L. Fan. Why sure you would not sacrifice your h no ir to your pleasure? Midem. Je suis philosophe. L. Fan. Bless me, how you talk! Why, what if honour be a burden, Mademoiselle, must it not be borne? Mudem. Chaqu'un à sa façon-Quand quelque chose m'incommode, moi-je m'en defais, vite. L. Fan. Get you gone, you little naughty Frenchwoman you: I vow and swear I must turn you out of doors, if you talk thus. Madem. Je n'en ai point moi. L. Fan. Curiosity's a wicked devil. -must you eat, must you drink, must you sleep, must you live? De nature bid you do one, de nature bid you do toder. Vous me ferez enrager. Mudem. Turn me out of doors!--turn yourself out of doors, and go see what de gentleman have to say to you-Tenez. Voilà [Giving her her things hastily.] votre esharp, voilà votre coife, voilà votra masque, voila tout. Hey, Mercure, coquin call one chair for matam, and one oder [Calling within.] for me. Va t'en vite. [Turn-demoiselle-ing to her Lady, and helping her on hastily with her things.] Allons, matam ; depechez vous donc. Mon dieu, quelles scruples! : L. Fan. Well, for once, Mademoiselle, I'll follow your advice, out of the intemperate desire I have to know who this ill-bred fellow is; but I have too much delicatesse to make a practice on't. Madem. Belle chose vrayment que la delica- | tesse, lors qu'il s'agit de divertir- -a ca-Vous voilà équipée, partons.-Hé bien? qu' avez vous donc! L. Fan. J'ay peur. L. Fun. But when reason corrects nature, Ma Mudem. Eile est donc bien insolente, c'est sa sœur ainée. L. Fan. Do you then prefer your nature to your reason, Mademoiselle? Mudem. Oui da. L. Fun. Pourquoi ? Madem. Because my nature make me merry, my reason make me mad. L. Fan. Ah, la méchante Françoise. [Exit, forcing her Lady off. SCENE I-St James's Park. ACT II. Enter Ludy FANCIFUL and Mademoiselle. L. Fan. Well, I vow, Mademoiselle, I'm strangely impatient to know who this confident fellow is. Enter HEARTFREE. Look, there's Heartfree. But sure it cann't be him; he's a professed woman-hater. Yet who knows what my wicked eyes may have done? Madem. Il nous approche, matam. L. Fan. Yes, 'tis he: now will he be most intolerably cavalier, though he should be in love with me. Heart. Madam, I'm your humble servant; I perceive you have more humility and good-nature than I thought you had. L. Pan. What you attribute to humility and good-nature, sir, may perhaps be only due to curiosity. I had a mind to know who 'twas had ill manners enough to write that letter. [Throwing him his letter. Heart. Well, and now I hope you are satisfied: L. Fun. I am so, sir; good-by t'ye. Heurt. Nay, hold there; though you have done your business, I ha'n't done mine: by your ladyship's leave, we must have one moment's prattle together. Have you a mind to be the prettiest woman about town, or not? How she stares upon me! What! this passes for an impertinent ques tion with you now, because you think you are so already. L. Fan. Pray, sir, let me ask you a question in my turn by what right do you pretend to examine me? Heart. By the same right that the strong govern the weak, because I have you in my power; for you cannot get so quickly to your coach, but I shall have time enough to make you hear every thing I have to say to you. L. Fan. These are strange liberties you take, Mr Heartfree. Heart. They are so, madam, but there's no help for it; for know that I have a design upon you. L. Fun. Upon me, sir? Heart. Yes; and one that will turn to your glory and my comfort, if you will be but a little wiser than you use to be. L. Fun. Very well, sir. Heart. Let me see-Your vanity, madam, I take to be about some eight degrees higher than any woman's in the town, let t'other be who she will; and my indifference is naturally about the same pitch. Now, could you find the way to turn this indifference into fire and flame, methinks your L. Fan. My affectation, sir! Heart. Why I ask you nothing but what you may very well spare. L. Fun. You grow rude, sir. Come, Mademoiselle, it is high time to be gone. Madem. Allons, allons, allons! Heart. [Stopping them.] Nay, you may as well stand still; for bear me you shall, walk which way you please. L. Fan. What mean you, sir? Heart. I mean to tell you, that you are the most ungrateful woman upon earth. L. Fan. Ungrateful! to whom? L. Fun. Why, what has nature done for me? Heart. What you have undone by art! It made you handsome: it gave you beauty to a miracle, a shape without a fault, wit enough to make them relish, and so turned you loose to your own