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THE

CONSCIOUS LOVERS.

BY

STEELE.

PROLOGUE.

To win your hearts and to secure your praise
The comic writers strive by various ways,
By subtile stratagems they act their game,
And leave untry'd no avenue to fame:
One writes the spouse a beating from his wife,
And says each stroke was copied from the life;
Some fix all wit and humour in grimace,
And make a livelihood of Pinkey's face;
Here one gay shew and costly habit tries,
Confiding to the judgment of your eyes;
Another smuts his scene, (a cunning shaver)
Sure of the rakes' and of the wenches' favour.
Oft have these arts prevail'd, and one may guess,
If practis'd o'er again, would find success;
But the bold sage, the poet of to-night,
By new and desp'rate rules resolv'd to write,
Fain would he give more just applauses rise,
And please by wit that scorns the aids of vice;

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And lib'ral mirth like lib'ral men defend;
No more let ribaldry, with licence writ,
Usurp the name of eloquence or wit.
No more let lawless farce uncensur'd go,
The lewd dull gleanings of a Smithfield show;
'Tis yours with breeding to refine the age,
To chasten wit and moralize the stage.

Ye modest, wise, and good! ye fair! ye brave! To-night the champion of your virtues save, Redeem from long contempt the comic name, And judge politely for your country's fame.

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SCENE I.-Sir JOHN BEVIL'S House. Enter Sir JOHN BEVIL and HUMPHREY.

ACT I.

Sir J. B. Have you order'd that I should not be interrupted while I am dressing?

Humph. Yes, sir: I believ'd you had something of moment to say to me.

Sir J. B. Let me see, Humphrey; I think it is now full forty years, since I first took thee to be about myself.

Humph. I think, sir, it has been an easy forty years, and I have pass'd 'em without much sickness, care, or labour.

Sir J. B. Thou hast a brave constitution: you are a year or two older than I am, sirrah.

Humph. You have ever been of that mind, sir. Sir J. B. You knave, you know it; I took thee for thy gravity and sobriety in my wild years.

Humph. Ah, sir! our manners were form'd from our different fortunes, not our different ages: wealth gave a loose to your youth, and poverty put a restraint upon mine.

Sir J. B. Well, Humphrey, you know I have been a kind master to you; I have us'd you, for the ingenuous nature I observed in you from the beginning, more like an humble friend than a ser

vant.

Humph. I humbly beg you'll be so tender of me as to explain your commands, sir, without any farther preparation.

Sir J. B. I'll tell thee, then. In the first place. this wedding of my son's in all probability (shut the door) will never be at all.

Humph. How, sir, not be at all! for what reason is it carried on in appearance?

with whom he converses, that he is never assuming, never prefers himself to others, nor is ever guilty of that rough sincerity which a man is not called to, and certainly disobliges most of his acquaintance. To be short, Humphrey, his reputation was so fair in the world, that old Sealand, the great India merchant, has offer'd his only daughter, and sole heiress to that vast estate of his, as a wife for him. You may be sure I made no difficulties; the match was agreed on, and this very day named for the wedding.

Humph. What hinders the proceeding?

Sir J. B. Don't interrupt me. You know 1 was, last Thursday, at the masquerade; my son, you may remember, soon found us out-he knew his grand-father's habit, which I then wore; and though it was in the mode in the last age, yet the maskers, you know, follow'd us as if we had been the most monstrous figures in that whole assembly.

Humph. I remember, indeed, a young man quality in the habit of a clown that was particularly troublesome.

Sir J. B. Right he was too much what he seem'd to be. You remember how impertinently he follow'd and teased us, and would know who

we were.

Humph. I know he has a mind to come into that particular. [Aside.

Sir J. B. Ay, he followed us till the gentlemant who led the lady in the Indian mantle presented that gay creature to the rustic, and bid him (like Cymon in the fable) grow polite, by falling in love, and let that worthy old gentleman alone, meaning me. The clown was not reform'd, but rudely persisted, and offer'd to force off my mask; Sir J, B. Honest Humphrey, have patience, and with that the gentleman throwing off his own, I'll tell thee all in order. I have myself in some appeared to be my son, and in his concern for part of my life lived indeed with freedom, but 1 me, tore off that of the nobleman: at this they hope without reproach: now I thought liberty seized each other, the company called the guards, would be as little injurious to my son, therefore and in the surprise the lady swoon'd away; upon as soon as he grew towards man I indulg'd him which my son quitted his adversary, and had now in living after his own manner. I know not how no care but of the lady-when raising her in otherwise to judge of his inclination; for what his arms, " Art thou gone," cry'd he, "for ever can be concluded from a behaviour under re-forbid it, Heav'n!" She revives at his known straint and fear? But what charms me above all expression is, that my son has never in the least action, the most distant hint or word, valued himself upon that great estate of his mother's, which, according to our marriage-settlement, he has had ever since he came to age.

