Sir Paul. All turned topsy-turvy, as sure as a gun. Lord Froth. How do you mean? My wife! Sir Paul. The strangest posture of affairs! Lord Froth. What! my wife? Sir Paul. No, no, I mean the family. Your lady's affairs may be in a very good posture; I saw her go into the garden with Mr Brisk. Lord Froth. How? Where, when, what to do? Sir Paul. I suppose they have been laying their heads together. Lord Froth. How? Sir Paul. Nay, only about poetry, I my lord; making couplets. Lord Froth. Couplets! Sir Paul. Oh, here they come. Enter LADY FROTH and BRISK. suppose, Brisk. My lord, your humble servant; sir Paul, yours- -The finest night! Lady Froth. My dear, Mr Brisk and I have been star-gazing I don't know how long. Sir Paul. Does it not tire your ladyship? Are not you weary with looking up? Lady Froth. Oh, no! I love it violently————— My dear, you are melancholy. Lord Froth. No, my dear, I am but awake. [A great shriek from the corner of the stage. Enter LADY TOUCHWOOD, and runs out affrighted, my LORD after her, like a parson. Lady Touch. Oh! I'm betrayed-Save me, help me! Lord Touch. Now, what evasion, strumpet? Lady Touch. Stand off, let me go. Lord Touch. Go, and thy own infamy pursue thee!- -You stare as you were all amazed-I do not wonder at it-But too soon you'll know mine, and that woman's shame. Enter MELLEFONT, disguised in a parson's habit, and pulling in MASKWELL. Mel. Nay, by Heaven! you shall be seenCareless, your hand-Do you hold down your Lady Froth. Snuff some of my spirit of harts-head? Yes, I am your chaplain; look in the face horn. of your injured friend, thou wonder of all falsehood. Lord Froth. I have some of my own, thank you, my dear. Lady Froth. Well, I swear, Mr Brisk, you understand astronomy like an old Egyptian! Brisk. Not comparably to your ladyship; you are the very Cynthia of the skies, and queen of stars. Lady Froth. That's because I have no light, but what's by reflection from you, who are the sun. Brisk. Madam, you have eclipsed me quite, let me perish-I cannot answer that. Lady Froth. No matter- -Harkee, shall you and I make an almanack together? Brisk. With all my soul- -Your ladyship has made me the man in it already, I am so full of the wounds which you have given. Lady Froth. O, finely taken! I swear now you are even with me; O Parnassus, you have an infinite deal of wit! Sir Paul. So he has, Gads-bud; and so has your ladyship. Enter LADY PLYANT, CARELESS, and CYNTHIA. Lady Ply. You tell me most surprising things; bless me, who would ever trust a man? O, my heart aches for fear they should all be deceitful alike. Lord Touch. Are you silent, monster? Mel. Good Heavens! How I believed and loved this man! Take him hence, for he is a disease to my sight. Lord Touch. Secure that manifold villain. Care. Miracle of ingratitude! Lord Touch. We'll think of punishment at leisure; but let me hasten to do justice, in rewarding virtue and wronged innocence.- -Nephew, I hope I have your pardon, and Cynthia's? Mel. We are your lordship's creatures. Lord Touch. And be each other's comfortLet me join your hands-Mutual love, lasting health, and circling joys, tread round each happy year of your long lives. Let secret villainy from hence be warned, Howe'er in private mischiefs are conceived, Torture and shame attend their open birth: Like vipers in the womb, base treachery lies Still gnawing that, whence first it did arise; No sooner born, but the vile parent dies. [Exeunt omnes. Enter LADY BRUTE. Lady Brute. Do you dine at home to-day, sir Sir John. Why, do you expect I should tell you what I don't know myself? Lady Brute. I thought there was no harm in asking you. Sir John. If thinking wrong were an excuse for impertinence, women might be justified in most things they say or do, WHAT cloying meat is love, when matrimony's the sauce to it! Two years marriage has debauched my five senses! Every thing I see, eve-John? ry thing I hear, every thing I feel, every thing I smell, and every thing I taste-methinks has wife in it! No boy was ever so weary of his tutor, or girl of her bib, no nun of doing penance, or old maid of being chaste-as I am of being married. Sure there is a secret curse entailed upon the very name of wife! My lady is a young lady, a fine lady, a witty lady, a virtuous lady-and yet I hate her. There is but one thing on earth I loath beyond her-that's fighting. Would my Sir John. Sorrow for things past is of as little courage come up to a fourth part of my ill-na-importance to me, as my dining at home or ture, I would stand buff to her relations, and thrust abroad ought to be to you. her out of doors. But marriage has sunk me down to such an ebb of resolution, I dare not Lady