discretion; which has made such work with you, that you are become the pity of our sex, and the jest of your own. There is not a feature in your face, but you have found the way to teach it some affected convulsion; your feet, your hands, your very fingers' ends, are directed never to move without some ridiculous air or other; and your language is a suitable trumpet, to draw people's eyes upon the raree-show. Madem. [Aside.] Est ce qu' on fait l'amour en Angleterre comme ça ? L. Fan. [Aside.] Now could I cry for madness, but that I know he'd laugh at me for it. Heart. Now do you hate me for telling you the truth, but that's because you don't believe 'tis so; for, were you once convinced of that, you'd reform for your own sake. L. Fan. Every circumstance of nice breeding must needs appear ridiculous to one who has so natural an antipathy to good manners. Heart. But, suppose I could find the means to convince you that the whole world is of my opinion? L. Fan. Sir, though you, and all the world you talk of, should be so impertinently officious as to think to persuade me I don't know how to behave myself, I should still have charity enough for my own understanding, to believe myself in the right, and all you in the wrong. Madem. Le voilà mort. [Exeunt Lady FANCIFUL and MADEMOISELle. Heart. [Gazing at her.] There her single clapper has published the sense of the whole sex. Well, this once I have endeavoured to wash the black-moor white, but henceforward I'll sooner undertake to teach sincerity to a courtier, gene rosity to a usurer, honesty to a lawyer, than discretion to a woman I see has once set her heart upon playing the fool. Enter CONSTANT. Morrow, Constant. Con. Good morrow, Jack: What are you doing here this morning? Heart. Doing! guess, if you can.-Why, I have been endeavouring to persuade my Lady Fanciful that she's the most foolish woman about town. Con. A pretty endeavour truly. Heart. I have told her, in as plain English as I could speak, both what the town says of her, and what I think of her. In short, I have used her as an absolute king would do Magna Charta. Con. And how does she take it? Heart. As children do pills; bite them, but cann't swallow them. Con. But pr'ythee, what has put it into your head, of all mankind, to turn reformer? Heart. Why, one thing was, the morning hung upon my hands, I did not know what to do with myself; and another was, that, as little as I care for women, I could not see with patience one that Heaven had taken such wondrous pains about, be so very industrious to make herself the Jack-pudding of the creation. Con. Well, now could I almost wish to sce my cruel mistress make the self-same use of what Heaven has done for her, that so I might be cured of the same disease that makes me so very uneasy; for love, love is the devil, Heartfree. Heart. And why do you let the devil govern you? Con. Because I have more flesh and blood than grace and self-denial. My dear, dear mistress, 'sdeath! that so genteel a woman should be a saint, when religion's out of fashion! Heart. Nay, she's much in the wrong truly; but who knows how far time and good example may prevail? Con. O! they have played their parts in vain already; 'tis now two years since the fellow her husband invited me to his wedding; and there was the first time I saw that charming woman, whom I have loved ever since; but she is cold, my friend, still cold as the northern star. Heart. So are all women by nature, which makes them so willing to be warmed. Con. O don't profane the sex; pr'ythee think them all angels for her sake; for she's virtuous even to a fault. Heart. A lover's head is a good accountable thing truly; he adores his mistress for being virtuous, and yet is very angry with her because she won't be kind. Con. Well, the only relief I expect in my misery, is to see thee some day or other as deeply engaged as myself, which will force me to be merry in the midst of all my misfortunes. Heart. That day will never come, be assured, Ned: not but that I can pass a night with a wo : man, and for the time, perhaps, make myself as good sport as you can do. Nay, I can court a woman too, call her nymph, angel, goddess, what you please but here's the difference between you and I; I persuade a woman she's an angel, and she persuades you she's one. But pr'ythee let me tell you how I avoid falling in love; that which serves me for prevention, may chance to serve you for a cure. Con. Well, use the ladies moderately then, and I'll hear you. Heart. And just now he was sure