Mrs Har. My dear sister, with her beauty and her conquests, ha, ha! Har. Ha, ha! very whimsical and ridiculous Heart. Sir, my nephew is young--I am sorry for this scene of errors, and I hope you will ascribe the whole to his inexperience. Mr Har. I certainly shall, sir. Mrs Har. I cautioned my sister sufficiently about this matter; but vanity got the better of her, and leaves her now a whimsical instance of folly and affectation, In vain the faded Toast her mirror tries, She proves a subject of the comic strain. [Exeunt omnes. SCENE I-A room in SIR JASPER WILDING'S compliments to my sister, and he is come to wait upon her. [Exit WILL.] You will be glad to see her, I suppose, Charles? Beau. I live but in her presence! Wild. Live but in her presence! How the devil could the young baggage raise this riot in your heart? Tis more than her brother could ever do with any of her sex. Beau. Nay, you have no reason to complain; you are come up to town, post-haste, to marry a wealthy citizen's daughter, who only saw you last season at Tunbridge, and has been languishing for you ever since. Wild. 'Tis more than I do for her; and, to tell you the truth, more than I believe she does for me: This is a match of prudence, man! bargain and sale! My reverend dad and the old put of a citizen finished the business at Lloyd's coffeehouse by inch of candle-a mere transferring of property! Give your son to my daughter, and I will give my daughter to your son.' That's the whole affair; and so I am just arrived to the 'Change, in a little bit of a frock and a bobconsummate the nuptials. wig, and looks like a sedate book-keeper in the eyes of all who behold him. Beau. Thou art the happiest fellowWild. Happy! so I am; what should I be otherwise for? If Miss Sally-upon my soul, I forget the name Beau. Well! that is so like you—Miss Sally Philpot. Wild. Ay; very true- -Miss Sally Philpot she will bring fortune sufficient to pay off an old incumbrance upon the family-estate, and my father is to settle handsomely upon me-and so 1 have reason to be contented, have not I? Beau. And you are willing to marry her without having one spark of love for her?" Wild. Upon my word, a gentleman of spirit! Beau. Spirit! he drives a phaton two story high, keeps his girl at this end of the town, and is the gay George Philpot all round Covent-Garden. Wild. Oh, brave!—and the father— [She sings within. Wild. Love! Why, I make myself ridiculous enough by marrying, don't I, without being in love Wild Ay; and such a lover as you, too!into the bargain? What! am I to pine for a girl though still in her teens, she can play upon all that is willing to go to bed to me? Love, of all your foibles, and treat you as she does her monthings!--My dear Beaufort, one sees so many key---tickle you, torment you, enrage you, sooth breathing raptures about each other before mar-you, exalt you, depress you, pity you, laugh at riage, and dinning their insipidity into the ears you--Ecce signum! of all their acquaintance: My dear madam, " don't think him a sweet man? a charminger you dear— Enter MARIA, singing. -come, my creature never was! Then he on his side-The same giddy girl !————Sister! Maria. Have done, brother; let me have my Beau. Pho! that is idle talk; and, in the mean time, I am ruined. Maria. I won't ask you how you do--I won't take any notice of you--I don't know you. Wild. Do you know this gentleman, then? will you speak to him? Maria. No, I won't speak to him; I'll sing to him--'tis my humour to sing. Sings. Beau. Be serious but for a moment, Maria! my all depends upon it. Maria. Oh, sweet sir! you are dying, are you? then, positively, I will sing the song; for it is a description of yourself---mind it, Mr Beaufort--mind it- -Brother, how do you do? [Kisses him.] Say nothing; don't interrupt me. [Sings. Wild. Have you seen your city lover yet? Maria. No; but I long to see him; I fancy he is a curiosity! Beau. Long to see him, Maria! Maria. Yes; long to see him!