Pet. All's one for that; why then, say I know something.

Mira. Come, thou art an honest fellow, Petulant, and shalt make love to my mistress, thou shalt, faith. What hast thou heard of my uncle? Pct. I! nothing; I! If throats are to be cut, let swords clash; snug's the word; I shrug and am silent.

Mira. O raillery, raillery! Come, I know thou art in the women's secrets-What, you're a cabalist; I know you staid at Millamant's last night, after I went. Was there any mention made of my uncle or me? tell me. If thou hast but goodnature equal to thy wit, Petulant, Tony Witwould, who is now thy competitor in fame, would shew as dim by thee as a dead whiting's eye by a pearl of orient; he would no more be seen by thee, than Mercury is by the sun. Come, I'm sure thou wo't tell me.

Pet. If I do, will you grant me common sense then, for the future?

Mira. Faith I'll do what I can for thee, and I'll pray that it may be granted thee in the mean time.

Pet. Well, hark'e. [They talk apart. Fain. Petulant and you both will find Mirabell as warm a rival as a lover.

Wit. Pshaw, pshaw! that she laughs at Petulant is plain. And for my part-But that it is almost a fashion to admire her, I should-Hark'e -To tell you a secret, but let it go no fartherBetween friends, I shall never break my heart for her.

Fain. How!

Wit. She's handsome; but she's a sort of an uncertain woman.

Fain. I thought you had died for her.
Wit. Umph-No.
Fain. She has wit.

Wit. 'Tis what she will hardly allow any body else. Now, I should hate that, if she were as handsome as Cleopatra. Mirabell is not so sure of her as he thinks for.

Fain. Why do you think so? Wit. We staid pretty late there last night, and heard something of an uncle to Mirabell, who is lately come to town, and is between him and the best part of his estate. Mirabell and he are at some distance, as my lady Wishfort has been told; and you know she hates Mirabell worse than a quaker hates a parrot, or than a fishmonger hates a hard frost. Whether this uncle has scen Mrs Millamant or not, I cannot say; but there were items of such a treaty being in embryo; and if it should come to life, poor Mirabell would be in some sort unfortunately fobbed, i'faith.

Fain. 'Tis impossible Millamant should hearken to it.

Wit. Faith, my dear, I cann't tell; she's a woman, and a kind of an humourist.

Mira. And this is the sum of what you could collect last night?

Pet. The quintessence. May be Witwould knows more, he staid longer-Besides, they never mind him, they say any thing before him.

Mira. I thought you had been the greatest favourite.

Pet. Ay, tète-a-tête, but not in public, because I make remarks.

Mira. You do?

Pet. Ay, ay; I'm malicious, man. Now he's soft, you know; they are not in awe of him— The fellow's well-bred; he's what you call awhat-d'ye call-'em, a fine gentleman; but he's silly withal.

Mira. I thank you, I know as much as my curiosity requires. Fainall, are you for the Mall? Fain. Ay, I'll take a turn before dinner.

Wit. Ay, we'll all walk in the Park; the ladies talk of being there.

Mira. I thought you were obliged to watch for your brother Sir Wilful's arrival.

Wit. No, no; he comes to his aunt's, my Lady Wishfort's; plague on him, I shall be troubled with him too; what shall I do with the fool?

Pet. Beg him for his estate, that I may beg you afterwards; and so have but one trouble with you both.

Wit. O rare Petulant, thou art as quick as fire in a frosty morning; thou shalt to the Mall with and we'll be very severe.

us,

Pet. Enough; I am in a humour to be severe. Mira. Are you? Pray then walk by yourselves. Let not us be accessary to your putting the ladies out of countenance with your senseless ribaldry, which you roar out aloud as often as they pass by you; and, when you have made a handsome woman blush, then you think you have been severe.

Pet. What, what! Then let 'em either shew their innocence by not understanding what they hear, or else shew their discretion by not hearing what they would not be thought to understand.

Mira. But hast not thou then sense enough to know, that thou ought'st to be most ashamed thyself when thou hast put another out of countenance?

Pet. Not I, by this hand. I always take blushing either for a sign of guilt or ill-breeding.

Mira. I confess you ought to think so. You are in the right, that you may plead the error of your judgment in defence of your practice.

Where modesty's ill-manners, 'tis but fit
That impudence and malice pass for wit.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I.-St James's Park.

