spleen and nothing to divert it-then the air is intolerable. Syl. Oh, madam! I have heard the town commended for its air. Mel. But you don't consider, Sylvia, how long I have lived in it; for I can assure you, that, to a lady, the least nice in her constitution, no air can be good above half a year. Change of air I take to be the most agreeable of any variety in life. Syl. As you say, cousin Melinda, there are several sorts of airs. Mel. Psha! I talk only of the air we breathe, or, more properly, of that we taste-Have not you, Sylvia, found a vast difference in the taste of airs? Syl. Pray, cousin, are not the vapours a sort of air? Taste air! you might as well tell me I may feed upon air! but prithee, my dear Melinda, don't put on such an air to me. Your education and mine were just the same; and I remember the time when we never troubled our heads abont air, but when the sharp air from the Welch mountains made our fingers ache in a cold morning at the boarding-school. but Mel. Our education, cousin, was the same, our temperaments had nothing alike; you have the constitution of an horse. Syl. So far as to be troubled neither with spleen, cholic, nor vapours. I need no salts for my stomach, no hartshorn for my head, nor wash for my complexion; I can gallop all the morning after the hunting-horn, and all the evening after a fiddle. In short, I can do every thing with my father, but drink and shoot flying; and I am sure I can do every thing my mother could, were I put to the trial. Mel. You are in a fair way of being put to't; for I am told your captain is come to town. Syl. Ay, Melinda, he is come; and I'll take care he shan't go without a companion. Mel. You are certainly mad, cousin. Syl. And there's a pleasure in being mad, 'Which none but madmen know.' Mel. Thou poor romantic Quixotte! hast thou the vanity to imagine, that a young, sprightly officer, that rambles o'er half the globe in half a year, can confine his thoughts to the little daughter of a country justice, in an obscure part of the world? amours. But, now I think on't, how stands your affair with Mr Worthy? Mel. He's my aversion. Syl. Vapours! Mel. What do you say, madam? Syl. I say that you should not use that honest fellow so inhumanly: he's a gentleman of parts and fortune; and, besides that, he's my Plume's friend; and, by all that's sacred, if you don't use him better, I shall expect satisfaction. Mel. Satisfaction! you begin to fancy yourself in breeches in good earnest-But, to be plain with you, I like Worthy the worse for being so intimate with your captain; for I take him to be a loose, idle, unmannerly coxcomb. Syl. Oh, madam! you never saw him, perhaps, since you were mistress of twenty thousand pounds: you only knew him, when you were capitulating with Worthy for a settlement, which, perhaps, might encourage him to be a little loose and unmannerly with you. Mel. What do you mean, madam! Syl. My meaning needs no interpretation, madam. Mel. Better it had, madam; for methinks you are too plain. Syl. If you mean the plainness of my person, I think your ladyship's as plain as me to the full. Mel. Were I sure of that, I would be glad to take up with a rakehelly officer, as you do. Syl. Again! look'e, madam; you are in your own house. Mel. And if you had kept in yours, I should have excused you. Syl. Don't be troubled, madam; I sha'nt desire to have my visit returned. Mel. The sooner, therefore, you make an end of this, the better. Syl. I am easily persuaded to follow my inclinations; and so, madam, your humble servant. [Exit. Mel. Saucy thing! Enter LUCY. Lucy. What's the matter, madam? Mel. Did not you see the proud nothing, how she swell'd upon the arrival of her fellow? Lucy. Her fellow has not been long enough arrived to occasion any great swelling, madam; don't believe she has seen him yet. Syl. Psha! what care I for his thoughts? II should not like a man with confined thoughts; it Mel. Nor sha'nt, if I can help it-Let me see shews a narrowness of soul. In short, Melinda,-I have it-bring me pen and ink-Hold, I'll I think a petticoat a mighty simple thing, and I am heartily tired of my sex. Mel. That is, you are tired of an appendix to our sex, that you can't so handsomely get rid of in petticoats as if you were in breeches. O' my conscience, Sylvia, hadst thou been a man, thou hadst been the greatest rake in Christendom ! Syl. I should have endeavoured to know the world, which a man can never do thoroughly, without half a hundred friendships, and as many go write in my closet. Mel. Who sent it? Lucy. Your captain, madam. Mel. He's a fool, and I'm tir'd of him: send it back, unopened. Lucy. The messenger's gone, madam. Mel. Then how should I send an answer? Call him back immediately, while I go write. [Exeunt. SCENE I.