time could do nothing. Con. Yet not one kind glance in two years is somewhat strange. Heart. Not strange at all; she don't like you, that's all the business. Con. Pr'ythee don't distract me. Heart. Nay, you are a good handsome young fellow; she might use you better. Come, will you go see her? perhaps she may have changed her mind; there's some hopes, as long as she's a woman. Con. O, 'tis in vain to visit her: sometimes to get a sight of her, I visit that beast her husband, but she certainly finds some pretence to quit the room as soon as I enter. Heart. That using them moderately undoes us all: but I'll use them justly, and that you ought to be satisfied with. I always consider a woman, not as the tailor, the shoe-maker, the tirewoman, the semstress, and (which is more than all that) the poet makes her; but I consider her Heart. It's much she don't tell him you have as pure nature has contrived her, and that more made love to her too; for that's another goodstrictly than I should have done our old grand-natured thing usual amongst women, in which mother Eve, had I seen her naked in the garden; for I consider her turned inside out. Her heart well examined, I find there pride, vanity, covetousness, indiscretion, but, above all things, malice: plots eternally forging to destroy one another's reputations, and as honestly to charge the levity of men's tongues with the scandal; hourly debates how to make poor gentlemen in love with them, with no other intent but to use them like dogs when they have done; a constant desire of doing more mischief, and an everlasting war waged against truth and good-nature. Con. Very well, sir; an admirable composition, truly! Heart. Then for her outside, I consider it merely as an outside; she has a thin tiffany covering; just over such stuff as you and I are made on. As for her motion, her mien, her airs, and all those tricks, I know they affect you mightily. If you should see your mistress at a coronation, dragging her peacock's train, with all her state and insolence about her, 'twould strike you with all the awful thoughts that Heaven itself could pretend to form you: whereas I turn the whole matter into a jest, and suppose her strutting in the self-same stately manner, with nothing on but her stays, and her scanty quilted under-petticoat. Con. Hold thy profane tongue; for I'll hear no more! Heart. What, you'll love on then? Con. Yes. Heart. Yet have no hopes at all? Heart. Nay, the resolution may be discreet enough; perhaps you have found out some new philosophy, that love, like virtue, is its own reward: so you and your mistress will be as well content at a distance, as others that have less learning are in coming together. Con. No; but if she should prove kind at last, my dear Heartfree? [Embracing him. Heart. Nay, pr'ythee don't take me for your mistress; for lovers are very troublesome. Con. Well, who knows what time may do? they have several ends. Sometimes 'tis to recommend their virtue, that they may be kind with the greater security. Sometimes 'tis to make their husbands fight, in hopes they may be killed, when their affairs require it should be so: but most commonly 'tis to engage two men in a quarrel, that they may have the credit of being fought for; and if the lover's killed in the business, they cry, Poor fellow, he had ill luck!—and so they go to cards. Con. Thy injuries to women are not to be forgi ven. Look to't, if ever you fall into their hands Heart. They cann't use me worse than they do you, that speak well of 'em. O ho! here comes the knight. Enter Sir JOHN BRUTE. Heart. Your humble servant, Sir John. Heart. How does all your family? Con. How does your lady? I ha'n't seen her abroad a good while. Sir John. Do! I don't know how she does, not I; she was well enough yesterday; I ha'n't been at home to-night. Con. What, were you out of town? Sir John. Out of town! No, I was drinking. Con. You are a true Englishman; don't know your own happiness. If I were married to such a woman, I would not be from her a night for all the wine in France. Sir John. Not from her!-'Oons-what a time should a man have of that! Heart. Why, there's no division, I hope. Sir John. No; but there's a conjunction, and that's worse; a pox of the parson-why the plague don't you two marry? I fancy I look like the devil to you. Heart. Why, you don't think you have horns, do you? Sir John. No, I believe my wife's religion will keep her honest. Heart. And what will make her keep her religion? Sir John. Persecution; and therefore she shall have it. Heart. Have a care, knight, women are tender things. Sir John. And yet, methinks, 'tis a hard matter to break their hearts. Con. Fie, fie! you have one of the best wives in the world, and yet you seem the most uneasy husband. Sir John. Best wives!