Lady Squ. Ah Lord, wit, wit, wit, as I live! Come let's dance.

Tru. Valentine, thou art something too rough; I am afraid her ladyship will be revenged: I see mischief in her eyes: 'tis safer provoking a Lancashire witch, than an old mistress; and she is as violent in her malice too. Good. Malagene, a word with you--bark ye, come hither. [Goes to the door. Mal. Well, Frank, what's the business now? I am clearly for mischief: shall I break the fiddles, and turn the rascals out of doors?

Good. No, sir; but I'll be so civil to turn you out of doors. Nay, sir, no struggling; I have footmen within.

Mal. Whoo! pr'ythee what's all this for? What a pox, I know my lady well enough for a silly, affected, fantastical gipsy: I did all this but o'purpose to shew her -let me alone, I'll abuse her worse.

Good. No, sir, but I'll take more care of your reputation, and turn you out to learn better manners. No resistance, as you tender your ears; but begone. (Exit Mal.) So he's gone, and now I hope I may have some little time to myself.--Fiddles strike up. [Dance.

Tru. Thus, madam, you freely enjoy all the pleasures of a single life, and ease yourself of that wretched formal austerity which commonly attends a married

one.

Mrs. Good. Who would not hate to be one of those simpering saints, that enter into marriage as they would go into a nunnery, where they keep very strict to their devotion for a-while, but at last turn as arrant sinners as ever they were.

Tru. Marriages indeed should be repaired to, as commonly nunneries are, for handsome retreats and conveniences, not for prisons; where those that cannot live without 'em may be safe, yet sometimes venture too abroad a little.

Mrs. Good. But never, sir, without a lady abbess, or a confessor at least.

Tru. Might I, madam, have the honour to be your confessor, I should be very indulgent and lavish of absolution to so pretty a sinner.

Mrs. Good. See, Mr. Goodvile and madam Camilla I believe are at shrift already.

Tru. And poor Ned Valentine looks as pensively as if all the sins of the company were his own.

Mrs. Good. See, Mr. Caper, your mistress.

Cap. Ha, Camilla! Sir, your servant, may I have the honour to lead this lady a coranto?

Good. No, sir, death! surely I have fools that rest and harbour in my house, and they are a worse plague than bugs and moths: shall I never be quiet?

Val. Sir Noble, sir Noble, have a care of your mistress! do you see there?

Clum. Hum-ha-where? oh- [Wakes and rises. Saunt. Nay, faith madam, Harry Caper's as pretty a fellow! 'Tis the wittiest rogue: he and I laugh at all the town. Harry, I shall marry her.

Clum. Marry, sir! whom will you marry, sir? you lie. Sweet-heart, come along with me, I'll marry thee myself presently.

Vict. You, sir Noble!--what d'ye mean? [She squeaks. Clum. Mean! honourably, honourably, I mean honourably. These are rogues, my dear, arrant rogues. Come along[Ex. Sir Nob. and Vict.

Cap. Ha, Saunter.

Saunt. Ay, Caper, ha! let us follow this drunken knight.

Cap. I'faith, and so I will-I don't value him this! [Cuts. [Ex. Cap. and Saunt. Lady Squ. Ha, ha, ha! well, I'll swear my cousin, sir Noble, is a strange pleasant creature. Dear madam, let us follow and see the sport. Mr. Truman, will you walk? O dear, 'tis violent hot.

[Ex. Lady Squ. Tru. and Mrs. G. Val. I'll withdraw too, and at some distance observe how matters are carried between Goodvile and Camilla.

[Exit.

Good. Are you, then, madam, resolved to ruin me? why should all that stock of beauty be thrown away on one that can never be able to deserve the gleanings of it? I love you

Cam. And all the sex besides. That ever any man should take such pains to forswear himself to no purpose! Good. Nay, then there's hopes yet; if you pretend to doubt the truth of my love, 'tis a sign you have some inclinations at least that are my friends.

Cam. This Goodvile, I see, is one of those spruce polished fools who have so good an opinion of themselves, that they think no woman can resist 'em, nor man of better sense despise 'em. I'll seem at present to comply, and try how far 'twill pass upon him. [Aside. Good. Well, madam, have you considered on't? will the stone in your heart give way?

