have concealed a secret, that touches you near, very near

Ser. Me near! That was wrong, very wrong! friends should have all things in common.

Sir Luke. That's what I said to myself; Sir Luke, says I, open your heart to your friend. But to tell you the truth, what sealed up my lips, was the fear that this secret should make you sulky and sad.

Ser. Me sulky and sad! ha! ha! how little you know of me!

Sir Luke. Swear, then, thou won't be uneasy.
Ser. Well, I do.

Sir Luke. [Rising.] Soft! let us see that all's safe. Well, Mr. Serjeant, do you know that you are a fine, honest fellow.

Ser. Is that such a secret?

Sir Luke. Be quiet; a damned honest fellow -but as to your wife

Ser. Well?

Sir Luke, She is an infamous strum

Ser. How! it is a falsehood, Sir Luke! my wife is as virtuous a wom

Sir Luke. Oh! if you are angry, your servant -I thought that the news would have pleased you-for, after all, what is the business to ine! What do I get by the bargain?

Ser. That's true; but then, would it not vex any man to hear his wife abused in such aSir Luke. Not if its true, you old fool! Ser. I say, it is false: prove it; give me that satisfaction, Sir Luke.

Sir Luke. Oh! you shall have that pleasure directly; and to come at once to the point-you remember last New-year's Day how severely it froze?

Ser. I do recollect.

Ser. Ay, indeed?

Sir Luke. Oh! fact! there is not the least doubt of the matter; this is no hearsay, d'ye see; I was by all the while.

Ser. Very pretty! very fine, upon my word! Sir Luke. Was in my fault? what could I do? put yourself in my place; I must have been

more or less than man to resist.

Ser. Your fault, Sir Luke! no, no— -you did but your duty--But as to my wifeSir Luke. She's a diabolical fiend; I shall hate her as long as I live.

Ser. And I too.

Sir Luke. Only think of her forcing me, as it were with my sword at my breast, to play such a trick; you, my dear Serjeant, the best, truest friend I have in the world! [Weeps.

Ser.[Weeping.] Dry your tears, dear Sir Luke; I shall ever gratefully acknowledge your confidence in trusting me with the secret-[Taking him forward.] But I think it might be as well kept from the rest of the world.

Sir Luke. My dear soul, do you think I would tell it to any mortal but you? No, no, not to my brother himself-You are the only man upon earth I would trust.

Ser. Ten thousand thanks, my dear friend! sure there is no comfort, no balsam in life like a friend-but I shall make Madam Circuit remember

Sir Luke. We neither of us ought to forgive her-Where I you, I'd get a divorce.

Ser. So I will provided you will promise not to marry her after.

Sir Luke. Me! I'll sooner be torn to pieces by wild horses-No, my dear friend, we will retire to my house in the country together, and

Ser. Very right.

Sir Luke, Well, and I did not go: Mrs. Circuit made me dine here in this house-Was it my fault?

Ser. No, no, Sir Luke, no.

Sir Luke. At table, says she-she said, I was the picture of you-Was it my fault?

Ser. Well, and suppose you are? where's the mischief in that?

Sir Luke. Be quiet, I tell you. Then, throwing her arms round my neck-it is my husband himself I embrace; it is my little old man that I kiss!for she has a prodigious affection for you at bottom-Was it my fault?

Ser. But what is there serious in this? dost think I mind such trifles?

Sir Luke. Hold your tongue, you fool, for a moment-Then, throwing her teresa aside-upon my soul she is prodigious fine every where here Was it my fault?

Ser. My fault! my fault! I see no fault in all this.

Sir Luke. [Hatching a cry.]—No! why then, my dear friend, do you know that I was so unworthy, so profligate, so abandoned-as to Rises, say no more, the business is done.

pigs and pigeons, like Pyramus and Thisbe, we will live the paragon of the age.

Ser. Agreed; we will be the whole earth to each other; for, as Mr. Shakespur says,

"The friend thou hast, and his adoption tried, Clasp to thy soul, and quit the world beside.'

Sir Luke. Zouns, here comes Madam Serjeant herself!

Enter MRS. SERJEANT.

Mrs. Cir. So, gentleman! a sweet tete-a-tete you have been holding-But I know it all; not a syllable you has said have been lost.

Sir Luke. Then I hope you have been well eqtertained, Mrs. Circuit?

Mrs. Cir. And you, you mean spirited, dastardly wretch, to lend a patient ear to his infamous, improbable tales, equally shameful both to you and me!

