crying. Cler. Sen. Run, run, Jenny. [Exit JENNY. [Looks at her upbraidingly before he speaks. Well, madam, are these the innocent freedoms you claim'd of me? Have I deserv'd this? How has there been a moment of yours ever interrupted with the real pangs I suffer? The daily importunities of creditors, who become so by serving your profuse vanities: did I ever murmur at supplying any of your diversions, while I believed 'em (as you call'd 'em) harmless? must, then, those eyes, that used to glad my heart with their familiar brightness, hang down with guilt? Guilt has transform'd thy whole person; nay, the very memory of it-Fly from my growing passion. Mrs Cler. I cannot fly, nor bear it-Oh! look not Cler. Sen. What can you say? Speak quickly. [Offering to draw. Mrs Cler. I never saw you moved before Don't murder me, impenitent; I'm wholly in your power as a criminal, but, remember, I have been so in a tender regard. Cler. Sen. But how have you consider'd that regard? Mrs Cler. Is't possible you can forgive what you ensnar'd me into?--Oh! look at me kindly-You know I have only err'd in my intention, nor saw my danger, till, by this honest art, you had shown me what 'tis to venture to the utmost limit of what is lawful. You laid that train, I'm sure, to alarm, not to betray, my innocenceMr Clerimont scorns such baseness! therefore I kneel I weep--I am convinced. [Kneels. [CLER. Sen. takes her up, embracing her. Cler. Sen. Then kneel, and weep no more.. my fairest-my reconciled!- -Be so in a moment, for know, I cannot (without wringing my own heart) give you the least compunctionBe in humour-It shall be your own fault, if ever there's a serious word more on this subject. Mrs Cler. I must correct every idea that rises in my mind, and learn every gesture of my body a-new- -I detest the thing I was. Cler. Sen. No, no-You must not do so-Our joy and grief, honour and reproach, are the same; you must slide out of your foppery by degrees, so that it may appear your own act. Mrs Cler. But this wench! Cler. Sen. She is already out of your wayYou shall see the castastrophe of her fate yourself--But still keep up the fine lady till we go out of town--You may return to it with as decent airs as you please-And, now I have shown you your error, I'm in so good humour as to repeat you a couplet on the occasion They only who gain minds, true laurels wear, 'Tis less to conquer, than convince the fair. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-A Room. Enter POUNCE, with Papers. [A table, chairs, pen, ink, and paper.] Pounce. 'Tis a delight to gull these old rascals, and set 'em at variance about stakes, which I know neither of 'em will ever have possession of. Enter TIPKIN, and Sir HARRY. Tip. Do you design, Sir Harry, that they shall have an estate in their own hands, and keep house themselves, poor things? Sir Hur. No, no, sir, I know better; they shall go down into the country, and live with me, nor touch a farthing of money; but, having all things necessary provided, they shall go tame about the house, and breed. Tip. Well, Sir Harry, then considering that all human things are subject to change, it behoves every man that has a just sense of mortality, to take care of his money. Sir Har. I don't know what you mean, brother-What do you drive at, brother? Tip. This instrument is executed by you, your son, and my niece, which discharges me of all retrospects. Sir Har. It is confess'd, brother; but what then? Tip. All that remains is, that you pay me for the young lady's twelve years board, as also all other charges, as wearing apparel, &c. Sir Har. What is this you say? Did I give you my discharge from all retrospects, as you call it, and after all do you come with this and t'other, and all that? I find you are, I tell you, sir, to your face, I find you are Tip. I find too what you are, Sir Harry. Sir Har. Sir, I scorn your words, I am not an gry-Mr Pounce is my witness, I am gentle as a lamb-Would it not make any flesh alive angry, to see a close hunks come after all with a demand of Tip. Mr Pounce, pray inform Sir Harry in this point. Pounce. Indeed, Sir Harry, I must tell you plainly, that Mr Tipkin, in this, demands nothing but what he may recover-For though this case may be considered multifariam; that is to say, as 'tis usually, commonly, vicatim, or vulgarly