Brute. I am sorry I have said any thing to displease you. Lady Brute. My enquiry was only that I might have provided what you liked. Sir John. Why, then, there would be more asking about it than the thing is worth. Lady Brute. I wish I did but know how I might please you. Sir John. Aye, but that sort of knowledge is not a wife's talent. Lady Brute. Whatever my talent is, I am sure my will has ever been to make you easy. Sir John. If women were to have their wills, the world would be finely governed. Lady Brute. What reason have I given you to use me as you do of late? It once was otherwise: You married me for love. Sir John. And you me for money; So you have your reward, and I have mine. Lady Brute. What is it, that disturbs you? Lady Brute. Why, what has he done to you? Sir John. He has married me. [Erit SIR JOHN. Lady Brute. The devil's in the fellow, I think. I was told, before I married him, that thus 'twould be: But I thought I had charms enough to govern him; and that, where there was an estate, a woman must needs be happy: So my vanity has deceived me, and my ambition has made me uneasy. But there's some comfort still; if one would be revenged of him, these are good times; a woman may have a gallant, and a scparate maintenance too-The surly puppy-yet he's a fool for't: For hitherto he has been no monster: But who knows how far he may provoke me? I never loved him, yet I have been ever true to him; and that, in spite of all the attacks of art and nature upon a poor weak woman's heart, in favour of a tempting lover. Methinks so noble a defence, as I have made, should be rewarded with a better usage-Or who can tell-Perhaps a good part of what I suffer from my husband, may be a judgment upon me for my cruelty to my loyer-Lord, with what pleasure could I indulge that thought, were there but a possibility of finding arguments to make it good! And how do I know but there may-Let me see-What opposes! My matrimonial vow-Why, what did I yow? I think I promised to be true to my husband. Well; and he promised to be kind to me: But he han't kept his word-Why, then I'm absolved from mine. O, but that condition was not expressed-No matter, it was understood. Well, by all I see, if I argue the matter a little longer with myself, I shall not find so many bugbears in the way, as I thought I should. Lord, what fine notions of virtue do we women take up upon the credit of old foolish philosophers! Virtue its own reward, virtue's this, virtue's thatVirtue's an ass, and a gallant's worth forty on't. Lady Brute. I am so. Lady Brute. With my husband. Bel. Drown husbands! for yours is a provoking fellow: A's he went out just now, I prayed him to tell me what time of day it was; and he asked me if I took him for the church-clock, that was obliged to tell all the parish. Lady Brute. He has been saying some good obliging things to me too. In short, Belinda, he has used me so barbarously of late, that I could almost resolve to play the downright wife—and cuckold him. Bel. That would be downright indeed. Lady Brute. Why, after all, there is more to be said for it than you would imagine, child. He is the first aggressor, not I. Bel. Ah, but you know, we must return good for evil. Lady Brute. That may be a mistake in the translation-Prithee be of my opinion, Belinda; for I'm positive I'm in the right; and if you'll keep up the prerogative of a woman, you'll likewise be positive you are in the right, whenever you do any thing you have a mind to. But I shall play the fool and jest on, till I make you begin to think I'm in earnest. Bel. I shall not take the liberty, madam, to think of any thing, that you desire to keep from me. Lady Brute. Alas, my dear, I have no secrets. My heart could never yet confine my tongue. Bel. Your eyes, you mean; for I'm sure I have seen them gadding, when your tongue has been locked up safe enough.. Lady Brute. My eyes gadding! Prithee after whom, child? Bel. Why, after one, that thinks you hate him, as much as I know you love him. Lady Brute. Constant, you mean? Bel. I do so. Lady Brute. Lord, what should put such a thing into your head? Bel. That, which puts things into most people's heads; observation. Lady Brute. Why, what have you observed, in the name of wonder? Bel. I have observed you blush, when you met him; force yourself away from him; and then be out of humour with every thing about you: In a word, never was a poor creature so spurred on by desire, or so reined in with fear! Lady Brute. How strong is fancy! Lady Brute. Prithee, niece, have a better opl nion of your aunt's inclination Bel. Dear aunt, have a better opinion of your piece's understanding. Lady Brute. You'll make me angry. Bel. You'll