-An Apartment. Enter JUSTICE BALANCE and PLUME. ACT II. Bal. Look'e, captain, give us but blood for our money, and you sha'nt want men. Plume. Pray, Mr Balance, how does your fair daughter? Bal. Ah, captain! what is my daughter to a marshal of France? we're upon a nobler subject; I want to have a particular description of the battle of Hockstet. Plume. The battle, sir, was a very pretty battle as any one should desire to see; but we were all so intent upon victory, that we never minded the battle: all that I know of the matter is, our general commanded us to beat the French, and we did so; and, if he pleases but to say the word, we'll do it again. But pray, sir, how does Mrs Sylvia? Bal. Still upon Sylvia! for shame, captain! you are engaged already, wedded to the war: Victory is your mistress, and 'tis below a soldier to think of any other. Plume. As a mistress, I confess; but as a friend, Mr Balance Bal. Come, come, captain, never mince the matter; would not you debauch my daughter, if you could? Plume. How, Sir! I hope she is not to be debauched. Bal. Faith, but she is, sir; and any woman in England, of her age and complexion, by your youth and vigour. Look'e, captain, once I was young, and once an officer, as you are, and I can guess at your thoughts now, by what mine were then; and I remember very well, that I would have given one of my legs to have deluded the daughter of an old country gentleman like me, as I was then like you. Plume. But, sir, was that country gentleman your friend and benefactor? Bal. Not much of that. Plume. There the comparison breaks: the favours, sir, that— Bal. Pho, pho! I hate set speeches: if I have done you any service, captain, it was to please myself. I love thee, and if I could part with my girl, you should have her as soon as any young fellow I know; but I hope you have more honour than to quit the service, and she more prudence than to follow the camp; but she's at her own disposal; she has fifteen hundred pounds in her pocket, and so—Sylvia, Sylvia! [Calls. Enter SYLVIA. Syl. There are some letters, sir, come by the post from London: I left them upon the table in your closet. VOL. II. Bal. And here is a gentleman from Germany. [Presents PLUME to her.] Captain, you'll excuse me; I'll go read my letters, and wait on you. [Exit. Syl. Sir, you are welcome to England. Plume. You are indebted to me a welcome, madam, since the hopes of receiving it from this fair hand was the principal cause of my seeing England. Syl. I have often heard, that soldiers were sincere; may I venture to believe public report? Plume. You may, when 'tis backed by private insurance; for, I swear, madam, by the honour of my profession, that whatever dangers I went upon, it was with the hope of making myself more worthy of your esteem; and if ever I had thoughts of preserving my life, 'twas for the pleasure of dying at your feet. Syl. Well, well, you shall die at my feet, or where you will; but you know, sir, there is a certain will and testament to be made beforehand. Plume. My will, madam, is made already, and there it is; and if you please to open that parchment, which was drawn the evening before the battle of Hockstet, you will find whom I left my heir. Syl. Mrs Sylvia Balance-[Opens the will, and reads.] Well, captain, this is a handsome and a substantial compliment; but I can assure you I am much better pleased with the bare knowledge of your intention, than I should have been in the possession of your legacy: but, methinks, sir, you should have left something to your little boy at the Castle. Plume. That's home. [Aside.] My little boy! lack-a-day, madam! that alone may convince you 'twas none of mine: why, the girl, madam, is my serjeant's wife; and so the poor creature gave out, that I was the father, in hopes that my friends might support her in case of necessity.-That was all, madam.—My boy! no, no, no! Enter a servant. Ser. Madam, my master has received some ill news from London, and desires to speak with you immediately, and he begs the captain's pardon, that he can't wait on him as he promised. Plume. Ill news! Heavens avert it! nothing could touch me nearer than to see that generous, worthy gentleman afflicted. I'll leave you to comfort him; and be assured, that if my life and fortune can be any way serviceable to the father of my Sylvia, he shall freely command both. Syl. The necessity must be very pressing, that would engage me to endanger either. SN [Exeunt severally. SCENE II.