Cam. No, sir, 'tis full as firm and hard as ever it was. Good. And I may then go hang or drown, or do what I will with myself? ha!

Cam. At your own discretion, sir, though I should be loth to see so proper a handsome gentleman come to an ill end.

Good. Good charitable creature! but, madam, know I can be revenged on you for this; and my revenge shall be to love you still; gloat on, and loll after you, where'er I see you; in all public meetings haunt and vex you; write lamentable sonnets on you, and so plain, that every fop that sings 'em shall know 'tis you I mean. Cam. So sir, this is something: could not you as well have told me you had been very ill-natured at first? you did not know how far it might have wrought upon me; besides, 'tis a thousand times better than vowing and bowing, and making a deal of love and noise, and all to as little purpose as any thing you say else.

Good. Right exquisite tyrant! I'll set a watch and guard so strict upon you, you shall not entertain a welldressed fool in private, but I'll know it; then in a lewd lampoon publish it to the town; till you shall repent, and curse the hour you ever saw me.

Cam. Ah, would I could, ill-natured, cruel man!

Good. Ha, how's that? am I then mistaken? and have I wronged you all this while? I ask ten thousand pardons; curst damned sot that I was! I have ruined myself now for ever.

Cam. Well, sir, should I now forgive you all, could you consent to wrong your lady so far? you have not yet been married a full year: how must I then suspect your love to me, that can so soon forget your faith to her?

Good. Oh madam, what do you do? the name of a wife to a man in love is worse than cold water in a fever; 'tis enough to strike the distemper to my heart, and kill me quite my lady, quoth-a!

Cam. Besides, Valentine you know is your friend.

Good. I grant it, he is so; a friend is a thing I love to eat and drink and laugh withal: nay, more, I would on a good occasion lose my life for my friend, but not my pleasure. Say when and where it shall be.

Cam. Never; I dare not.

Good. You must by and by when 'tis a little darker, in the left-hand walk, in the lowest garden.

Cam. I won't promise you; can't you trust my goodnature?

Good. Charming creature, I do: now if I can but make up the match between Truman and Victoria, my hopes are completed.

Cam. Haste! haste! away sir, I see Valentine coming. [Exit Good.

Enter VALENTINE.

Val. Madam, you are extremely merry; I am glad Mr. Goodvile has left you in so good a humour.

Cam. Ay, sir, and what may please you more, he is parted hence in as good a humour as he has left me here.

Enter Lady SQUEAMISH, BRIDGET at the Door.

Lady Squ. Valentine and Camilla alone together!

now for an opportunity to be revenged! ah, how I love malice!

Val. Ungratefullest of women!

Cam. Foolishest of men! can you be so very silly to be jealous? for I find you are so: what have you ever observed since first your knowledge of me, that might persuade you I should ever grow fond of a man, as notoriously false to all women, as you are unworthy of me?

Lady Squ. Has Valentine been false to her too? nay, then there is some pleasure left yet, to think I am not the only woman that has suffered by his baseness.

[Aside. Val. What then, I'll warrant you were alone together half an hour only for a little harmless raillery or so? an honour I could never obtain without hard suit and humble supplication.

Cam. Alas! how very politic you are grown! you would pretend displeasure to try your power. No-I shall henceforth think you never had a good opinion of me; but that your love was at first as ill-grounded, as your fantastical jealousy is now.

Val. What specious pretence can you urge? (I know a woman can never be without one;) come, I am easy and good-natured, willing to believe and be deceivedwhat, not a word!

Cam. Though I can hardly descend to satisfy your distrust, for which I hardly value you, and almost hate you; yet to torment you farther, know I did discourse with him, and of love too; nay more, granted him an appointment, but one I never meant to keep, and promised it only to get rid of him. This is more than I am obliged to tell you, but that I wanted such an opportunity as this to check your pretences, which I found too unruly to be kept at a distance.

Val. Though I had some reason to be in doubt, yet this true resentment and just proceeding has convinced me: for Goodvile is a man I have little reason to trust, as will appear hereafter, and 'twas my knowledge of his