express'd-Yet, I say, when we only observe, that the power is settled as the law requires, assensu Sir Har. This is the furniture of my brother's bed-chamber that follows-A suit of tapestry hangings, with the story of Judith and Holofernes, torn only where the head should have been offan old bedstead curiously wrought about the posts, consisting of two load of timber-a hone, a bason, three razors, and a comb-case-Look Pounce. Look ye, Sir Harry, to show you I love to promote among my clients a good understanding; though Mr Tipkin may claim four thousand pounds, I'll engage for him, and I know him so well, that he shall take three thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight pounds, four shillings, and eight-pence farthing. Tip. Indeed, Mr Pounce, you are too hard up on me. Sir Har. Three thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight pounds, four shillings and eight-pence farthing, for clothes! pray how many suits does she wear out in a year? Pounce. Oh, dear sir, a fine lady's clothes are not old by being worn, but by being seen. Sir Har. Well, I'll save her clothes for the future, after I have got her into the country-I'll warrant her she shall not appear more in this wicked town, where clothes are worn out by sight And as to what you demand, I tell you, sir, 'tis extortion. Tip. Sir Harry, do you accuse me of extortion? Sir Har. Yes, I say extortion. Tip. Mr Pounce, write down that―There are very good laws provided against scandal and calumny-Loss of reputation may tend to loss of money Pounce. Item, For having accused Mr Tipkin of extortion. Pounce. Alas! Sir Harry, if you had ten quire of items, 'tis all answer'd in the word retrospect. Sir Har. Why then, Mr Pounce and Mr Tipkin, you are both rascals. Tip. Do you call me rascal, Sir Harry? Tip. Write it down, Mr Pounce--at the end of the leaf. Sir Har. If you have room, Mr Pounce-put down villain, son of a whore, curmudgeon, hunks, and scoundrel. Tip. Not so fast, Sir Harry, he cannot write so fast, you are at the word villain-Son of a whore, I take it, was next-You may make the account as large as you please, Sir Harry. Sir Har. Come, come, I won't be used thus -Hark ye, sirrah, draw-What do you do at this end of the town without a sword?-Draw, I Sir Har. Tipkin, live these two hours-but expect Enter HUMPHRY leading Niece, Mrs CLERIMONT led by FAINLOVE, Capt. Clerimont, and CLERIMONT, Sen. Pounce. Who are these? Hey-day, who are these, Sir Harry? Ha! Sir Har. Some frolic, 'tis wedding-day-no matter. Humph. Haw, haw; father-master uncle Sir Har. Nay, if you come to your items-Look | Come, you must stir your stumps, you must dance ye, Mr Tipkin, this is an inventory of such goods-Come, old lads, kiss the ladiesas were left to my niece Bridget, by her deceased father, and which I expect shall be forth-coming at her marriage to my son Imprimis, A golden locket of her mother's, with something very ingenious in Latin on the inside of it. Item, A couple of muskets, with two shoulder belts, and bandeliers. Item, A large silver caudle-cup, with a true story engraven on it. Pounce. But, Sir Harry Sir Har. Item, A base viol, with almost all the strings to it, and only a small hole on the back. Pounce. But nevertheless, sir Mrs Cler. Mr Tipkin, Sir Harry, I beg pardon for an introduction so mal à-propos- -I know sudden familiarity is not the English wayAlas, Mr Gubbin, this father and uncle of yours must be new modell'd-How they stare, both of them! Sir Har. Hark ye, Numps, who is this you have brought hither? is it not the famous fine lady, Mrs Clerimont-What a pox did you let her come near your wife Humph. Look ye, don't expose yourself, and play some mad country prank to disgrace me before her-I shall be laugh'd at, because she knows I understand better. Mrs Cier. I congratulate, madam, your com ing out of the bondage of a virgin state-A woman cann't do what she will properly, 'till she's married. Sir Har. Did you hear what she said to your wife? Enter Aunt, before a service of dishes. Aunt. So, Mr Bridegroom, pray take that napkin, and serve your spouse to-day, according to custom. Humph. Mrs Clerimont, pray know my aunt. Mrs Cler. Madam, I must beg your pardon; I cann't possibly like all that vast load of meat that you are sending in to table-besides, 'tis so offensively sweet, it wants that haut-goût we are so delighted with in France. Aunt. You'll pardon it, since we did not expect you. Who is this? [Aside. Mrs Cler. Oh, madam, I only speak for the future, little saucers are so much more polite Look ye, I'm perfectly for the French way, whene'er I'm admitted, I take the whole upon me. Sir Har. The French, madam!