name be injured, 'tis your friend that does it still, because your enemy is not believed against you. Therefore, I rather choose to go where honest, downright barbarity is professed, where men devour one another like generous hungry lions and tigers, not like crocodiles; where they think the devil white, of our complexion; and I am already so far an Indian. But if your weak faith doubts

this miracle of a woman, come along with me, and believe; and thou wilt find her so handsome, that thou, who art so much my friend, wilt have a mind to lie with her, and so wilt not fail to discover what her faith and thine is to me.

When we're in love, the great adversity,
Our friends and mistresses at once we try,
[Exeunt.

SCENE I.-OLIVIA's Lodging.

Enter OLIVIA, ELIZA, and Lettice.

Oliv. Ah, cousin, what a world 'tis we live in! I am so weary of it.

Eliza. Truly, cousin, I can find no fault with it, but that we cannot always live in't, for I can never be weary of it.

Oliv. O hideous! you cannot be in earnest sure, when you say you like the filthy world.

Eliza. You cannot be in earnest sure, when you say you dislike it.

Oliv. You are a very censorious creature, I find. Eliza. I must confess, I think we women as often discover where we love by railing, as men when they lie by their swearing; and the world is but a constant keeping gallant, whom we fail not to quarrel with when anything crosses us, yet cannot part with't for our hearts.

Let. A gallant indeed, madam, whom ladies first make jealous, and then quarrel with it for being so ; for if, by her indiscretion, a lady be talked of for a man, she cries presently, 'Tis a censorious world! if by her vanity the intrigue be found out, 'Tis a prying malicious world! if by her over-fondness the gallant proves unconstant, 'Tis a false world! and if by her niggardliness the chambermaid tells, 'Tis a perfidious world! But that, I'm sure, your ladyship cannot say of the world yet, as bad as 'tis.

Oliv. But I may say, 'Tis a very impertinent world!-Hold your peace.-And, cousin, if the world be a gallant, 'tis such a one as is my aversion. Pray name it no more.

Eliza. But is it possible the world, which has such variety of charms for other women, can have none for you? Let's see-first, what dy'e think of dressing and fine clothes?

Oliv. Dressing! Fy, fy, 'tis my aversion.-[To LETTICE.] But come hither, you dowdy; methinks you might have opened this toure better; O hideous! I cannot suffer it! D'ye see how't sits?

Eliza. Well enough, cousin, if dressing be your aversion.

Oliv. 'Tis so and for variety of rich clothes, they are more my aversion.

Let. Ay, 'tis because your ladyship wears 'em too long; for indeed a gown, like a gallant, grows one's aversion by having too much of it.

Oliv. Insatiable creature! I'll be sworn I have had this not above three days, cousin, and within this month have made some six more.

Eliza. Then your aversion to 'em is not altogether so great.

Oliv. Alas! 'tis for my woman only I wear 'em,

cousin.

Let. If it be for me only, madam, pray do not wear 'em.

Elisa. But what d'ye think of visits-balls? Oliv. O, I detest 'em!

Eliza. Of plays?

Oliv. I abominate 'em ; filthy, obscene, hideous things.

Eliza. What say you to masquerading in the winter, and Hyde-park in the summer?

Oliv. Insipid pleasures I taste not. Eliza. Nay, if you are for more solid pleasures, what think you of a rich young husband?

Oliv. O horrid! marriage! what a pleasure you have found out! I nauseate it of all things. Let. But what does your ladyship think then of a liberal handsome young lover?

Oliv. A handsome young fellow, you impudent! begone out of my sight. Name a handsome young fellow to me! foh, a hideous handsome young fellow I abominate! [Spits.

Eliza. Indeed! But let's see-will nothing please you? what d'ye think of the court?

Oliv. How, the court! the court, cousin! my aversion, my aversion, my aversion of all aversions !

Eliza. How, the court! where

Oliv. Where sincerity is a quality as much out of fashion and as unprosperous as bashfulness: I could not laugh at a quibble, though it were a fat privy-counsellor's; nor praise a lord's ill verses, though I were myself the subject; nor an old lady's young looks, though I were her woman; nor sit to a vain young smile-maker, though he flattered In short, I could not glout upon a man when he comes into a room, and laugh at him when he goes out I cannot rail at the absent to flatter the standers-by; I—

me.

