Neph. But fuch a widow! She is now in town with her father, who wants to get her off his hands; 'tis equal to him who has her, so fhe is provided for—I hear fomebody coming-1 muft away to her lodgings, where the waits for me to execute a scheme directly for our deli.

Bates. Brady is not fhe daughter to Sir Patrick O'Neale?

Neph. The fame. She was facrific'd to the most fenfelefs drunken profligate in the whole country: He lived to run out his fortune; and the only advantage fhe got from the union was, he broke that and his neck before he had broke her heart.

Bates. The affair of marriage is, in this country, put upon the eafieft footing; there is neither love or hate in the matter; neceffity brings them together; they are united at firft for their mutual convenience, and feparated ever after for their particular pleasures-O rare matrimony!-Where does the lodge?

Neph. In Pall-Mall, near the hotel.

Bates. I'll call in my way, and affift at the confultation; I am for a bold ftroke, if gentle methods should fail.

Neph: We have a plan, and a spirited one, if my sweet widow is able to go through it-pray let us have your friendly affiftance-ours is the cause of love and reason.

Bates. Get you gone, with your love and reason, they feldom pull together now-a-days-I'll give your uncle a dose first, and then I'll meet you at the widow's— What fays your uncle's privy counsellor, Mr Thomas, to this?

Neph. He is greatly our friend, and will enter fincerely into our fervice-he is honeft, fenfible, ignorant, and particular, a kind of half coxcomb, with a thorough good heart-but he's here.

Bates. Do you go about your business, and leave the reft to me. [Exit Nephew.

Enter Thomas.

Mr Thomas, I am glad to see you; upon my word you look charmingly-you wear well, Mr Thomas.

A 2.

Tho

1

Tho. Which is a wonder, confidering how times go, Mr Bates-they'll wear and tear me too, if I don't take care of myself-my old mafter has taken the neareft to wear himself out, and all that belong to him.

way

Bates. Why furely this ftrange ftory about town is not true, that the old gentleman is fall'n in love? Tho. Ten times worse than that!

Bates. The devil!

Tho. And his horns-going to be married !
Bates. Not if I can help it.

Tho. You never faw fuch an alter'd man in your born days!-he's grown young again; he frifks, and prances, and runs about, as if he had a new pair of legs-he has left off his brown camlet furtout, which he wore all fummer, and now, with his hat under his arm, he goes open breasted, and he dreffes, and powders, and fmirks, fo that you would take him for the mad Frenchman in Bedlam-fomething wrong in his upper ftory-Would you think it? he wants me to wear a pig-tail!

Bates. Then he is far gone indeed!

Tho. As fure as you are there, Mr Bates, a pig-tail! -we have had fad work about it-I made a compromife with him to wear thefe ruffled fhirts which he gave me; but they ftand in my way-I am not fo liftnefs with them-though I have tied up my hands for him, I wont tie up my head, that I am refolute.

Bates. This it is to be in love, Thomas?

Tho. He may make free with himself, he shan't make a fool of me-he has got his head into a bag, but I won't have a pig-tail tack'd to mine-and fo I told him

Bates. What did you tell him?

Tho. That as I, and my father, and his father before me, had wore their own hair as heaven had fent it, I thought myself rather too old to fet up for a monkey at my time of life, and wear a pig-tail-he! he he! he took it.

Bates. With a wry face, for it was wormwood. Tho. Yes, he was frump'd, and call'd me old blockhead, and would not speak to me the rest of the daybut the next day he was at it again-he then put me into a paffion-and I could not help telling him, that I

was

was an Englishman born, and had my prerogative as well as he; and that as long as I had breath in my body I was for liberty, and a strait head of hair!

Bates. Well faid Thomas-he could not answer that. Tho. The poorest man in England is a match for the greateft, if he will but stick to the laws of the land, and the ftatue books, as they are delivered down from us to our forefathers.

Bates. You are right-we must lay our wits together, and drive the widow out of your old master's head, and put her into your young master's hands.

Tho. With all my heart-nothing can be more meritorious-marry at his years! what a terrible account would he make of it, Mr Bates !-Let me fee-on the debtor fide fixty-five-and per contra creditor a buxom widow of twenty three-He'll be a bankrupt in a fortnight-he! he he!

Bates. And fo he would, Mr Thomas-what have you got in your hand?

Tho. A pamphlet my old gentleman takes in-he has left off buying hiftories and religious pieces by numbers, as he used to do; and fince he has got this widow in his head, he reads nothing but the Amorous Repofitory, Cupid's Revels, Call to Marriage, Hymen's Delights, Love lies a Bleeding, Love in the Suds, and fuch like tender compofitions.

