Scribble in the two-fhilling gallery, or a fnug party a little way out of town in a poft-chaise-And then I have fuch a head full of intrigues and contrivances! Oh, nurfee, a novel is the only thing.

Nur. Contrivances ay, marry, you have need of contrivances. Here are your papa and mama fully refolved to marry you to young Mr Ledger, Mr Simeon the rich Jew's wife's nephew; and all the while your head runs upon nothing but Mr Scribble.

Pol. A fiddle ftick's end for Mr Ledger!-I tell you what, nurfee, I'll marry Mr Scribble, and not marry Mr Ledger, whether papa and mama choose it or nơ And how do you think I'll contrive it?

Nur. How, chicken?

Pol. Why, don't you

Nur. No, indeed.

know?

Pol. And can't you guefs?

Nur. No, by my troth, not I.

Pol. O Lord, 'tis the commoneft thing in the world. -I intend to elope.

all.

Nur. Elope, chicken! what's that?

Pol. Why, in the vulgar phrase, run away-that's

Nur. Mercy on us!-Run away!

Pol. Yes, run away, to be fure. Why, there's nothing in that, you know. Every girl elopes when her parents are obftinate and ill-natur'd about marrying her. It was just fo with Betfy Thompfon, and Sally Wilkins, and Clarinda, and Leonora, in the Hiftory of Dick Carelefs, and Julia in the Adventures of Tom Ramble, and fifty others. Did not they all elope? and fo will I too. I have as much right to elope as they had; for I have as much love, and as much spirit as the best of them.

Nur. Why, Mr Scribble's a fine man, to be fure, a gentleman every inch of him.

Pol. So he is; a dear charming man!. elope too, nurfee?

Will you

Nur. Not for the varfal world. Suppose now, chickin, your papa and mama

Pol. What care I for papa and mama? Have not they been married and happy long enough ago? and are they not ftill coaxing, and fondling, and kiffing each other

P 3

all

all the day long?-Where's my dear love, (mimicking.) My beauty! fays papa, hobbling along with his crutchheaded cane and his old gouty legs. Ah, my fweeting, my precious Mr Honeycombe, d'ye love your nown dear wife? fays mama; and then they fqueeze their hard hands to each other, and their old eyes twinkle, and they're as loving as Darby and Joan, especially if mama has had a cordial or two-Eh, nurfee!

Nur. Oh fie, chicken!

Pol. And then, perhaps, in comes my utter averfion, Mr Ledger, with his news from the 'Change, and his Change-alley wit, and his thirty per cent. (mimicking) and ftocks have rifen one and a half and three-eighths. I'll tell you what, nurfee, they would make fine characters for a novel, all three of them.

Nur. Ah, you're a graceless bird!But I must go down ftairs, and watch if the coaft's clear, in case of a letter.

Pol. Cou'd not you go to Mr Scribble's again after it?

Nur. Again, indeed, Mrs Hot-upon't!

Pol. Do now, my dear nurfee, pray do; and call at the circulating library as you go along for the reft of this novel-the Hiftory of Sir George Trueman and Emilia-and tell the bookfeller to be fure to fend me the British Amazon, and Tom Faddle, and the rest of the new novels this winter, as soon as ever they come out. Nur. Ah, pife on your naughty novels, I fay. [Exit. Pol. Ay, go now, my dear nurfee, go; there's a good woman.- What an old fool it is! with her pife on it-and fie, chicken-and no, by my trothing.)- -Lord, what a ftrange house I live in !—not a foul in it, except myself, but what are all queer animals, quite droll creatures. There's papa and mama, and the old foolish nurse- -(Re-enter Nurse with a band-box.), Oh, nurfee, what brings you back fo foon? What have you got there?

-(mimick

Nur. Mrs Commode's 'prentice is below, and has brought home your new cap and ruffles, chicken.

Pol. Let me fee-let me fee-(opening the box.) Well I fwear this is a mighty pretty cap, a fweet pair of flying lappets! Aren't they, nurfee?-Ha, what's this?

[looking

(looking into the box.)-Oh charming! a letter! did not I tell you fo?- Let's fee-let's fee-(opening the letter haftily-it contains three or four fheets)" Joy of "my foul-only hope-eternal blifs-(dipping in"to different places.) The cruel blafts of coynefs and " disdain blow out the flame of love, but then the vir"gin-breath of kindness and compaffion blows it in "again.”—Prodigious pretty! isn't it, nurfee? (Turning over the leaves.)

Nur. Yes, that is pretty-but what a deal there is on't. 'Tis an old faying, and a true one, the more there's faid, the lefs there's done. Ah, they wrote otherguefs fort of letters when I was a girl! (While fhe talks, Polly reads.)

Pol. Lord, nurfee, if it was not for novels and loveletters, a girl would have no ufe for her writing and reading-But what's here? (reading.) Poetry! "Well may I cry out with Alonzo in the Revenge"Where didst thou steal thofe eyes? From heaven? "Thou didst, and 'tis religion to adore them." Excellent! Oh, he's a dear man!

