lovely queen; Paint. Fait, let me have one merry quarter | Heav'n bless her sweet face! 'tis a sight for the of an hour before we at it again, and it will be no loss of time neither-we will make the next quarter after, as good as an hour-and so his honour and the sham-pater will gain by the loss. 1st Gar. Well said, O’Daub! and if you will give us the song you made, the quarter of an hour will be merrier still. any Arch. Can you rhime, O'Daub? Paint. Yes, fait, as well as paint-all the difference is, I do one with a brush, and t'other with a pen; I do one with my head, and both with my hands-and if of the poets of them all can produce better rhymes and raisins too within the gardens, I'll be content to have one of my own brushes rammed down my throat, and so spoil me for a singer, as well as a poet, hereafter. Arch. Well said, master Painter ! For lords, and for earls, and for gentlefolks too, do. my power to gratify, I hope, in this last hour of my cares, I shall not be a stranger to it. Maria. If I have a wish you have not indulged, sir, I fear it must have been an improper one, or it would not have escaped you. Old. You seem disconcerted, Maria, be more explicit. of gallantry at once in this country, if it was not for the sake of reputation. Old. What do you mean? Lady Bab. Why, that a woman, without a connection, grows every day a more awkward personage; one might as well go into company without powder-if one does not really despise old vulgar prejudices, it is absolutely necessary to affect it, or one must sit at home alone. Old. Indeed! Lady Bab. Yes, like Lady Sprose, and talk morals to the parrot. Maria. This is new, indeed; I always supposed, that in places where freedom of manners was most countenanced, a woman of unimpeached conduct carried a certain respect. Maria. My mind is incapable of reserve with you; the most generous of men, is on the point of giving his hand to your what shall I call myself? I am almost nameless, but as the creature of your bounty and cares, this title gives me a value in my own eyes; but I fear it is all I have to boast. The mystery you have kept, makes me apprehensive there is something in my origin ought to be concealed -what am I to interpret from your smiles? Lady Bab. Only fit for sheepwalks and Old. Every thing that is contrary to your sur- oakeries!-I beg your pardon, Mr. Oldworthmises: be patient, sweet Maid of the Oaks; be- in town it would just raise you to the whist fore night, all mysteries shall be cleared. It is party of old Lady Cypher, Mrs. Squabble, and not an ordinary wedding I celebrate, I prepare Lord Flimzy; and at every public place, you a feast for the heart-Lady Bab Lardoon, as would stand amongst the footmen to call your I live-the princess of dissipation! catch an own chair, while all the macaronies passed by, observation of her while you can, Maria; for whistling a song through their toothpicks, and though she has been but three days out of Lon-giving a shrug dem it, 'tis pity that so fine a don, she is as uneasy as a mole in sunshine, and woman should be lost to all common decenwould expire, if she did not soon dive into her cy.' old element again. Enter LADY BAB. Lady Bab. Dear Maria, I am happy to be the first of your company to congratulate youWell, Mr. Oldworth, I am delighted with the idea of your fête; it is so novel, so French, so expressive of what every body understands, and no body can explain; then there is something so spirited in an undertaking of expense, where a shower of rain would spoil it all. Old. I did not expect to escape from so fine a lady, but you and the world have free leave to comment upon all you see here. I only hope that to celebrate a joyful event upon any plan, that neither hurts the morals, or politeness of the company, and at the same time, sets thousands of the industrious to work, cannot be thought blame worthy. Lady Bab. Oh, quite the contrary, and I am sure it will have a run; a force upon the seasons and the manners is the true test of a refined tast, and it holds good from a cucumber at Christmas, to on Italian opera: Maria. [Smiling.] I believe I had better stay in the oakery, as you call it; for I am afraid I shall never procure any civility in town, upon the terms required. Lady Bab. Oh, my dear, you have chose a horrid word to express the intercourse of the bon ton; civility may be very proper in a mercer, when one is chusing