Eliza. Well, but railing now is so common, that 'tis no more malice, but the fashion; and the absent think they are no more the worse for being railed at, than the present think they're the better for being flattered. And for the court

Oliv. Nay, do not defend the court; for you'l make me rail at it like a trusting citizen's widow.

Eliza. Or like a Holborn lady, who could not get in to the last ball, or was out of countenance in the drawing-room the last Sunday of her appearance there. For none rail at the court but those who cannot get into it, or else who are ridiculous when they are there; and I shall suspect you were laughed at when you were last there, or would be a maid of honour.

Oliv. I a maid of honour! To be a maid of honour, were yet of all things my aversion.

Eliza. In what sense am I to understand you?

But in fine, by the word aversion, I'm sure you dissemble; for I never knew woman yet used it who did not. Come, our tongues belie our hearts more than our pocket-glasses do our faces. But methinks we ought to leave off dissembling, since 'tis grown of no use to us; for all wise observers understand us now-a-days, as they do dreams, almanacs, and Dutch gazettes, by the contrary: and a man no more believes a woman, when she says she has an aversion for him, than when she she'll cry out.

Olir. O filthy! hideous! Peace, cousin, or your Escourse will be my aversion: and you may believe

Boy. Here's the gentleman to wait upon you, madam.

Olie. On me! you little unthinking fop; d'ye know what you say?

Boy. Yes, madam, 'tis the gentleman that comes every day to you, who

Olir. Hold your peace, you heedless little animal, and get you gone.-[Exit Boy.] This country boy, cousin, takes my dancing-master, tailor, or the spruce milliner, for visitors.

Let. No, madam; 'tis Mr. Novel, I'm sure, by his talking so loud: I know his voice too, madam. Oliv. You know nothing, you buffle-headed stapid creature you: you would make my cousin believe I receive visits. But if it be Mr.-what did you call him?

Let. Mr. Novel, madam; he that

On. Hold your peace; I'll hear no more of him. But if it be your Mr.-(I cannot think f his name again) I suppose he has followed my

cousin hither.

Ole. Nor did I ever hear of him before, upon my honour, cousin, besides, han't I told you, that visits, and the business of visits, flattery and detraction, are my aversion? D'ye think then I would admit such a coxcomb as he is? who rather than set rail, will rail at the dead, whom none speak ill of; rather than not flatter, will flatter the poets of the age, whom none will flatter; who affects novelty as much as the fashion, and is as fantastical changeable, and as well known as the fashion; who likes nothing but what is new, nay, would choose to have his friend or his title a new one. In fe, he is my aversion.

Eliza. I find you do know him, cousin ; at least, have heard of him.

Olir. Yes, now I remember, I have heard of

Eliza. Well; but since he is such a coxcomb, for heaven's sake, let him not come up. Tell him, Mrs. Lettice, your lady is not within.

Ole. No, Lettice, tell him my cousin is here, and that he may come up. For notwithstanding I detest the sight of him, you may like his conversation; and though I would use him scurvily, I will

not be rude to you in my own lodging: since he has followed you hither, let him come up, I say.

Eliza. Very fine! pray let him go to the devil, I say, for me: I know him not, nor desire it. Send him away, Mrs. Lettice.

Oliv. Upon my word, she shan't: I must disobey your commands, to comply with your desires. Call him up, Lettice.

Eliza. Nay, I'll swear she shall not stir on that errand. [Holds LETTICE. Oliv. Well then, I'll call him myself for you, since you will have it so.-[Calls out at the door.] Mr. Novel, sir, sir!

Enter NOVEL.

Nov. Madam, I beg your pardon; perhaps you were busy: I did not think you had company with you. Eliza. Yet he comes to me, cousin!

[Aside to OLIVIA. Oliv. Chairs there. [They sil. Nov. Well; but, madam, d'ye know whence I come now?

Oliv. From some melancholy place, I warrant, sir, since they have lost your good company. Eliza. So!

Nov. From a place where they have treated me at dinner with so much civility and kindness, a pox on them! that I could hardly get away to you, dear madam.

Oliv. You have a way with 'you so new and obliging, sir!