Ser. How, madam? have you the assurance

Mrs. Cir. Yes, sir, the assurance that innocence gives. There is not a soul, I thank heaven, that can lay the least soil, the least spot, on my virtue; nor is there a man on earth, but

yourself would have sat, and silently listened to the fictions and fables of this intemperate sot. Ser. Why, to be sure, the knight is overtaken a little; very near drunk.

Sir Luke. I hope he believes it's a lie. [Aside. Mrs. Cir. Do me instant justice on this defamer, this liar, or never more expect to see me in your house.

Ser. I begin to find out the fraud; this is all a flam of the knight's!

Mrs. Cir. I'll drive this instant to a friend of mine in the Commons, and see if no satisfaction can be had, for blasting the reputation of a woman like me-And, hark you, sir, what inducement, what devil could prompt

Ser. Ay; what devil could prompt-
Sir Luke. Heyday!

Mrs. Cir. But I guess at your motive; you flattered yourself, that, by marrying Charlotte, and discarding of me, you should engross all his

affections and

Ser. True, true- -Stop, my life, let me come at him a little: Hark you, Mr. Knight? I begin to discover that you are a very sad dog.

Sir Luke. Et tu, Brute!

I have

Ser. Brute!-you'll find I am not the brute you would have made me believe considered both sides of the question.

Sir Luke. Both sides of the question! Ser. Both. If your story is true, you are a scoundrel to debauch the wife of your friend; and if it is false, you are an infamous liar. Sir Luke. Well argued!

Ser. So, in both cases, get out of my house! Sir Luke. Nay, but, Serjeant

Ser. Troop, I tell you, and never again enter these walls- -you have libelled my wife, and I will see you no more.

Sir Luke. Was there ever such a-

Ser. March! And as to my daughter, I would as soon marry her to a forma pauperis client.

Kingston, of a new pair of silk stockings, and to learn me a minuet.

Sir Luke. Me! I should never have got you to turn out your toes.

Jack. Ay, and moreover, you made me push out my chest, aud do so with my fingers, as if I was taking two pinches of snuff.

Sir Luke. You see, Mr. Serjeant, what a fondness I have for every twig of your family. Ser. I shall thank you hereafter-But from you, Charlotte, I expected other guessChar. When, sir, you hear this whole matter explained, you will acquit me I am sure.

Wood. Indeed, sir, I am wholly to blame; my being here was as much a surprise upon Miss Charlotte as

Ser. But now you are here, pray what's your business?

Jack. O! father, I can acquaint you with that he wanted me to bring a love-letter to Charlotte; so I told him he might bring it himself, for that I would not do any such thing for never so much, for fear of offending you.

Ser. You mended the matter, indeed-But, after all, who, and what are you?

Jack. It's the young gentleman that lives over our heads, to whom Mr. Fairplay is guardian.

Ser. Who, Woodford? Jack. The same.

JACK.

Could I hope that the young lady's good wishes would attend me?

Char. I have a father, and can have no will of iny own.

Ser. Why, could you have the impudence, after what has happened to hope that

Ser. Heyday! What the deuce is all this? Who are you, sir, and how came you here? [To WOODFORD. Jack. It was I, father, that brought him. Ser. How, sirrah!

Sir Luke. Well said, my young limb of the law! Jack. Come, let us have none o'your-though I brought Mr. Woodford, you could not persuade me to do the same office for you-Father, never stir if he did not make me the proffer, if I would let him into the house the night you was at

Mrs. Cir. He has given wonderful proofs of his modesty.

Sir Luke. Be quiet, Mrs. Circuit-Come, good folks, I will set all matters to right in a minute; and first, Mr. Serjeant, it becomes me to tell you, that I never intended to marry your daughter. Ser. How! never!

Sir Luke. Never. She is a fine girl, I allow : but would it now, Mr. Serjeant, have been honest in me, to have robbed the whole sex of my person, and confined my favours to her? Ser. How!

Sir Luke. No! I was struck, with the im

morality of the thing; and therefore, to make it impossible that you should ever give me your daughter, I invented the story I told you concerning Mrs. Circuit and me. Ser. How!

-Your

Sir Luke. Truth, upon my honour.wife there, will tell you the whole was a lie. Ser. Nay, then, indeed- But with what face can I look up to my dear? I have injured

Sir Luke. See me here prostrate to implore your clemency in behalf of my friend.