Mrs FAINALL and Mrs MARWOOD enter. Mrs Fain. Ay, ay, dear Marwood, if we will be happy, we must find the means in ourselves, and among ourselves. Men are ever in extremes, either doting or averse. While they are lovers, if they have fire and sense, their jealousies are insupportable: and when they cease to love, we ought to think at least they loath: they look mpon us with horror and distaste; they meet us like the ghosts of what we were, and, as from such, fly from us.

Mrs Mar. True, 'tis an unhappy circumstance of life, that love should ever die before us; and that the man so often should outlive the lover. But, say what you will, 'tis better to be left than never to have been loved. To pass our youth in dull indifference, to refuse the sweets of life because they once must leave us, is as preposterous as to wish to have been born old, because we one day must be old. For my part, my youth may wear and waste, but it shall never rust in my pos

session.

Mrs Fain. Then it seems you dissemble an aversion to mankind, only in compliance to my mother's humour?

Mrs Mur. Certainly. To be free; I have no taste of those insipid, dry discourses, with which our sex of force must entertain themselves apart from men. We may affect endearments to each other, profess eternal friendships, and seem to dote like lovers, but 'tis not in our natures long to persevere. Love will resume his empire in our breasts, and every heart, or soon or late, receive and re-admit him as its lawful tyrant.

Mrs Fain. Bless me, how have I been deceived? Why, you're a professed libertine."

Mrs Mur. You see my friendship by my freedom. Come, be as sincere, acknowledge that your sentiments agree with mine.

Mrs Fain. Never.

Mrs Mar. You hate mankind?
Mrs Fain. Heartily, inveterately.

Mrs Mar. Your husband?

Mrs Fain. Most transcendently; ay, though I say it, meritoriously.

Mrs Mar. Give me your hand upon it.
Mrs Fain. There.

Mrs Mar. I join with you; what I have said has been to try you.

Mrs Fain. Is it possible? Dost thou hate those vipers men?

Mrs Mar. I have done hating 'em, and am now come to despise 'em. The next thing I have to do, is eternally to forget them.

Mrs Fuin. There spoke the spirit of an Amazon, a Penthesilea.

Mrs Mur. And yet I am thinking sometimes to carry my aversion farther. Mrs Fain. How?

Mrs Mar. By marrying; if I could but find one that loved me very well, and would be thoroughly sensible of ill usage, I think I should do myself the violence of undergoing the ceremony. Mrs Fain. You would not dishonour him? Mrs Mar. No: but I'd make him believe I did, and that's as bad.

Mrs Fain. Why had you not as good do it? Mrs Mar. O if he should ever discover it, he would then know the worst, and be out of his pain; but I would have him ever to continue upon the rack of fear and jealousy.

Mrs Fain. Ingenious mischief! would thou wert married to Mirabell!

Mrs Mar. Would I were.
Mrs Fain. You change colour.
Mrs Mar. Because I hate him.

Mrs Fain. So do I; but I can hear him named. -But what reason have you to hate him in particular?

Mrs Mar. I never loved him; he is, and always was, insufferably proud.

Mrs Fain. By the reason you give for your aversion, one would think it dissembled; for you have laid a fault to his charge, of which his ene mies must acquit him.

Mrs Mar. O, then it seems you are one of his favourable enemies. Methinks you look a little pale, and now you flush again.

Mrs Fain. Do I? I think I am a little sick o the sudden.

Mrs Mar. What ails you?

Mrs Fain. My husband. Don't you see him? He turned short upon me unawares, and has al

most overcome me.

FAINALL and MIRABELL enter.

Mrs Mar. Ha, ha, ha! he comes opportunely for you.

Mrs Fain. For you, for he has brought Mirabell with him.

Fuin. My dear!

Mrs Fain. My soul !

Fain. You don't look well to-day, child.
Mrs Fain. D'ye think so?

Mira. He's the only man that does, madam. Mrs Fain. The only man that would tell me so at least; and the only man from whom I could hear it without mortification.

Fain. O, my dear, I am satisfied of your tenderness; I know you cannot resent any thing from me; especially what is an effect of my con

cern.

Mrs Fain. Mr Mirabell, my mother interrupted you in a pleasant relation last night; I could fain hear it out.

Mira. The persons concerned in this affair, have yet a tolerable reputation. I am afraid Mr Fainall will be censorious.