-the woman's well enough; she has no vice that I know of; but she's a wife, and-damn a wife! if I were married to a hogshead of claret, matrimony would make me hate it. Heart. Why did you marry then? you were old enough to know your own mind. Sir John. Why did I marry! I married because I had a mind to lay with her, and she would not let me. Heart. Why did you not ravish her ? Sir John. Yes; and so have hedged myself into forty quarrels with her relations, besides buying my pardon: but, more than all that, you must know I was afraid of being damned in those days, for I kept sneaking, cowardly company, fellows that went to church, said grace to their meat, and had not the least tincture of quality about them. Heart. But I think you have got into a better gang now. Sir John. Zoons, sir, my Lord Rake and I are hand and glove: I believe we may get our bones broke together to-night. Have you a mind to share a frolic? Con. Not I, truly; my talent lies in softer ex ercises. Sir John. What, a down bed and a strumpet? A pox of venery, I say. Will you come and drink with me this afternoon? Con. I cann't drink to-day; but we'll come and sit an hour with you if you will. Sir John. Pough, pox, sit an hour! Why cann't you drink? Con. Because I'm to see my mistress. Con. Why do you use to tell? Sir John. Yes. Con. So won't I. Sir John. Why? Con. Because it is a secret. Sir John. Would my wife knew it, 'twould be no secret long. Con. Why, do you think she cann't keep a secret? Sir John. No more than she could keep Lent. Heart. Pr'ythee, tell it her to try, Constant. Sir John. No, pr'ythee don't, that I mayn't be plagued with it. Con. I'll hold you a guinea you don't make her tell it you. Sir John. I'll hold you a guinea I do. Sir John. Why, I'll beg her not to tell it me. Sir John. 'Oons, sir, I think a woman and a secret are the two impertinentest themes in the universe: therefore, pray let's hear no more of my wife nor your mistress. Damn 'em both with all my heart, and every thing else that daggles a petticoat, except four generous whores who are drunk with my Lord Rake and I ten times in a fortnight. [Exit. Con. Here's a dainty fellow for you! and the veriest coward too. But his usage of his wife makes me ready to stab the villain. Heart. Lovers are short-sighted; all their senses run into that of feeling. This proceeding of his is the only thing on earth can make your fortune. If any thing can prevail with her to accept a gallant, 'tis his usage of her. Pr'ythee, take heart; I have great hopes for you; and, since I cann't bring you quite off her, I'll endeavour to bring you quite on; for a whining lover is the damnest companion on earth. Con. My dear friend, flatter me a little more with these hopes; for whilst they prevail, I have Elysium within me, and could melt with joy. Heart. Pray, no melting yet; let things go farther first. This afternoon, perhaps, we shall make some advance. In the mean while, let's go dine at Locket's, and let hope get you a stomach. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-Lady FANCYFUL's House. Enter Lady FANCYFUL and MADemoiselle. L. Fun. Did you ever see any think so impor tune, Mademoiselle? Madem. Indeed, matam, to say de trute, he want leetel good-breeding. L. Fan. Good-breeding! He wants to be caned, Mademoiselle. An insolent fellow! and yet, let me expose my weakness, 'tis the only man on earth I could resolve to dispense my favours on, were he but a fine gentleman. Well, did men but know how deep an impression a fine gentleman makes in a lady's heart, they would reduce all their studies to that of good-breeding alone. Enter Servant. Serv. Will your ladyship please to dine yet? L Fan. Yes, let 'em serve. Exit Serv.] Sure this Heartfree has betwitched me, Mademoiselle. You cann't imagine how oddly he mixt himself in my thoughts during my rapture e'en now. I vow 'tis a thousand pities he is not more polished; don't you think so? Madem. Matam, I think it is so great pity, that, if I was in your ladyship's place, I take him home in my house, I lock him up in my closet, and I never let him go, till I teach him every ting dat fine lady expect from fine gentleman. L. Fan. Why truly, I believe I should soon subdue his brutality; for, without doubt, he has a strange penchant