Mrs. Cir. Of that I can't determine directly, -But as you seem to have some sense of your guilt, I shall grant you a reprieve for the present, which contrition and amendment may, perhaps, in time swell into a pardon :

But if again offending you are caught!

[Exeunt omnes.

enow.

John. The same.

Fil. Zure, zure! then we shall have odd doings by and by: he's a deadly wild spark thee dost know

John. But as good a customer as comes to the Bear.

Fil. That's zure enough: then, why dost not run and light them in ? Stay, gy I the candle, I woole go, and light 'em in myzelf.

RACKET without.

Rac. Give the post-boys half a guinea between them.

John. Ay, there is some life in this chap! these are your guests that give spirit to Bath: your parylytical people, that come down to be parboiled and pumped, do no good, that I know, to the town, unless indeed to the physical tribe. How I hate to see an old fellow hobble into the house, with his feet wrapt in flannel, pushing forth his fingers like a cross in the hands to point out the different roads on a common―――― hush!

Enter RACKET and FILLUp.

Fil. I hope, mester, you do zee your way; there be two steps you do know; well, zure, I be heartily glad to see your honour at Bath.

Rac. I thank you, my honest friend Fillup; what, have you many people in town?

Fil. There ben't a power, please your honour, at present; some zick folk, that do no sort of zarvis, and a few layers that be come off a zircuit, that's all.

Rac. Birds of passage, ha, Fillup? John. True, sir; for at the beginning of term, when the wookcocks come in, the others fly off. Rac. Are you there, honest Jack?

John. And happy to see your honour in

town.

Rac. Well, master Fillup, aud how go you on? -Any clubs fixed as yet?

Fil. No, zir, not to zay fixed; there be parson Pulruddock from the Land's End; Master Evan Thomas, a Welch attorney, two Bristol men, and a few port drinking people that dine every day in the Lion; the claret club ben't expected down till the end of next week.—

Rac. Any body in the house that I know ? Fil. Yes, zure-behind the bar, there be sir Christopher Cripple, fresh out of a fit of the gout, drinking a drop of punch along wi mester Peter Poultice, the potter carrier on the Pa

rade.

Rac. The gazettes of Bath, the very men I want; give my compliments to the gentlemen, and tell them I should be glad of their company but perhaps it may be troublesome for sir Christopher?

Fil. No, no, not at all; at present he is a

[Exit. FILLUP. Rac. Well, Jack, and how fares it with you? you have throve, I hope, since I saw you?

John. Throve! no, no, sir; your honour knows that during the summer, taverns and turnspits have but little to do at Bath.

Rac. True; but what is become of your colleague, honest Ned? I hope he has not quitted his place?

John. The share he had in your honour's intrigue with Miss Prim, soon made this city too hot for poor Ned.

Rac. Then why did not the fool go to London with me! The fellow has humour, spirit, and sings a good song. I intended to have recommended hin to one of the theatres.

John, Why, sir, Ned himself had a bias that way but his uncle, alderman Surcingle the saddler, a piece of a puritan, would not give his consent.

Rac. Why not?

John. He was afraid that kind of life might corrupt or endanger Ned's morals; so he has set him up in a bagnio at the end of Long

Acre.

Rac. Nay, if the fellow falls after such a security

Enter SIR CHRISTOPHER CRIPPLE, FILLUP,

and PETER POULTICE.

Sir Chr. [Without.] At what a rate the rascal is running; Zounds! I believe the fellow thinks I can foot it as fast as Eclipse; slower and be-Where is this rakely rautipole?Jack, set me a chair. So, sir; you must possess a good share of assurance to return to this town after the trick you have played-Fillup, fetch in the punch-Well you ungracious young dog, and what is become of the wench? Poor Patty! and here too my reputation is ruined, as well as the girl's.

Rac. Your reputation! that's a good jest.

Sir Chr. Yes, sirrah, it is; and all owing tə my acquaintance with you; I, forsooth, am called your adviser! as if your contriving head and profligate heart stood in need of any assistance from me.

Rac. Well, but my dear sir Kit, how can this idle stuff affect you?

Sir Chr. How? easy enough; I will be judged now by Poultice--Peter, speak the truth; before this here blot in my escutcheon, have you not observed when I went to either a ball or breakfasting, how eager all the girls gathered round me, gibing, and joking, and giggling; gad take me, as facetious and free as if I were their father.

Poul. Nothing but truth.

Fil. That's truth, to my zertain knowledge, for I have zeen the women folk tittering till they were ready to break their zides when your honour was throwing your double tenders about.