a silk, but familiarity is the life of good company. I believe this is quite new since your time, Mr. Oldworth, but 'tis by far the greatest improvement the beau monde ever made. Old. A certain ease was always an essential part of good breeding; but Lady Bab must explain her meaning a little further, before we can decide upon the improvement. Lady Bab. I mean that participation of society, in which the French used to excel, and we have now so much outdone our modelsI maintain, that among the superior set-mind, I only speak of them-our men and women are put more upon a footing together in London, than they ever were before in any age or country. Old. And, pray, how has this happy revolution been effected? Lady Bab. By the most charming of all institutions, wherein we shew the world, that liberty is as well understood by our women, as by our Maria. Is the rule the same among the ladies, nien; we have our Bill of Rights and our ConLady Bab? is it also a definition of their refine-stitution too, as well as they-we drop in at all ment to act in all things contrary to nature? Lady Bab. Not absolutely in all things, though more so than people are apt to imagine; hours, play at all parties, pay our own reckonings, and in every circumstance (petticoats excepted) are true, lively, jolly fellows. for even in circumstances that seem most na- Maria, But does not this give occasion to a tural, fashion prompts ten times, where inclina-thousand malicious insinuations? tion prompts once; and there would be an end Lady Bab. Ten thousand, my dear-but no great measures can be effected without a con- | tempt of popular clamour. Old. Paying of reckonings is, I confess, new since my time; and I should be afraid it might sometimes be a little heavy upon a lady's pocket. Lady Bab. A mere trifle-one generally wins them-Jack Saunter of the Guards, lost a hundred and thirty to me upon score at one time; I have not eat him out yet-He will keep me best part of next winter; but exclusive of that, the club is the greatest system of economy for married families ever yet established. Old. Indeed! but how so, pray? Lady Bab. Why, all the servants may be put to board wages, or sent into the country, except the footman-No plunder of housekeepers, or maitres de hotel, no long butcher's billsLady Squander protests she has wanted no provision in her family these six months, except potatoes to feed the children, and a few frogs for the French governness-then our dinner societies are so amusing, all the doves and hawks together, and one converses so freely; there's no topic of White's or Almack's, in which we do not bear a part. Maria. Upon my word, I should be a little afraid, that some of those subjects might not always be managed with sufficient delicacy for a lady's ear, especially an unmarried one. plague a man, and to bury him; the glory is to plague him first, and bury him afterwards. Sir Har. I heartily congratulate Lady Bab, and all who are to partake of her conversation, upon her being able to bring so much vivacity in the country. Lady Bab. Nothing but the fête champétre could have effected it, for I set out in miserable spirits I had a horrid run before I left town-I suppose, you saw my name in the papers? Sir Har. I did, and therefore concluded there was not a word of truth in the report. Maria. Your name in the papers, Lady Bab! for what, pray ? Lady Bab. The old story—it is a mark of insignificance now, to be left out-Have not they begun with you yet, Maria? Maria. Not that I know of; and I am not at all ambitious of the honour. Lady Bab. Oh, but you will have it-the fête champétre will be a delightful subject!—To be complimented one day, laughed at the next, and abused the third-you can't imagine how amusing it is to read one's own name at breakfast in a morning paper. Maria, Pray, how long may your ladyship have been accustomed to this pleasure? Lady Bab. Lord, a great while, and in all its stages they first began with a modest inuendo, Lady Bub. Bless me! why where's the differ-We hear a certain lady, not a hundred miles ence? Miss must have had a strange education from Hanover Square, lost at one sitting, some indeed, not to know as much as her chapron: I nights ago, two thousand guineas-O tempora! hope you will not have the daughters black O'mores! balled, when the mothers are chose: why it is almost the only place where some of them are likely to see each