Humph. No, sir; on the contrary, he seems afraid of appearing to enjoy it before you or any belonging to you. He is as dependent and resign'd to your will as if he had not a farthing but what must come from your immediate bounty. You have ever acted like a good and generous father, and he like an obedient and grateful son

Sir J. B. Nay, his carriage is so easy to all

voice and with the most familiar, though modest gesture, hangs in safety over his shoulders weeping, but wept as in the arms of one before whom she could give herself a loose, were she not under observation: while she hides her face in his neck, he carefully conveys her from the company.

Humph. I have observed this accident has dwelt upon you very strongly.

Sir J. B. Her uncommon air, her noble modesty, the dignity of her person, and the occasion itself, drew the whole assembly together; and I soon heard it buzz'd about she was the adopted daughter of a famous sca-officer who had serv'd

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in France. Now this unexpected and public discovery of my son's so deep concern for her Humph. Was what, I suppose, alarm'd Mr Sealand, in behalf of his daughter, to break off the match.

Sir J. B. You are right-he came to me yesterday, and said he thought himself disengaged from the bargain, being credibly informed my son was already marry'd, or worse, to the lady at the masquerade. I palliated matters, and insisted on our agreement: but we parted with little less than a direct breach between us.

Humph. Well, sir, and what notice have you taken of all this to my young master?

Sir J. B. That's what I wanted to debate with you-I have said nothing to him yet-But look ye, Humphrey, if there is so much in this amour of his that he denies upon my summons to marry, I have cause enough to be offended; and then, by my insisting upon his marrying to-day, I shall know how far he is engaged to this lady in masquerade, and from thence only shall be able to take my measures; in the mean time, I would have you find out how far that rogue his man is let into his secret-he, I know, will play tricks as much to cross me as to serve his master. Humph. Why do you think so of him, sir? I believe he is no worse than I was for you at your son's age.

Sir J. B. I see it in the rascal's looks. But I have dwelt on these things too long: I'll go to my son immediately, and while I'm gone, your part is to convince his rogue, Tom, that I am in earnest. I'll leave him to you.

Exit.

Humph. Well, tho' this father and son live as well together as possible, yet their fear of giving each other pain is attended with constant mutual uneasiness. I am sure I have enough to do to be honest, and yet keep well with them both; but they know I love 'em, and that makes the task less painful however.-Oh, here's the prince of poor coxcombs, the representative of all the better fed than taught!-Ho, ho, Tom! whither so gay and so airy this morning?

Enter TOM, singing.

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Tom. Sir, we servants of single gentlemen are another kind of people than you domestic ordinary drudges that do business; we are rais'd above you: the pleasures of board wages, taverndinners, and many a clear gain; vails, alas! you never heard or dreamt of.

Humph. Thou hast follies and vices enough for a man of ten thousand a-year, tho' it is but as t'other day that I sent for you to town to put you into Mr Sealand's family, that you might learn a little before I put you to my young master, who is too gentle for training such a rude thing as you were into proper obedience. You then pull'd off your hat to every one you met in the street, like a bashful, great, awkward cub as you were. But your great oaken cudgel, when you were a booby, became you much better than that dangling stick at your button, now you are a fop, that's fit for nothing except it hangs there

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to be ready for your master's hand when you are impertinent.

Tom. Uncle Humphrey, you know my master scorns to strike his servants; you talk as if the world was now just as it was when my old master and you were in your youth-when you went to dinner because it was so much o'clock, when the great blow was given in the hall at the pantry door, and all the family came out of their holes in such strange dresses and formal faces as you see in the pictures in our long gallery in the country.

Humph. Why, you wild rogue!

Tom. You could not fall to your dinner till a formal fellow in a black gown said something over the meat, as if the cook had not made it ready enough.

Humph. Sirrah, who do you prate after?— despising men of sacred characters! I hope you never heard my young master talk so like a profligate.

Tom. Sir, I say you put upon me when I first came to town about being orderly, and the doctrine of wearing shams to make linen last clean a fortnight, keeping my clothes fresh, and wearing a frock within doors.

Humph. Sirrah, I gave you those lessons because I suppos'd at that time your master and you might have din'd at home every day, and cost you nothing; then you might have made you a good family servant; but the gang you have frequented since at chocolate-houses and taverns, in a continual round of noise and extravagance

Tom. I don't know what you heavy inmates call noise and extravagance; but we gentlemen who are well fed, and cut a figure, sir, think it a fine life, and that we must be very pretty fellows who are kept only to be looked at,

Humph. Very well, sir-I hope the fashion of being lewd and extravagant, despising of decency and order, is almost at an end, since it is arrived at persons of your quality.