Eliza. You hate flattery, cousin!

[Apart to OLIVIA. Nov. Nay, faith, madam, d'ye think my way new? Then you are obliging, madam. I must confess, I hate imitation, to do anything like other people. All that know me do me the honour to say, I am an original, faith. But, as I was saying, madam, I have been treated to-day with all the ceremony and kindness imaginable at my lady Autumn's. But, the nauseous old woman at the upper end of her table

Oliv. Revives the old Grecian custom, of serving in a death's head with their banquets.

Nov. Ha ha! fine, just, i'faith, nay, and new. 'Tis like eating with the ghost in the Libertine : she would frighten a man from her dinner with her hollow invitation, and spoil one's stomach

Oliv. To meat or women. I detest her hollow cherry cheeks: she looks like an old coach new painted; affecting an unseemly smugness, whilst she is ready to drop in pieces.

Eliza. You hate detraction, I see, cousin.

[Apart to OLIVIA. Nov. But the silly old fury, whilst she affects to look like a woman of this age, talks

Oliv. Like one of the last; and as passionately as an old courtier who has outlived his office.

Nov. Yes, madam; but pray let me give you her character. Then she never counts her age by the years, but

Oliv. By the masques she has lived to see.

Nov. Nay then, madam, I see you think a little harmless railing too great a pleasure for any but yourself; and therefore I've done.

Oliv. Nay, faith, you shall tell me who you had there at dinner.

Nov. If you would hear me, madam.
Oliv. Most patiently; speak, sir.
Nov. Then, we had her daughter-

Oliv. She is, you'd say, like a city bride; the greater fortune, but not the greater beauty, for her dress.

Nov. Well yet have you done, madam? Then she

Oliv. Then she bestows as unfortunately on her face all the graces in fashion, as the languishing eye, the hanging or pouting lip. But as the fool is never more provoking than when he aims at wit, the ill-favoured of our sex are never more nauseous than when they would be beauties, adding to their natural deformity the artificial ugliness of affectation.

Eliza. So, cousin, I find one may have a collection of all one's acquaintance's pictures as well at your house as at Mr. Lely's. Only the difference is, there we find 'em much handsomer than they are, and like; here much uglier, and like: and you are the first of the profession of picturedrawing I ever knew without flattery.

Oliv. I draw after the life; do nobody wrong, cousin.

Eliza. No, you hate flattery and detraction. Oliv. But, Mr. Novel, who had you besides at dinner?

Nov. Nay, the devil take me if I tell you, unless you will allow me the privilege of railing in my turn.-But, now I think on't, the women ought to be your province, as the men are mine: and you must know we had him whom

Oliv. Him, whom

Nov. What, invading me already? and giving the character before you know the man?

Eliza. No, that is not fair, though it be usual. Oliv. I beg your pardon, Mr. Novel; pray go on. Nov. Then, I say, we had that familiar coxcomb who is at home wheresoe'er he comes.

Oliv. Ay, that fool

Nov. Nay then, madam, your servant; I'm gone. Taking the fool out of one's mouth is worse than taking the bread out of one's mouth. Oliv. I've done; your pardon, Mr. Novel: pray proceed.

Nov. I say, the rogue, that he may be the only wit in company, will let nobody else talk, andOliv. Ay, those fops who love to talk all themselves are of all things my aversion.

Nov. Then you'll let me speak, madam, sure. The rogue, I say, will force his jest upon you; and I hate a jest that's forced upon a man, as much as a glass.

Eliza. Why, I hope, sir, he does not expect a man of your temperance in jesting should do him reason?

Nov. What! interruption from this side too? I must then[Offers to rise. OLIVIA holds him. Oliv. No, sir.-You must know, cousin, that fop he means, though he talks only to be commended, will not give you leave to do't.

Nov. But, madam

Oliv. He a wit! Hang him; he's only an

adopter of straggling jests and fatherless lampoons by the credit of which he eats at good tables, an so, like the barren beggar-woman, lives by bor rowed children.

Nov. Madam

Oliv. And never was author of anything but hi news but that is still all his own. Nov. Madam, pray—

Oliv. An eternal babbler; and makes no more s of his ears, than a man that sits at a play by hi mistress, or in Fop-corner. He's, in fine, a bas detracting fellow, and is my aversion.-But b else, prithee Mr. Novel, was there with you? Na you shan't stir.