other. Enter SIR HARRY GROVEBY. Sir Har. I come to claim my lovely bridehere at her favourite tree I claim her mine! -the hour is almost on the point, the whole country is beginning to assemble; every preparation of Mr. Oldworth's fancy is preparing, And while the priest accuse the bride's delay, Roses and myrtles shall obstruct her way. Maria. Repugnance would be affectation, my heart is all your own, and I scorn the look or action that does not avow it. Old. Come, Sir Harry, leave your protestations, which my girl does not want, and see a fair stranger. Old. [Laughing.] Pray, Lady Bab, is this concluding ejaculation your own, or was it the printer's? Lady Bab. His, you may be sure—a dab of Latin adds surprising force to a paragraph, besides shewing the learning of the author. Old. Well but really I don't see such a great matter in this; why should you suppose any body applied this paragraph to you? Lady Bab. None but my intimates did, for it was applicable to half St. George's parish-but about a week after, they honoured me with initials and italics: It is said, Lady B. L.'s ill success still continues at the quinze table: It was observed, the same lady appeared yesterday at court, in a ribband collar, having laid aside her diamond necklace (diamond in italics) as totally bourgeoise and unnecessary for the dress of a woman of fashion.' Old. To be sure this was advancing a little in familiarity. Lady Bab. At last, to my infinite amus Lady Bab. Sir Harry, I rejoice at your hap-ment, out I came at full length: Lady Bab piness-and do not think me so tasteless, Maria, Lardoon has tumbled down three nights succesas not to acknowledge attachment like yours, sively; a certain colonel has done the same, and preferable to all others, when it can be had we hear that both parties keep house with filer le perfait amour; is the first happiness in sprained ancles.' life: But that you know is totally out of the question in town; the matrimonial comforts in our way, are absolutely reduced to two-to Old. The last paragraph sounds a little enigmatical. Maria. And do you really feel no resentment at all this? Lady Bab. Resentment!-poor silly devils, if | they did but know with what thorough contempt those of my circle treat a remonstranceBut, hark! I hear the pastoral's beginning. [Music behind.] Lord, I hope I shall find a shepherd! Hurry. Lord, sir! 'twas impossible to keep them out. Old. Impossible! why, I am sure they did not knock you down. Hurry, No, but they did worse-for the pretty maids smiled and sinirked, and were so coaxOld. The most elegant one in the world, Mr.ing; and they called me dear Hurry, and sweet Dupeley, Sir Harry's friend. Lady Bab. You don't mean Charles Dupeley, who has been so long abroad? Sir Har. The very same-but I'm afraid he will never do, he is but half a macaroni. Lady Bab. And very possibly the worst half: it is a vulgar idea to think foreign accomplishments fit a man for the polite world. Sir Har. Lady Bab, I wish you would undertake him; he seems to have contracted all the common-place affectation of travel, and thinks himself quite an overmatch for the fair sex, of whom his opinion is as ill founded as it is degrading. Lady Bub. Oh, is that his turn? what, he has been studying some late posthumous letters, I suppose?'twould be a delight to make a fool of such a fellow !-where is he? Sir Har. He is only gone to dress; I appointed to meet him on the other side the grove; he'll be here in twenty minutes. Lady Bab. I'll attend him there in your place -I have it-I'll try my hand a little at naiveté -he never saw me--the dress I am going to put on for the fête will do admirably to impose upon him—I'll make an example of his hypocrisy, and his graces, and his usage du monde. Sir Har. My life for it, he will begin an acquaintance with you. Lady Bab. If he don't, I'll begin with himThere are two characters under which one may say any thing to a man-that of perfect assurance, and of perfect innocence: Maria may be the best critic of the last-but under the appearance of it, lord have mercy!—I have heard aud seen such things! Enter HURRY, running. Hurry. Here they come!—here they come! give them room!