Tom. Master Humphrey, ha, ha! you were an unhappy lad to be sent up to town in such queer days as you were. Why now, sir, the lackeys are the men of pleasure of the age, the top gamesters; and many a laced coat about town have had their education in our party-colour'd regiment.-We are false lovers, have a taste of music, poetry, billet-doux, dress, politics, ruin damsels; and when we are weary of this lewd town, and have a mind to take up, whip into our masters' wigs and linen, and marry fortunes. Humph. Hey-day!

Tom. Nay, sir, our order is carried up to the highest dignities and distinctions: step but into the Painted Chamber-and by our titles you'd take us all for men of quality-then again, come down to the Court of Requests, and you shall see us all laying our broken heads together, for the good of the nation; and though we never carry a question nemine contradicente, yet this I can say with a safe conscience, (and I wish every gentleman of our cloth could lay his hand upon his

heart and say the same) that I never took so much as a single mug of beer for my vote in all my life.

Humph. Sirrah, there is no enduring your extravagance; I'll hear you prate no longer: I wanted to see you to inquire how things go with your master, as far as you understand them: I suppose he knows he is to be married to-day. Tom. Ay, sir, he knows it, and is dress'd as gay as the sun; but, between you and I, my dear! he has a very heavy heart under all that gaiety. As soon as he was dress'd I retir'd, but overheard him sigh in the most heavy manner. He walk'd thoughtfully to and fro in the room, then went into his closet: when he came out he gave me this for his mistress, whose maid, you knowHumph. Is passionately fond of your fine per

son.

Tom. The poor fool is so tender, and loves to hear me talk of the world, and the plays, operas, and ridottos for the winter, the Parks and Bellsize for our summer diversions; and, lard! says she, you are so wild-but you have a world of humour.

Humph. Coxcomb! Well, but why don't you run with your master's letter to Mrs Lucinda, as he order'd you?

Tom. Because Mrs Lucinda is not so easily come at as you think for.

Humph. Not easily come at? why, sir, are not her father and my old master agreed that she and Mr Bevil are to be one flesh before to-morrow morning?

Tom. It's no matter for that: her mother, it seems, Mrs Sealand, has not agreed to it; and you must know, Mr Humphrey, that in that family the grey mare is the better horse.

Humph. What dost thou mean?

Tom. In one word, Mrs Sealand pretends to have a will of her own, and has provided a relation of hers, a stiff starch'd philosopher, and a wise fool, for her daughter; for which reason, for these ten days past, she has suffer'd no message nor letter from my master to come near her.

Humph. And where had you this intelligence? Tom. From a foolish fond soul that can keep nothing from me--one that will deliver this letter too if she is rightly manag'd.

Humph. What, her pretty handmaid, Mrs Phillis?

Tom. Even she, sir. This is the very hour, you know, she usually comes hither, under a pretence of a visit to our housekeeper, forsooth, but in reality to have a glance at

Humph. Your sweet face, I warrant you.

Tom. Nothing else in nature. You must know I love to fret and play with the little wan

ton

Humph. Play with the little wanton! what will this world come to!

Tom. I met her this morning in a new mantua and petticoat, not a bit the worse for her lady's wearing, and she has always new thoughts and new airs with new clothes-then she never fails to steal some glance or gesture from every

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visitant at their house, and is indeed the whole town of coquettes at second-hand.-But here she comes; in one motion she speaks and describes herself better than all the words in the world can.

Humph. Then I hope, dear sir! when your own affair is over, you will be so good as to mind your master's with her.

Tom. Dear Humphrey ! you know my master is my friend, and those are people I never forget

Humph. Sauciness itself! but I'll leave you to do your best for him. [Exit.

Enter PHILLIs.

Phil. Oh, Mr Thomas, is Mrs Sugarkey at home?-Lard! one is almost asham'd to pass along the streets. The town is quite empty, and nobody of fashion left in it; and the ordinary people do so stare to see any thing dress'd like a woman of condition, as it were on the same floor with them, pass by. Alas! alas! it is a sad thing to walk. O fortune, fortune!

Tom. What! a sad thing to walk! why, madam Phillis, do you wish yourself lame?

Phil. No, Mr Thomas, but I wish I were generally carried in a coach or chair, and of a fortune neither to stand nor go, but to totter, or slide, to be short-sighted, or stare, to fleer in the face, to look distant, to observe, to overlook, yet all become me; and if I were rich, I could twine and loll as well as the best of them. Oh, Tom, Tom! is it not a pity that you should be so great a coxcomb, and I so great a coquette, and yet be such poor devils as we are?