---[BEAUFORT fiddles with his lip, and looks thoughtful.] Bro look at BEAUFORT.] do you see that? [Mimics him.] mind him; ha, ha! - Wild. With all my heart-She is very long ather, brother! [Goes to him softly, beckons him to coming- -I'll tell you what, if she has a fancy for you, carry her off at once--But, perhaps, she has a mind to this cub of a citizen, Miss Sally's brother. Beau. Oh, no! he's her aversion. Wild. I have never seen any of the family, but my wife that is to be---my father-in-law and my brother-in-law, I know nothing of them. What sort of a fellow is the son? Beau. Oh! a diamond of the first water! a buck, sir! a blood! every night at this end of the town; at twelve next day he sneaks about Beau. Make me ridiculous if you will, Maria, so you don't make me unhappy by marrying this citizen. Maria. And would you not have me marry, Can it be, or by law, or by equity said, Wild. Come, come, Miss Pert, compose your- | girl; one that has mettle enow; he'll take cover, self a little--this way will never do. I warrant un- Blood to the bone! Maria. My cross, ill-natured brother! but it will do― Lord! what, do you both call me hither to plague me? I won't stay among ye--à Thonneur, à l'honneur― [Running away.] à l'honneur. Wild. Hey, hey, Miss Notable! come back; pray, madam, come back--- [Forces her back. Maria. Lord of Heaven! what do you want? Wild. Come, come; truce with your frolics, Miss Hoyden, and behave like a sensible girl; we have serious business with you. Maria. Have you? Well, come, I will be sensible-there, I blow all my folly away---'Tis gone, 'tis gone--and now I'll talk sense; come- -Is that a sensible face? Wild. Poh, poh! be quiet, and hear what we have to say to you. Maria. I will; I am quiet.--'Tis charming weather; it will be good for the country, this will. Wild. Poh, ridiculous! how can you be so silly? Maria. Bless me! I never saw any thing like you-there is no such thing as satisfying you--I am sure it was very good sense, what I saidPapa talks in that manner-Well, well, I'll be silent, then-I won't speak at all: will that satisfy you? [Looks sullen. Wild. Come, come, no more of this folly, but mind what is said to you. You have not seen your city-lover, you say? [MARIA shrugs her shoulders, and shakes her head.] Why don't you answer? zen? Maria. Why, papa will be at home in an hour, and then he intends to drag me into the city with him, and there the sweet creature is to be introduced to me. The old gentleman his father is delighted with me; but I hate him; an ugly old thing. Wild. Give us a description of him; I want to know him. Maria. Why, he looks like the picture of Avarice, sitting with pleasure upon a bag of money, and trembling for fear any body should come and take it away. He has got square-toed shoes, and little tiny buckles; a brown coat, with small round brass buttons, that looks as if it was new in my great grandmother's time, and his face all shrivelled and pinched with care; and he shakes his head like a Mandarine upon a chimney-piece Ay, ay, sir Jasper, you are right-and then he grins at me I profess she is a very pretty bale of goods. Ay, ay, and my son Bob is a very sensible lad-ay, ay, and I will underwrite their happiness for one and a half per 'cent.' 1 Wild. Thank you, my dear girl! thank you for this account of my relations. Beau. Destruction to my hopes! Surely, my dear little angel, if you have any regard for me Maria. There, there, there he is frightened again. [Sings, Dearest creature, &c. Beau. My dear Maria, put me out of pain. Wild. Psha! give over these airs-listen to [MARIA shrugs her shoulders again.me, and I'll instruct you how to manage them Wild. Poh, don't be so childish, but give a rational answer. Maria. Why, no, then; no-no, no, no, no, no-I tell you no, no, no! Wild. Come, come, my little giddy sister, you must not be so flighty; behave sedately, and don't be a girl always. Maria. Why, don't I tell you I have not seen him-but I am to see him this very day. Beau. To see him this day, Maria! Maria. Ha, ha! look there, brother; he is beginning again-But don't fright yourself, and I'll tell you all about it-My papa comes to me this morning: by the by, he makes a fright of himself with this strange dress. Why does not he dress as other gentlemen do, brother? Wild, He dresses like his brother fox-hunters in Wiltshire. all. Maria. Oh, my dear brother! you are very good; but don't mistake yourself-though just come from a