make me laugh. Bel. It is true; but then a woman must abandon one of the supreme blessings of her life. For I am fully convinced, no man has half that pleasure in possessing a mistress, as a woman has Lady Brute. Then you are resolved to per- in jilting a gallant. sist? Bel. Positively. Lady Brute. And all I can say Bel. Will signify nothing. Lady Brute. The happiest woman, then, on earth must be our neighbour. Bel. O the impertinent composition! She has vanity and affectation enough to make her a ri Lady Brute. Though I should swear 'twere diculous original, in spite of all that art and nafalse Bel. I should think it true. Lady Brute. Then let us forgive, [kissing her] for we have both offended: I, in making a secret, you, in discovering it. Bel. Good nature may do much: But you have more reason to forgive one, than I have to pardon the other. Lady Brute. Tis true, Belinda, you have given me so many proofs of your friendship, that my reserve has been indeed a crime: But that you may more easily forgive me, remember, child, that, when our nature prompts us to a thing our honour and religion have forbid us, we would (were it possible) conceal, even from the soul self, the knowledge of the body's weakness. | ture ever furnished to any of her sex before her. Lady Brute. She concludes all men her captives; and whatever course they take, it serves to confirm her in that opinion. Bel. If they shun her, she thinks it is modesty, and takes it for a proof of their passion. Lady Brute. And if they are rude to her, it is conduct, and done to prevent town talk. Bel. When her folly makes them laugh, she thinks they are pierced with her wit. Lady Brute. And when her impertinence makes them dull, concludes they are jealous of her favours. Bel. All their actions and their words, she it-takes for granted, aim at her. Bel. Well, I hope, to make your friend amends, you will hide nothing from her for the future, though the body should still grow weaker and weaker. Lady Brute. No, from this moment, I have no more reserve; and, for a proof of my repentance, I own, Belinda, I am in danger. Merit and wit assault me from without, nature and love solicit me within; my husband's barbarous usage piques me to revenge; and Satan, catching at the fair occasion, throws in my way that vengeance, which, of all vengeance, pleases women best. Bel. Tis well Constant don't know the weakness of the fortification; for, o' my conscience, he'd soon come on to the assault. Lady Brute. Ay, and I'm afraid carry the town too. But whatever you may have observed, I have dissembled so well as to keep him ignorant. So you see I'm no coquet, Belinda: And, if you follow my advice, you will never be one neither. 'Tis true, coquetry is one of the main ingredients in the natural composition of a woman, and I, as well as others, could be well enough pleased to see a crowd of young fellows ogling, and glancing, and watching all occasions to do forty foolish officious things: Nay, should some of them push on, even to hanging or drowning, Why-Faith-if I should let pure woman alone, I should e'en be but too well pleased with it. Bel. I'll swear, 'twould tickle me strangely. Lady Brute. But, after all, 'tis a vicious practice in us, to give the least encouragement, but where we design to come to a conclusion. For it is an unreasonable thing to engage a man in a disease, which we, before-hand, resolve we will never apply a cure to, Lady Brute. And pities all other women, because she thinks they envy her. Bel. Pray, out of pity to ourselves, let us find a better subject; for I am weary of this. Do you think your husband inclined to jealousy? Lady Brute. O, no; he does not love me well enough for that. Lord, how wrong men's maxims are! They are seldom jealous of their wives, unless they are very fond of them: whereas they ought to consider the women's inclinations, for there depends their fate. Well, men may talk; but they are not so wise as we-that's certain. Bel. At least in our affairs. Lady Brute. Nay, I believe we should out-do them in the business of the state too: For, methinks, they do, and undo, and make but bad work on't. Bel. Why, then, don't we get into the intrigues of government as well as they? Lady Brute. Because we have intrigues of our own, that make us more sport, child. And so, let's in and consider of them. [Exeunt. SCENE II-A dressing-room. Enter LADY FANCYFUL, MADEMOISELLE, and CORNET. Lady Fan. How do I look this morning? Cor. Your ladyship looks very ill, truly. Lady Fan. Lard, how ill-natured thou art, Cornet, to tell me so, though the thing should be true. Don't you know, that I have humility enough to be but too easily out of conceit with