-pray, sir, stand a little back-a little further, your honourable ladyship, let the happy couple stand foremost-here they come! Old, And, pray, when you can find breath to be understood, who or what is coming, Hurry? Hurry. All the cleverest lads and girls that could be picked out within ten miles round; they have garlands in one hand, and roses in another, and their pretty partners in another, and some are singing, and all so merry! Old. Stand still, Hurry-I foresaw you would be a sad master of the ceremonies; why, they should not have appeared till the lawn was full of company; they were to have danced there -you let them in too soon by an hour. Hurry, and one called me pretty Hurry, and I did but just open the door a moment, flesh and blood could not resist it, and so they all rushed by. Old. Ay, and now we shall have the whole crowd of the country break in. Hurry. No, sir, no, never be afraid; we keep out all the old ones. Sir Har. Ay, here they come across the lawn -I agree with Hurry, flesh and blood could not stop them-Joy and gratitude are overbearing arguments, and they must have their course. Hurry. Now, Sir Harry!-now your ladyship!-you shall see such dancing, and hear such singing! Enter First Shepherd, very gaily, followed by a Group of Shepherds and Shepherdesses. SCENE I.-The Garden Gate. Hurry. [Without.] Indeed, sir, we can't! it is as much as our places are worth: pray don't insist upon it. Enter OLD GROVEBY, booted and splash'd, pushing in HURRY. Grove, I must see Sir Harry Groveby, and I will see him. Do ye think ye Jackanapes, that I come to rob the house? Hurry. That is not the case, sir; nobody visits my master to day without tickets; all the world will be here, and how shall we find room for all the world, if people were to come how they please, and when they please? Grove. What have you a stage play here, that one cannot be admitted without a ticket? Hurry. As you don't know what we have here to-day, I must desire you to come to-morrowSir Harry won't see you to-day, he has a great deal of business upon his hands; and you can't be admitted without a ticket; and moreover you are in such a pickle; and nobody will be admit ted but in a fanciful dress. Grove. This is a dress after my own fancy, sirrah; and whatever pickle I am in, I will put you in a worse, if you don't immediately shew me to Sir Harry Groveby. [Shaking his whip. Hurry. Sir Harry's going to be marriedWhat would the man have? Grove. I would have a sight of him before he goes to be married. I shall mar his marriage, I believe. [Aside.] I am his uncle, puppy, and ought to be at the wedding. Hurry. Are you so, sir? Bless my heart why would you not say so?-This way, good sir! it was impossible to know you in such a figure; I could sooner have taken you for a smuggler than his uncle; no offence, if you will please to walk in that Grove there, I'll find him directly-I'm sorry for what has happened-but you did not say you were a gentleman, and it was impossible to take you for one-no offence, I hope. Grove. None at all, if you do as I bid you. Hurry. That I will, to be sure. I hope you are come to be merry, sir. Erit. Grove. O, ay to be sure-It is true, I see; I come at the very instant of his perdition-whe ther I succeed or not, I shall do my duty, and let other folks be merry if they like it—Going to be married! and to whom? to a young girl, without birth, fortune, or without any body's knowing any thing about her; and without so much as saying to me, his uncle, with your leave, or by your leave: If he will prefer the indulgence of a boyish passion, to my affection and two thousand pounds per annum ; let him be as merry as he pleases. I shall return to Gloomstock-hall and make a new will directly. SCENE II-A Grove. Enter MARIA. Maria. I wish I may have strength to support my happiness; I cannot get the better of my agitation; and though this day is to complete my wishes, my heart, I don't know how, feels something like distress-But what strange ted in that strange dress? person is coming this way? How got he admit Enter GROVEBY. Grove. Madam, your servant: I hope I don't intrude: I am waiting here for a young gentleman-If I disturb you, I'll walk at the other end. Maria. Indeed, sir, you don't disturb me. shall I call any body to you, sir? Grove. Not for the world, fair lady; an odd kind of a pert, bustling, restless fellow, is gone to do my business; and if I might be permitted to say a word or two, in the mean time, to so fair a creature, and I should acknowledge it a most particular favour: But I intrude, I fear. Maria. Indeed you don't, sir—I should be happy to oblige you. |