Bates. Here he comes, with all his folly about him. Tho. Yes, and the firft fool from vanity-fair-Heav'n help us love turns man and woman toply turvy!

[Exit Thomas. Whittle (without.) Where is he? where is my good

friend?

Enter Whittle.

Ha! here he is-give me your hand.

Bates. I am glad to fee you in fuch fpirits, my old gentleman.

Whit. Not fo old neither-no man ought to be called old, friend Bates, if he is in health, fpirits, and

my life.

Bates. In his fenfes which I should rather doubt, as I never faw you half fo frolickfome in Whit. Never too old to learn, friend; and if I don't make ufe of my philofophy now, I may wear it out in

twenty years I have been always banter'd as of too grave a caft-you know when I ftudied at Lincoln's Inn, they used to call me Young Wifdom.

Bates. And if they fhould call you Old Folly, it will be a much worfe name.

Whit. No young jackanapes dares to call me fo, while I have this friend at my fide.. (Touches his fword.) Bates. A hero too! what in the name of common fenfe is come to you, my friend?-high fpirits, quick honour, a long fword, and a bag!-you want nothing but to be terribly in love, and then you may fally forth Knight of the Woeful Countenance. Ha! ha! ha!

Whit. Mr Bates-the ladies, who are the best judges of countenances, are not of your opinion; and unless you'll be a little ferious, I muft beg pardon for giving you this trouble, and I'll open my mind to fome more attentive friend.

Bates. Well, come unlock then, you wild, handfome,, vigorous young dog you-I will please you if I can. Whit. I believe you never faw me look better, Frank, did you?

Bates. O yes, rather better forty years ago.

Whit. What, when I was at Merchant Taylors School?

Bates. At Lincoln's-Inn, Tom.

Whit. It can't be--I never disguise my age, and next February I shall be fifty-four.

Bates. Fifty-four! why I am fixty, and you always lick'd me at fchool-though I believe 1 could do as much for you now, and 'ecod I believe you deserve it

too.

Whit. I tell you I am in my fifty-fifth year.

Bates. O, you are-let me fee-we were together at Cambridge, Anno Domini twenty-five, which is near fifty years ago-you came to the college, indeed, furprifingly young; and, what is more surprising, by this calculation you went to fchool before you was bornyou was always a forward child.

Whit. I fee there is no talking or confulting with you in this humour; and fo, Mr Bates, when you are in temper to fhow lefs of your wit, and more of your friendship, I fhall confult with you.

Bates.

Bates. Fare you well, my old boy-young fellow, I mean-when you have done fowing your wild oats, and have been bliftered into your right fenfes; when you have half kill'd yourself with being a beau, and return to your woollen caps, flannel waistcoats, worsted stockings, cork foles, and gallochies, I am at your fervice again. So bon jour to you, Monfieur Fifty-four, ha! ha! [Exit.

Whit. He has certainly heard of my affair-but he is old and peevish-he wants fpirits and strength of conftitution to conceive my happiness-I am in love with the widow, and muft have her: Every man knows his own wants-let the world laugh, and my friends stare; let 'em call me imprudent, and mad, if they please-I live in good times, and among people of fashion; fo none of my neighbours, thank Heaven, can have the affurance to laugh at me.

Enter Old Keckley.

Keck. What, my friend Whittle! joy! joy! to you, old boy-you are going, a going! a going! a fine widow has bid for you, and will have you-hah, friend? all for the best-there is nothing like it-hugh! hugh! hugh!a good wife is a good thing, and a young one is a better-hah-who's afraid? If I had not lately married one, I should have been at death's door by this time-hugh! hugh! hugh!

Whit. Thank, thank you, friend!-I was coming to advise with you-I am got into the pound again-in love up to the ears-a fine woman, faith; and there's no love loft between us-Am I right, friend?

Keck. Right! ay, right as my leg, Tom! Life's nothing without love-hugh! hugh!-I am happy as the day's long! my wife loves gadding, and I can't ftay at home; fo we are both of a mind-she's every night at one or other of the garden places; but among friends, I am a little afraid of the damp; hugh! hugh! hugh! fhe has got an Irish gentleman, a kind of coufin of hers, to take care of her; a fine fellow; and fo good natur'd -It is a vaft comfort to have fuch a friend in a family! Hugh! hugh! hugh!

Whit. You are a bold man, cousin Kecksey.

Keck.