Nov. I beg your pardon, madam; I cannot sta in any place where I'm not allowed a little chri tian liberty of railing.

Oliv. Nay, prithee Mr. Novel, stay: and thoug you should rail at me, I would hear you with p tience. Prithee, who else was there with you? Nov. Your servant, madam.

Oliv. Nay, prithee tell us, Mr. Novel, prithee d Nov. We had nobody else.

Come, m

Oliv. Nay, faith, I know you had. lord Plausible was there too; who is, cousin, a

Eliza. You need not tell me what he is, cousin for I know him to be a civil, good-natured, harmle gentleman, that speaks well of all the world, ar is always in good-humour; and

Oliv. Hold, cousin, hold; I hate detractio But I must tell you, cousin, his civility is co ardice, his good-nature want of wit; and he h neither courage nor sense to rail: and for h being always in humour, 'tis because he is nev dissatisfied with himself. In fine, he is my ave sion; and I never admit his visits beyond my

he

Nov. No, he visit you! Damn him, cringi grinning rogue! if I should see him coming up you, I would make bold to kick him down agai -Ha!

Plaus. Your most faithful humble servant, gen rous Mr. Novel. And, madam, I am your etern slave, and kiss your fair hands; which I had do sooner, according to your commands, but

Oliv. No excuses, my lord.

Eliza. What, you sent for him then, cousin? [Apart to OLIVI Nov. Ha! invited! [Aste Oliv. I know you must divide yourself; for you good company is too general a good to be engross by any particular friend.

Plaus. O lord, madam, my company! you most obliged, faithful, humble servant. But I cou have brought you good company indeed; for parted at your door with two of the worthies bravest men-

Oliv. Who were they, my lord?

Nov. Who do you call the worthiest brave men, pray?

Plaus. O, the wisest bravest gentlemen! men such honour and virtue! of such good qualities! ah

Eliza. This is a coxcomb that speaks ill of all people a different way, and libels everybody with dull praise, and commonly in the wrong place; so makes his panegyrics abusive lampoons. [Aside. Oliv. But pray let me know who they were? Plaus. Ah! such patterns of heroic virtue! such

Nor. Well; but who the devil were they?

Plaus. The honour of our nation! the glory of our age! Ah, I could dwell a twelvemonth on their praise; which indeed I might spare by telling their mes; sir John Current and sir Richard CourtTitle.

Nov. Court-Title! ha ha!

Olir. And sir John Current! Why will you keep such a wretch company, my lord?

Plaus. O madam, seriously you are a little too severe; for he is a man of unquestioned reputation in everything.

Olic. Yes, because he endeavours only with the women to pass for a man of courage, and with the bullies for a wit; with the wits for a man of business, and with the men of business for a favourte at court; and at court for city-security.

Nov. And for sir Richard, he

Plaus. He loves your choice picked company, persons that

Oliv. He loves a lord indeed; but

Nov. Pray, dear madam, let me have but a bold stroke or two at his picture. He loves a lord, as you say, though

Olie. Though he borrowed his money, and ne'er paid him again.

Noe. And would bespeak a place three days before at the back-end of a lord's coach to Hydepark.

Plaus. Nay, i'faith, i'faith, you are both too

Bevere.

Olir. Then to show yet more his passion for quality, he makes love to that fulsome coach-load of honour, my lady Goodly, for he's always at her lodging.

Plaus. Because it is the conventicle-gallant, the meeting-house of all the fair ladies, and glorious perfine beauties of the town.

Nov. Very fine ladies! there's first— Olir. Her honour, as fat as an hostess. Plaus. She is something plump indeed, a goodly, tonely, graceful person.

Nov. Then there's my lady Frances-what d'ye call her? as ugly—

Olie. As a citizen's lawfully begotten daughter. Plaus. She has wit in abundance, and the handjamest heel, elbow, and tip of an ear, you ever saw. Nor. Heel and elbow! ha! ha! And there's my lady Betty, you know—

Oliv. As sluttish and slatternly as an Irish woman bred in France.

Plaus. Ah! all she has hangs with a loose air, indeed, and becoming negligence.