Nur. Ay, to be fure-But you forget your lettercarrier below; fhe'll never bring you another if you don't speak to her kindly.

Pol. Speak to her! why, I'll give her fixpence, woman! Tell her I am coming-I will but juft read my letter over five or fix times, and go to her- -Oh, he's a charming man! (reading.) Very fine! very pretty! -He writes as well as Bob Lovelace-(Kiffing the letter.) Oh, dear, fweet Mr Scribble! [Exit. SCENE changes to another Apartment. Honeycombe and Mrs Honeycombe at Breakfast-Honeycombe reading in the Newspaper.

Mrs Hon. My dear!

[Peevishly.

Hon. What d'ye fay, my love? [Still reading. Mrs Hon. You take no notice of me-Lay by that filly paper-put it down-come then-drink tea your You don't love me now.

Hon. Ah, my beauty!

-

[Looking very fondly.

Mrs Hon. Do you love your own dear wife?

[Tenderly

Hon

Hon DearlyShe knows I do-Don't you, my beauty?

Mrs Hon. Ah, you're a dear, dear man! (Rifing and kiffing him..) He does love her and he's her own hufband-and fhe loves him most dearly and tenderly ——— that she does

[Kiffing him. Han. My beauty,. I have a piece of news for you. Mrs Hon. What is it, my fweeting?

Hon. The paper here fays, that young Tom Seaton, of Alderfgate-Street, was married yesterday at BowChurch, to Mils Fairly of Cornhill.

Mrs Hon. A flaunting, flairing huffey! fhe a hufband! Hon. But what does my beauty think of her own daughter?

Mrs Hon. Of our Polly, fweeting?

Hon. Ay, Polly: What fort of a wife d'ye think fhe'll make, my love? -I concluded every thing with Mr Simeon yesterday, and expect Mr Ledger every mi

nute.

Mrs Hom Think, my fweeting?Why, I think if fhe love him half fo well as I do my own dear man, that fhe'll never fuffer him out of her fight-that fhe'll look at him with pleafure-(they both ogle fondly)-and love him-and kifs him-and fondle him-Oh, my dear, 'tis impoffible to fay how dearly I love you.

[Kiffing and fondling him. Enter Ledger.

Led Heyday! what now, good folks, what now? Are you so much in arrear? or are you paying off principal and interest both at once?

Hon. My dear -Confider

-Mr Ledger is.

Mrs Hon. What fignifies Mr Ledger?-He is one of the family, you know, my fweeting.

Led. Ay, so I am-never mind me-never mind me -Though, by-the-bye, I fhould be glad of fomebody to make much of me too. Where's Mifs Polly? Hom. That's right-that's rightHere, John? Enter John.

Where's Polly?

Jobn. In her own room, Sir.

Hon. Tell herto come here--And hark ye, John,

while Mr Ledger ftays, I am not at home to any body elfe. [Exit John. Led. Not at home!-Are thofe your ways!-If I was to give such a message to my fervant, I should expect a commiffion of bankruptcy out againft me the next day.

Hon. Ay, you men of large dealings-it was fo with me when I was in business-But where's this girl? what can fhe be about?-My beauty, do ftep yourself, and fend her here immediately.

Mrs Hon. I will, my fweeting! [Offering to kiss him. Hon. Nay, my love, not now

Mrs Hon. Why not now?—I will, (kissing him.) Good b'ye, love-Mr Ledger, your fervant-B'ye, deareft.

[Exit,

Hon. Ha, ha! You fee, Mr Ledger, you fee what you are to come to-But I beg pardon-I quite forgothave you breakfasted?

Led. Breakfafted! ay, four hours ago, and done an hundred tickets fince, over a difh of coffee, at Jonathan's -Let me fee, (pulling out his watch,)—bless my foul, 'tis eleven o'clock! I wifh Mifs would come-'Tis transfer-day-I must be at the bank before twelve without fail.

Hon. Oh, here fhe comes.-(Enter Polly.)-Come, child, where have you been all this time?- -Well, Sir, I'll leave you together-Polly, you'll-ha, ha, ha!Your fervant, Mr Ledger, your fervant. [Exit. [Polly and Ledger remain-they ftand at a great distance from each other.]

Pol. (afide) What a moniter of a man! will the frightful creature fay to me?

-What

I am now, for all the world, juft in the fituation of poor Clariffaand the wretch is ten times uglier than Soames himself. Led. Well, Mifs. Pol. (afide.) He fpeaks: What fhall I fay to him?Suppose I have a little fport with him-I will. [’l} indulge myself with a few airs of distant flirtation at first, and then treat him like a dog. I'll ufe him worfe than Nancy Howe ever did Mr Hickman- Pray, Sir, (to Ledger) did you ever read the Hiftory of Emilia?

Leds