boarding-school, give me leave to manage for myself. There is in this case a man I like, and a man I don't like. It is not you I like, [TO BEAUFORT.] No, no: I hate you. But let this little head alone! I know what to do-I shall know how to prefer one, and get rid of the other. Beau. What will you do, Maria? Maria. Ha, ha, I can't help laughing at you. [Sings. Do not grieve me, Oh, relieve me, &c. Wild. Come, come, be serious, Miss Pert, and I'll instruct you what to do: The old cit, you say, admires you for your understanding; and his son would not marry you, unless he found you a girl of sense and spirit. Maria. But when he comes to town, I wish he would do as other gentlemen do here-I am) almost ashamed of him. But he comes to me this morning. Hoic, hoic! our Moll. Where is the sly puss-Taliy ho!-- Did you want me, papa?giddy sister. Come hither, Moll, I'll gee you a husband, my Wild. Why then, I'll tell you. You shall make Maria. Even so-this is the character of your Quill. Ha, Mr George! him hate you for a fool, and so let the refusal come from himself. Maria. But how? how, my dear brother? Tell me how? Wild. Why, you have seen a play, with me, where a man pretends to be a downright country oaf, in order to rule a wife, and have a wife? Maria. Very well. What then? what then? Oh! I have it; I understand you; say no more; 'tis charming! I like it of all things! I'll do it, I will; and I will so plague him, that he shan't know what to make of me. He shall be a very toad-eater to me! the sour, the sweet, the bitter, he shall swallow all, and all shall work upon him alike for my diversion. Say nothing of it; 'tis all among ourselves; but I won't be cruel. I hate ill-nature; and then, who knows but I may like him? Beau. My dear Maria, don't talk of liking him. Maria. Oh! now you are beginning again. [Sings Voi Amanti, &c. and erit. Beau. 'Sdeath, Wilding, I shall never be your brother-in-law at this rate! Wild. Psha, follow me: don't be apprehensive. I'll give her farther instructions, and she will execute them, I warrant you: the old fellow's daughter shall be mine, and the son may go shift for himself elsewhere. SCENE II-A room in OLD PHILPOT's house. Enter OLD PHILPOT, DAPPER, and QUILLDRIVE. Old Phil. Quildrive, have those dollars been sent to the bank, as I ordered? Quill. They have, sir. Old Phil. Very well. Mr Dapper, I am not fond of writing any thing of late; but at your request Dap. You know I would not offer you a bad policy. Old Phil. I believe it. Well, step with me to my closet, and I will look at your policy. How much do you want upon it? Dap. Three thousand: you had better take the whole; there are very good names upon it. Old Phil. Well, well, step with me, and I'll talk to you. Quilldrive, step with those bills for acceptance. This way, Mr Dapper, this way. [Exeunt. Quill. A miserly old rascal! digging, digging money out of the very hearts of mankind; constantly scraping together, and yet trembling with anxiety for fear of coming to want. A canting, old hypocrite! and yet under his veil of sanctity he has a liquorish tooth left-running to the other end of the town slyly every evening; and there he has his solitary pleasures in holes and corners. GEORGE PHILPOT, peeping in. G. Phil. Hist, hist! Quilldrive! I G Phil. Is Square-toes at home? G. Phil. Has he asked for me? G. Phil. [Walks in on tip-toe.] Does he know did not lie at home? Quill. No; I sunk that upon him. G. Phil. Well done! I'll give you a choice gelding to carry you to Dulwich of a SundayDamnation! Up all night, stripped of nine hun dred pounds; pretty well for one night! Piqued, repiqued, flammed, and capotted every deal!— Old Drybeard shall pay all-Is forty-seven good? No-fifty good? No, no--to the end of the chapter. Cruel luck! Damn me, 'tis life though!-this is life! 'Sdeath, I hear him coming! [Runs off, and peeps-no, all's safe-I must not be caught in these clothes, Quilldrive. Quill. How came it you did not leave them at Madam Corinna's, as you generally do? G. Phil. I was afraid of being too late for Old Square-toes; and so I whipt into a hackneycoach, and drove with the windows up, as if I was afraid of a bum-bailiff. Pretty clothes, an't they? Quill. Ah! sir |