myself? Hold the glass; I dare swear that will have more manners than you have. Mademoiselle, let me have your opinion too. Madem. My opinion pe, matam, dat your la- | French ladies, when they are thus accablées ? dyship never look so well in your life. Lady Fan. Well, the French are the prettiest obliging people! they say the most acceptable, well-mannered things-and never flatter. Madem. Your ladyship say great justice inteed. Lady Fan. Nay, every thing's just in my house but Cornet. The very looking-glass gives her the dementi. But I am almost afraid it flatters me, it makes me look so very engaging. [Looking affectedly in the glass. Madem. Inteed, matam, your face pe handsomer den all de looking-glass in de world, croyez moy. Lady Fan. But is it possible my eyes can be so languishing and so very full of fire! Madem. Matam, if de glass was burning-glass, I believe your eyes set de fire in de house. Lady Fan. You may take that night-gown, mademoiselle; get out of the room, Cornet; I can't endure you. This wench, methinks, does look so insufferably ugly. Madem. Every ting look ugly, matam, dat stand by your latiship. Lady Fan. No really, mademoiselle; methinks you look mighty pretty. Madem. Ah matam! de moon have no eclat, ven de sun appear. Lady Fan. O pretty expression! Have you ever been in love, mademoiselle? Madem. Ouy, matam. [sighing. Lady Fan. And were you beloved again? [sighing. Lady Fan. O ye gods! What an unfortunate creature should I be in such a case! But nature has made me nice for my own defence: I'm nice, strangely nice, mademoiselle. I believe, were the merit of whole mankind bestowed upon one single person, I should still think the fellow wanted something to make it worth my while to take notice of him: And yet I could love; nay, fondly love, were it possible to have a thing made on purpose for me: For I'm not cruel, mademoiselle; I'm only nice. song, Au Madem. Matam, dey never complain. contraire. When one Frense laty have got a hundred lover-Den she do all she canto get a hundred more. Lady Fan. Well, let me die, I think they have le goût bon. For 'tis an unutterable pleasure to be adored by all the men, and envied by all the women- -Yet I'll swear I'm concerned at the torture I give them. Lard, why was I formed to make the whole creation uneasy? But let me read my letter. [Reads. If you have a mind to hear of your faults, instead of being praised for your virtues, take the pains to walk in the Green-walk in Saint James's Park, with your woman, an hour hence. 'You'll there meet one, who hates you for some things, as he could love you for others, and 'therefore is willing to endeavour your reforma'tion-If you come to the place I mention, 'you'll know who I am: if you don't, you never 'shall: So take your choice.' This is strangely familiar, mademoiselle; now have I a provoking fancy to know, who this impudent fellow is. Madem. Den take your scarf and your mask, and go to de rendezvous. De Frense laty do justement comme ça. Lady Fan. Rendezvous! What, rendezvous with a man, mademoiselle? Madem. Eh, pourquoy non? Lady Fan. What, and a man perhaps I never saw in my life! Madem. Tant mieux: C'est donc quelque chose de nouveau. Lady Fan. Why, how do I know what designs he may have? He may intend to ravish me, for aught I know. Madem. Ravish?-Bagatelle. I would fain see one impudent rogue ravish mademoiselle; Oui, je le voudrois! Lady Fan. O but my reputation, mademoiselle, my reputation; ah, ma chere reputation! Madem. Matam--Quand on l'a une fois perdue- -On n'en est plus embarrassée. Madem. Ah, matam! I wish I was fine gentleman for your sake. I do all de ting in de world, to get a little way into your heart. I make I make verse, I give you de serenade, I give great many present to mademoiselle; I no eat, I no sleep, I be lean, I be mad, I hang myself, I drown myself. Ah, ma chere dame, que je vous aime-your honour to your pleasure? [Embracing her. Lady Fan. Well, the French have strange obliging ways with them; you may take those two pair of gloves, mademoiselle. Lady Fan. Fe, mademoiselle, fe! reputation is a jewel. Madem. Qui coute bien chere, matam. rois ! Madem. Me humbly tank my sweet lady. Enter Servant, with a letter. Ser. Madam, here's a letter for your ladyship. Lady Fan. 'Tis thus I am importuned every morning, mademoiselle. Pray, how do the Madem. Je suis philosophe. Lady Fan. Bless me, how you talk! Why, what if honour be a burden, mademoiselle, must it not be borne ? Madem. Chaqu'un a sa façon-Quand quelque chose m' incommode moy--je m'en defais, vite. Lady Fan. Get you gone, you little naughty Frenchwoman you! I vow and swear I must turn you out of doors, if you talk thus, |