Eliza. You see all faults with lovers' eyes, I End, my lord.

Plaus. Ah, madam, your most obliged, faithful, Jumble servant to command! But you can say thing sure against the superfine mistress

Oliv. I know who you mean. She is as censoious and detracting a jade as a superannuated

Moner.

Plaus. She has a smart way of raillery, 'tis tonfessed.

Nov. And then for Mrs. GridelinePlaus. She, I'm sure, is

Oliv. One that never spoke ill of anybody, 'tis confessed. For she is as silent in conversation as a country lover, and no better company than a clock, or a weather-glass; for if she sounds, 'tis but once an hour to put you in mind of the time of day, or to tell you 'twill be cold or hot, rain or

snow.

Plaus. Ah, poor creature! she's extremely good and modest.

Nov. And for Mrs. Bridlechin, she'sOliv. As proud as a churchman's wife. Plaus. She's a woman of great spirit and honour, and will not make herself cheap, 'tis true.

Nov. Then Mrs. Hoyden, that calls all people by their surnames, and is

Oliv. As familiar a duck

Nov. As an actress in the tiring-room. There I was once beforehand with you, madam.

Plaus. Mrs. Hoyden! a poor, affable, goodnatured soul. But the divine Mrs. Trifle comes thither too. Sure her beauty, virtue, and conduct, you can say nothing to.

Oliv. No!

Nov. No!-Pray let me speak, madam.

Oliv. First, can any one be called beautiful that squints?

Plaus. Her eyes languish a little, I own.
Nov. Languish! ha! ha!

Oliv. Languish !-Then, for her conduct, she was seen at the Country Wife after the first day. There's for you, my lord.

Plaus. But, madam, she was not seen to use her fan all the play long, turn aside her head, or by a conscious blush discover more guilt than modesty.

Oliv. Very fine! Then you think a woman modest that sees the hideous Country Wife without blushing, or publishing her detestation of it? D'ye hear him, cousin?

Eliza. Yes, and am, I must confess, something of his opinion; and think, that as an over-conscious fool at a play, by endeavouring to show the author's want of wit, exposes his own to more censure, so may a lady call her own modesty in question, by publicly cavilling with the poet's. For all those grimaces of honour and artificial modesty disparage a woman's real virtue, as much as the use of white and red does the natural complexion: and you must use very, very little, if you would have it thought your own.

Oliv. Then you would have a woman of honour with passive looks, ears, and tongue, undergo all the hideous obscenity she hears at nasty plays.

Eliza. Truly, I think a woman betrays her want of modesty, by showing it publicly in a playhouse, as much as a man does his want of courage by a quarrel there; for the truly modest and stout say least, and are least exceptious, especially in public.

Oliv. O hideous, cousin! this cannot be your opinion. But you are one of those who have the confidence to pardon the filthy play.

Eliza. Why, what is there of ill in't, say you? Oliv. O fy! fy! fy! would you put me to the blush anew? call all the blood into my face again? But to satisfy you then; first, the clandestine obscenity in the very name of Horner.

Eliza. Truly, 'tis so hidden, I cannot find it out, I confess.

Oliv. O horrid! Does it not give you the rank

I

conception or image of a goat, or town-bull, or a satyr? nay, what is yet a filthier image than all the rest, that of a eunuch?

Eliza. What then? I can think of a goat, a bull, or a satyr, without any hurt.

Oliv. Ay; but cousin, one cannot stop there. Eliza. I can, cousin.

Oliv. O no; for when you have those filthy creatures in your head once, the next thing you think, is what they do; as their defiling of honest men's beds and couches, rapes upon sleeping and waking country virgins under hedges, and on haycocks. Nay, further—

Eliza. Nay, no farther, cousin. We have enough of your comment on the play, which will make me more ashamed than the play itself.

Oliv. O, believe me, 'tis a filthy play! and you may take my word for a filthy play as soon as another's. But the filthiest thing in that play, or any other play, is

Eliza. Pray keep it to yourself, if it be so. Oliv. No, faith, you shall know it; I'm resolved to make you out of love with the play. I say, the lewdest, filthiest thing is his china; nay, I will never forgive the beastly author his china. He has quite taken away the reputation of poor china itself, and sullied the most innocent and pretty furniture of a lady's chamber; insomuch that I was fain to break all my defiled vessels. You see I have none left; nor you, I hope.