—I'd have you to know Mrs Cler. You'll not like it at first, out of a natural English sullenness, but that will come upon you by degrees-When I first went into France, I was mortally afraid of a frog, but in a little time I could eat nothing else, except sallads. Aunt. Eat frogs! have I kiss'd one that has eat frogs-paw! paw! Mrs Cler. Oh, madam-A frog and a sallad are delicious fare-'tis not long come up in France itself, but their glorious monarch has introduced the diet which makes 'em so spiritual He eradicated all gross food by taxes, and for the glory of the monarch sent the subject a-grazing; but I fear I defer the entertainment and diversion of the day. Humph. Now, father, uncle—before we go any further, I think 'tis necessary we know who and who's together then I give either of you two hours to guess which is my wife- -And 'tis not my cousin- -so far I'll tell you. Sir Hur. How! What do you say? But oh! -you mean she is not your cousin now-she's nearer a-kin; that's well enough--Well said, Numps--Ha, ha, ha! Humph. No, I don't mean so, I tell you I don't mean so -My wife hides her face under her hat. [All looking at FAINLOVE. Tip. What does the puppy mean? his wife un Humph. Oh ho! what, beat a married man! hold him, Mr Clerimont, brother Pounce, Mr Wife; nobody stand by a young married man! [Runs behind FAINLOVE. Sir Har. Did not the dog say, brother Pounce? What, is this Mrs Ragoût-this Madam Clerimont? Who the devil are you all, but especially who the devil are you two? [Beats HUMPHRY and FAINLOVE off the stage, following. Tip. [Aside.] Master Pounce, all my niece's fortune will be demanded now-for I suppose that red-coat has her Don't you think that you and I had better break. Pounce. You may as soon as you please, but 'tis my interest to be honest a little longer. Tip. Well, Biddy, since you would not accept of your cousin, I hope you ha'n't disposed of yourself elsewhere. Niece. If you'll for a little while suspend your curiosity, you shall have the whole history of my amour, to this my nuptial day, under the title of the loves of Clerimont and Parthenissa. Tip. Then, madam, your portion is in safe hands Capt. Come, come, old gentleman, 'tis in vain to contend; here's honest Mr Pounce shall be my engineer, and I warrant you, we beat you out of all your holds. Aunt. What, then, is Mr Pounce a rogue? he must have some trick, brother; t cannot be; he must have cheated t'other side, for I'm sure he's honest. [Apart to TIPKIN. Cler. Sen. Mr Pounce, all your sister has won of this lady she has honestly put into my hands, and I'll return it her, at this lady's particular request. [TO POUNCE. Pounce. And the thousand pounds you promised in your brother's behalf, I'm willing should be hers also. Capt. Then go in, and bring 'em all back to make the best of an ill game; we'll eat the dinner and have a dance together, or we shall transgress all form. Re-enter FAINLOVE, HUMPHRY, and Sir HARRY. Sir Har. Well, since you say you are worth something, and the boy has set his heart upon you, I'll have patience till I see further. Pounce. Come, come, Sir Harry, you shall find my alliance more considerable than you imagine; the Pounces are a family that will always have money, if there's any in the world-Come, fiddlers. [Dance here. Capt. You've seen th' extremes of the domes tic life, A son too much confined-too free a wife; [Exeunt omnes. EPILOGUE. BRITONS, who constant war, with factious rage, The songs, (their selves confess,) from Rome they bring, And 'tis high mass, for aught you know, they sing. Husbands, take care! the danger may come nigher, The women say their eunuch is a friar. But is it not a serious ill to see Europe's great arbiters so mean can be; Passive, with an affected joy to sit, Suspend their native taste of manly wit; Neglect their comic humour, tragic rage, For known defects of Nature, and of age? Arise, from shame, ye conquering Britons, rise! Let Anna's soil be known for all its charms; |