Tom. Mrs Phillis, I am your humble servant for that-

Phil. Yes, Mr Thomas, I know how much you are my humble servant, and know what you said to Mrs Judy upon seeing her in one of her lady's cast manteaus, that any one would have thought her the lady, and that she had ordered the other to wear it till it sat easy-for now only it was becoming to my lady it was only a covering, to Mrs Judy it was a habit. This you said after somebody or other. Oh Tom, Tom thou art as false and as base as the best gentleman of them all: but, you wretch ! talk to me no more of the old odious subject: don't, say.

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Tom. I know not how to resist your commands, madam. [In a submissive tone, retiring. Phil. Commands about parting are grown mighty easy to you of late.

Tom. Oh, I have her! I have nettled and put her into the right temper to be wrought upon and set a-parting. Aside.]-Why truly, to be plain with you, Mrs Phillis, I can take little comfort of late in frequenting your house.

Phil. Pray, Mr Thomas, what is it, all of a sudden, offends your nicety at our house?

Tom. I don't care to speak particulars, but I dislike the whole.

Phil. I thank you, sir; I am a part of that whole.

Tom. Mistake me not, good Phillis.

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Phil. What, do you think I'm to be fobb'd off with a song?-I don't question but you have sung the same to Mrs Judy too.

Tom. Don't disparage your charms, good Phillis, with jealousy of so worthless an object; besides, she is a poor hussy; and if you doubt the sincerity of my love, you will allow me true to my interest. You are a fortune, Phillis

Phil. What would the fop be at now? In good time, indeed, you shall be setting up for a for

tune.

Tom. Dear Mrs Phillis! you have such a spirit that we shall never be dull in marriage, when we come together. But I tell you, you are a fortune, and you have an estate in my hands.

[He pulls out a purse, she eyes it. Phil. What pretence have I to what is in your hands, Mr Thomas?

Tom. As thus: there are hours, you know, when a lady is neither pleased nor displeased, neither sick nor well, when she lolls or loiters, when she is without desires, from having more of every thing than she knows what to do with.

Phil. Well, what then?

Tom. When she has not life enough to keep her bright eyes quite open to look at her own dear image in the glass.

Phil. Explain thyself, and don't be so fond of thy own prating.

Tom. There are also prosperous and good natur'd moments, as when a knot or a patch is happily fix'd, when the complexion particularly flourishes.

Phil. Well, what then? I have not patience! Tom. Why then-or on the like occasionswe servants, who have skill to know how to time business, see, when such a pretty folded thing as this is [Shews a letter] may be presented, laid, or dropped, as best suits the present humour. And, madam, because it is a long wearisome journey to run through all the several stages of a lady's temper, my master, who is the most reasonable VOL. IV.

man in the world, presents you this to bear your charges on the road. [Gives her the purse. Phil. Now, you think me a corrupt hussy. Tom. O fie! I only think you'll take the letter. Phil. Nay, I know you do; but I know my own innocence: I take it for my mistress's sake. Tom. I know it, my pretty one! I know it.

Phil. Yes, I say, I do it because I would not have my mistress deluded by one who gives no proof of his passion: but I'll talk more of this as you see me on my way home.-No, Tom; I assure thee I take this trash of thy master's, not for the value of the thing, but as it convinces me he has a true respect for my mistress. I remember a verse to the purpose:

They may be false who languish and complain, But they who part with money never feign. [Excunt.

SCENE II.-BEVIL Junior's Lodgings.

BEVIL, Jun. reading.

B. jun. These moral writers practise virtue after death. This charming vision of Mirza! Such an author, consulted in a morning, sets the spirits for the vicissitudes of the day, better than the glass does a man's person. But what a day have I to go through? To put on an easy look with an aching heart!If this lady, my father urges me to marry, should not refuse me, my dilemma is insupportable. But why should I fear it? Is not she in equal distress with me? Has not the letter I have sent her this morning confess'd my inclination to another? Nay, have I not moral assurances of her engagements too, to my friend Myrtle? It's impossible but she must give into it; for sure to be deny'd is a favour any man

may pretend to. It must be so.- -Well then, with the assurance of being rejected, I think I may confidently say to my father, I am ready to marry her-then let me resolve upon (what I am not very good at) an honest dissimulation.

Enter TOM.

Tom. Sir John Bevil, sir, is in the next room. B. jun. Dunce! why did you not bring him in?

Tom. I told him, sir, you were in your closet. B. jun. I thought you had known, sir, it was my duty to see my father any where.

[Going himself to the door. Tom. The devil's in my master! he has always more wit than I have. [Aside.

BEVIL, Jun. introducing Sir JOHN.

B. jun. Sir, you are the most gallant, the most complaisant, of all parents.-Sure 'tis not a com pliment to say these lodgings are yours.-Why would you not walk in, sir?

Sir J. B. I was loath to interrupt you unseasonably on your wedding-day.

B. jun. One to whom I am beholden for my birth-day might have used less ceremony.

Sir J. B. Well, son, I have intelligence you

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