Eliza. You'll pardon me, I cannot think the worse of my china for that of the playhouse.

Oliv. Why, you will not keep any now, sure! 'Tis now as unfit an ornament for a lady's chamber as the pictures that come from Italy and other hot countries; as appears by their nudities, which I always cover, or scratch out, wheresoe'er I find 'em. But china! out upon't, filthy china! nasty, debauched china !

Eliza. All this will not put me out of conceit with china, nor the play, which is acted to-day, or another of the same beastly author's, as you call him, which I'll go see.

Oliv. You will not, sure! nay, you sha' not venture your reputation by going, and mine by leaving me alone with two men here: nay, you'll disoblige me for ever, if[Pulls her back. Eliza. I stay!—your servant. [Exit. Oliv. Well-but, my lord, though you justify everybody, you cannot in earnest uphold so beastly a writer, whose ink is so smutty, as one may say.

Plaus. Faith, I dare swear the poor man did not think to disoblige the ladies, by any amorous, soft, passionate, luscious saying in his play.

Oliv. Fy, my lord! But what think you, Mr. Novel, of the play? though I know you are a friend to all that are new.

Nov. Faith, madam, I must confess, the new plays would not be the worse for my advice, but I could never get the silly rogues, the poets, to mind what I say; but I'll tell you what counsel I gave the surly fool you spake of.

Oliv. What was't?

Nov. Faith, to put his play into rhyme; for rhyme, you know, often makes mystical nonsense pass with the critics for wit, and a double-meaning saying with the ladies, for soft, tender, and moving passion. But now I talk of passion, I saw your old lover this morning-Captain- [Whispers.

Enter MANLY, FREEMAN, and FIDELIA standing behind. Oliv. Whom?-nay, you need not whisper. Man. We are luckily got hither unobserved.How! in a close conversation with these supple rascals, the outcasts of sempstresses' shops!

Free. Faith, pardon her, captain, that, since she could no longer be entertained with your manly bluntness and honest love, she takes up with the pert chat and common-place flattery of these fluttering parrots of the town, apes and echoes of men only.

Man. Do not you, sir, play the echo too, mock me, dally with my own words, and show yourself as impertinent as they are.

Free. Nay, captain

Fid. Nay, lieutenant, do not excuse her; me thinks she looks very kindly upon 'em both, and seems to be pleased with what that fool there say to her.

Man. You lie, sir! and hold your peace, that ] may not be provoked to give you a worse reply. Oliv. Manly returned, d'ye say! and is he safe Nov. My lord saw him too.--Hark you, may lord. [Whispers to PLAUSIBLE Man. She yet seems concerned for my safety and perhaps they are admitted now here but fo their news of me: for intelligence indeed is th common passport of nauseous fools, when they g their round of good tables and houses.

Oliv. I heard of his fighting only, without par ticulars, and confess I always loved his bruta courage, because it made me hope it might rid m of his more brutal love.

Nov. I have an ambition, I must confess, losing my heart before such a fair enemy as your self, madam; but that silly rogues should b ambitious of losing their arms, and—

Oliv. Looking like a pair of compasses.

Nov. But he has no use of his arms but to se 'em on kimbow, for he never pulls off his hat, least not to me, I'm sure; for you must know madam, he has a fanatical hatred to good company he can't abide me.

Plaus. O, be not so severe to him, as to say hates good company: for I assure you he has great respect, esteem and kindness for me.

Man. That kind, civil rogue has spoken yet te thousand times worse of me than t'other. [Asi

Oliv. Well, if he be returned, Mr. Novel, the shall I be pestered again with his boisterous se love; have my alcove smell like a cabin, m chamber perfumed with his tarpaulin Brande burgh; and hear volleys of brandy-sighs, enoug to make a fog in one's room. Foh! I hate a lov that smells like Thames-street!

Man. [Aside.] I can bear no longer, and ne hear no more.[TO OLIVIA.] But since you ha these two pulvillio boxes, these essence-bottle this pair of musk-cats here, I hope I may ventu to come yet nearer you.