to grow fond of me, in spite of his aversion to the sex, else he would ne'er have taken so much pains about me. Lord, how proud would some poor creatures be of such a conquest! but I, alas! I don't know how to receive as a favour, what I take to be so infinitely my due. But what shall I do to new mould him, Mademoiselle; for, till then, he's my utter aversion? Madem. Matem, you must laugh at him in all de places dat you meet him, and turn into de ridicule all he say and all he do. L. Fan. Why truly, satire has ever been of wondrous use to reform ill manners. Besides, 'tis my particular talent to ridicule folks. I can be severe, strangely severe, when I will Mademoiselle-Give me the pen and ink—I find myself whimsical-I'll write to him-or I'll let it alone, and be severe upon him that way. [Sitting down to write, rising up again.]—Yet active severity is better than passive. [Sitting down.]-'Tis as good to let it alone too: for every lash Ỉ give him, perhaps he'll take for a favour.—[Rising.] Yet 'tis a thousand pities so much satire should be lost. [Sitting]-But if it should have a wrong effect upon him, 'twould distract me. [Rising.]-Well, I must write though, after all, [Sitting.]—or I'll let it alone, which is the same thing. [Rising.] Madem. La voilà determinée [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I-Opens and discovers Sir JOHN, Lady BRUTE, and BELINDA, rising from the tuble. Sir John. Here; take away the things: I expect company. But first bring me a pipe; I'll smoke. To a Servant.} L. Brute. Lord, Sir John, I wonder you won't leave off that nasty custom. Sir John. Pr'ythee don't be impertinent. Bel. [To L. BRUTE.] I wonder who those are he expects this afternoon. L. Brute. I'd give the world to know. Perhaps 'tis Constant; he comes here sometimes; if it does prove him, I'm resolved I'll share the vi sit. Bel. We'll send for our work and sit here. L. Brute. He'll choke us with his tobacco. Bel. Nothing will choke us when we are doing what we have a mind to. LovewellEnter LOVEWELL. Love. Madam. L. Brute. Here; bring my cousin's work and mine hither. [Exit LovE., and re-enters with their work. Sir John. Why, pox, cann't you work somewhere else? L. Brule. We shall be careful not to disturb you, sir. Bel. Your pipe would make you too thoughtful, uncle, if you were left alone; our prittle prattle will cure your spleen. Sir John. Will it so, Mrs Pert? Now I believe it will so increase it, [Sitting and smoking.] I shall take my own house for a paper-mill. L Brute [To BEL. aside.] Don't let's mind him; let him say what he will. Sir John. A woman's tongue a cure for the spleen! 'oons-[Aside.] if a man had got the head-ach, they'd be for applying the same remedy. L. Brute. You have done a great deal, Belinda, since yesterday. Bel. Yes, I have worked very hard; how do you like it? L. Brute. O! 'tis the prettiest fringe in the world. Well, cousin, you have the happiest fancy: pr'ythee advise me about altering my crimson petticoat. Sir John. A pox o' your petticoat! here's such a prating, a man cann't digest his own thoughts for you. L. Brute. Don't answer him. [Aside.]—Well, what do you advise me? Bel. Why, really, I would not alter it at all. Methinks 'tis very pretty as it is. L. Brute. Ay, that's true: but you know one grows weary of the prettiest things in the world, when one has had 'em long. Sir John. Yes, I have taught her that. Bel. Shall we provoke him a little? L. Brute. With all my heart. Belinda, don't you long to be married?" Bel. Why, there are some things in it which I could like well enough. L. Brute. What do you think you should dislike? Bel. My husband, a hundred to one else. L. Brute. O ye wicked wretch! Sure you don't speak as you think? Co. Bel. Yes I do: especially if he smoked tobac (He looks earnestly at them. that many times takes off L. Brute. Why, worse smells. Bel. Then he must smell very ill indeed. L. Brute. So some men will, to keep their wives from coming near them. Bel. Then those wives should cuckold 'em at a distance. [He rises in a fury, throws his pipe at them, and drives them out. As they run off, enter CONSTANT and HEARTFREE; Lady BRUTE runs against CONSTANT. Sir John. 'Oons, get you gone up stairs, you confederating strumpets you, or I'll cuckold you, with a vengeance! L. Brute. O lord, he'll beat us, he'll beat us! Dear, dear Mr Constant, save us ! [Exeunt L. BRUTE and BEL. Sir John. I'll cuckold you, with a pox! Con. Heaven! Sir John, what's the matter? Sir John. Sure, if women had been ready cre |