Mrs Fain. He has a humour more prevailing than his curiosity, and will willingly dispense with the hearing of one scandalous story, to avoid giving an occasion to make another, by being seen to walk with his wife. This way, Mr Mirabell, and I dare promise you will oblige us both.

[Exeunt Mrs FAINALL and MIRABELL. Fain. Excellent creature! Well, sure, if I should live to be rid of my wife, I should be a miserable man.

Mrs Mar. Ay!

Foin. For, having only that one hope, the accomplishment of it, of consequence, must put an end to all my hopes; and what a wretch is he who must survive his hopes! Nothing remains when that day comes, but to sit down and weep like Alexander, when he wanted other worlds to conquer.

Mrs Mar. Will you not follow 'em?
Fain. No, I think not.

Mrs Mar. Pray let us; I have a reason.
Fain. You are not jealous?

Mrs Mar. Of whom?
Fain. Of Mirabell.

Mrs Mar. If I am, is it inconsistent with my love to you, that I am tender of your honour?

Fain. You would intimate then, as if there were a particular understanding between my wife and him?

Mrs Mar. I think she does not hate him to that degree she would be thought.

Fain. But he, I fear, is too insensible. Mrs Mar. It may be that you are deceived. Fain. It may be so. I do not now begin to apprehend it.

Mrs Mar. What?

Fain. That I have been deceived, madam, and you are false.

Mrs Mar. That I am false! What mean you? Fain. To let you know, I see through all your little arts -Come, you both love him; and both have equally dissembled your aversion. Your mutual jealousies of one another have made you clash till you have both struck fire. I have seen the warm confession reddening on your cheeks and sparkling from your eyes.

Mrs Mar. You do me wrong.

Fain. I do not- 'Twas for my ease to oversee and wilfully neglect the gross advances made him by my wife; that, by permitting her to be engaged, I might continue unsuspected in my plea sures, and take you oftener to my arms in full security. But could you think, because the nodding husband would not wake, that e'er the watchful lover slept?

Mrs Mur. Aud wherewithal can you reproach me?

Fain. With infidelity, with loving another, with love of Mirabell.

Mrs Mar. 'Tis false! I challenge you to show an instance that can confirm your groundless accusation. I hate him.

Mrs Mar. Shame and ingratitude! Do you reproach me? You, you upbraid me? Have I been false to her through strict fidelity to yɔu, and sacrificed my friendship to keep my love inviolate, and have you the baseness to charge me with the guilt, unmindful of the merit? To you it should be meritorious, that I have been vicious, and do you reflect that guilt upon me which should lie buried in your bosom?

Fain. You misinterpret my reproof. I meant but to remind you of the slight account you once could make of strictest ties, when set in competition with your love to me.

Mrs Mar. 'Tis false; you urged it with deliberate malice-'Twas spoke in scorn, and I never will forgive it.

Fain. Your guilt, not your resentment, begets your rage. If yet you loved, you could forgive a jealousy: but you are stung to find you are dis

covered.

Mrs Mar. It shall be all discovered. You too shall be discovered ; be sure you shall. I can but be exposed-If I do it myself, I shall prevent your baseness.

Fain. Why, what will you do?

Mrs Mar. Disclose it to your wife; own what has past between us.

Fain. Frenzy!

Mrs Mar. By all my wrongs I'll do't—I'll publish to the world the injuries you have done me, both in my fame and fortune; with both I trusted you! you, bankrupt in honour, as indigent of wealth!

Fain. Your fame I have preserved. Your for tune has been bestowed as the prodigality of your love would have it, in pleasures which we both have shared. Yet, had not you been false, I had ere this repaid it-'Tis true-had you permitted Mirabell with Millamant to have stolen their marriage, my lady had been incensed beyond all means of reconcilement; Millamant had forfeited the moiety of her fortune, which then would have descended to my wife-And wherefore did I marry, but to make lawful prize of a

latter spring, serves but to usher in the fall; and withers in an affected bloom.

Mrs Fain. Here's your mistress.

Mrs MILLAMANT, WITWOULD, and MINCING

enter.

Mira. Here she comes i'faith, full sail, with her fan spread and streamers out, and a shoal of fools for tenders-Ha, no; I cry her mercy.

Mrs Fain. I see but one poor empty sculler, and he tows her woman after him.

Mira. You seem to be unattended, madam.You used to have the beau monde throng after you, and a flock of gay fine perukes hovering round you.

Wit. Like moths about a candle-I had like to have lost my comparison for want of breath. Mill. O, I have denied myself air to-day. I have walked as fast through the crowd

Wit. As a favourite just disgraced; and with as few followers.

Mill. Dear Mr Witwould, truce with your similitudes, for I am as sick of 'em

Wit. As a physician of a good air-I cannot help it, madam, though 'tis against myself.

Mill. Yet again! Mincing, stand between me

and his wit.

Wit. Do, Mrs Mincing, like a screen before a great fire. I confess I do blaze to-day; I am too bright.

Mrs Fain. But, dear Millamant, why were you so long?

Mill. Long! lud! have I not made violent haste? I have asked every living thing I met for you; I have enquired after you as after a new fashion.

Wit. Madam, truce with your similitudes-no, you met her husband, and did not ask him for her. Mira. By your leave, Witwould, that were like inquiring after an old fashion, to ask a husband for his wife.

Wit. Hum! a hit, a bit, a palpable hit, I confess it.

Min. You were dressed before I came abroad. Mill. Ay, that's true-O but then I hadMincing, what had I? why was I so long?

Min. O mem, your laship staid to peruse a pacquet of letters."

Mill. O ay, letters-I had letters-I am persecuted with letters-I hate letters-nobody knows how to write letters; and yet one has 'em, one does not know why-they serve one to pin up one's hair.

Wit. Is that the way? Pray, madam, do you pin up your hair with all your letters? I find I must keep copies.

Mill. Only with those in verse, Mr Witwould. I never pin up my hair with prose. I think, I tried once, Mincing?

Min. O mem, I shall never forget it. Mill. Ay, poor Mincing tift and tift all the morning.

Min. Till I had the cramp in my fingers, I'll vow, mem, and all to no purpose. But when your laship pins it up with poetry, it sits so plea

|

Min. You're such a critic, Mr Witwould. Mill. Mirabell, did you take exceptions last night? O ay, and went away-Now I think on't, I'm angry-No, now I think on't, I'm pleased For I believe I gave you some pain. Mira. Does that please you?

Mill. Infinitely; I love to give pain. Mira. You would affect a cruelty which is not in your nature; your true vanity is in the power of pleasing.

Mill. O, I ask your pardon for that-One's cruelty is one's power, and when one parts with one's cruelty one parts with one's power; and when one has parted with that, I fancy one's old and ugly.

Mira. Ay, ay, suffer your cruelty to ruin the object of your power, to destroy your loveAnd then, how vain, how lost a thing you'll be! Nay, 'tis true: you are no longer handsome when you have lost your lover; your beauty dies upon the instant: for beauty is the lover's gift; 'tis he bestows your charms-Your glass is all a cheat. The ugly and the old, whom the lookingglass mortifies, yet, after commendation, can be flattered by it, and discover beauties in it; for that reflects our praises rather than our faces.

Mill. O the vanity of these men! Fainall, d'ye hear him? If they did not commend us we were not handsome! Now you must know they could not commend one, if one was not handsome. Beauty is the lover's gift!- -Dear me, what is it that a lover can give?-Why, one makes lovers as fast as one pleases, and they live as long as one pleascs, and they die as soon as one pleases; and then, if one pleases, one makes more.

Wil. Very pretty. Why, you make no more of making of lovers, madam, than of making so many card-matches.

Mill. One no more owes one's beauty to a lover, than one's wit to an echo: they can but reflect what we look and say; vain, empty things, if we are silent or unseen, and want a being.

Mira. Yet, to those two vain empty things, you owe two of the greatest pleasures of your life.

Mill. How so?

Mira. To your lover you owe the pleasure of hearing yourselves praised; and to an echo the pleasure of hearing yourselves talk.

Wit. But I know a lady that loves talking so incessantly, she won't give an echo fair play; she has that everlasting rotation of tongue, that an echo must wait till she dies, before it can catch her last words.

Mill. O, fiction! Fainall, let us leave these

men.

Mira. Draw off Witwould.

[Aside to Mrs FAINALL. Mrs Fain. Immediately:-I have a word or two for Mr Witwould.

[Exeunt Mrs FAINALL and WITWOULD. Mira. I would beg a little private audience