-Another Apartment. Enter BALANCE and SYLVIA. Syl. Whilst there is life there is hope, sir; perhaps my brother may recover. Bal. We have but little reason to expect it; the doctor acquaints me here, that before this comes to my hands, he fears I shall have no son -Poor Owen !-but the decree is just; I was pleased with the death of my father, because he left me an estate, and now I am punished with the loss of an heir to inherit mine. I must now look upon you as the only hope of my family; and I expect that the augmentation of your fortune will give you fresh thoughts and new prospects. Syl. My desire in being punctual in my obedience, requires that you would be plain in your commands, sir. Bal. The death of your brother makes you sole heiress to my estate, which you know is about twelve hundred pounds a-year: this fortune gives you a fair claim to quality and a title you must set a just value upon yourself, and, in plain terms, think no more of Captain Plume. : Syl. You have often commended the gentle man, sir. Bal. And I do so still; he's a very pretty fellow but, though I liked him well enough for a bare son-in-law, I don't approve of him for an heir to my estate and family: fifteen hundred pounds, indeed, I might trust in his hands, and it might do the young fellow a kindness; but-odd's my life! twelve hundred pounds a-year would ruin him, quite turn his brain-A captain of foot worth twelve hundred pounds a-year! 'tis a prodigy in nature! Enter a servant. Ser. Sir, here's one with a letter below for your worship; but he will deliver it into no hands but your own. had one; and you have been so careful, so indulgent, to me since, that indeed I never wanted one. Bal. Have I ever denied you any thing you asked of me? Syl. Never, that I remember. Bal. Then, Sylvia, I must beg, that, once in your life, you would grant me a favour. Syl. Why should you question it, sir? Bal. I don't; but I would rather counsel than command. I don't propose this with the autho rity of a parent, but as the advice of your friend, that you would take the coach this moment, and go into the country. Syl. Does this advice, sir, proceed from the contents of the letter you received just now? Bal. No matter; I will be with you in three or four days, and then give you my reasons—but, before you go, I expect you will make me one solemn promise. Syl. Propose the thing, sir. Bal. That you will never dispose of yourself to any man, without my consent. Syl. I promise. Bal. Very well; and to be even with you, I promise I never will dispose of you, without your own consent: and so, Sylvia, the coach is ready. Farewell-[Leads her to the door, and returns.] Now, she's gone, I'll examine the contents of this letter a little nearer. 6 'SIR, [Reads. My intimacy with Mr Worthy has drawn a 6 secret from him, that he had from his friend captain Plume; and my friendship and relation to your family, oblige me to give you timely notice of it. The captain has dishonourable designs upon my cousin Sylvia. Evils of this nature are more easily prevented, than amended; and that you would immediately send my cou sin into the country, is the advice of, Sir, your humble servant, Bal. Come, shew me the messenger. 'MELINDA. [Exit with servant. Why, the devil's in the young fellows of this age! Syl. Make the dispute between love and duty, they are ten times worse than they were in my and I am Prince Prettyman exactly.-If my bro-time: had he made my daughter a whore, and ther dies, ah, poor brother! if he lives, ah, poor foreswore it, like a gentleman, I could almost sister! It is bad both ways. I'll try it again-have pardoned it; but to tell tales before-hand is Follow my own inclinations, and break my fa- monstrous. Hang it! I can fetch down a woodther's heart, or obey his commands, and break cock, or a snipe, and why not a hat and a cockade? my own? Worse and worse. Suppose I take it I have a case of good pistols, and have a good thus: A moderate fortune, a pretty fellow, and mind to try. a pad; or, a fine estate, a coach-and-six, and an ass? That will never do neither. Enter WORTHY. Wor. I'm sorry, sir, to be the messenger of ill news. Bal. I apprehend it, sir; you have heard that my son Owen is past recovery. Wor. My letters say he's dead, sir. Bal. He's happy, and I am satisfied: The stroke of Heaven I can bear; but injuries from men, Mr Worthy, are not so easily supported. Wor. I hope, sir, you're under no apprehensions of wrong from any body? Bal. You know I ought to be. Wor. You wrong my honour in believing I could know any thing to your prejudice, without resenting it as much as you should. Bal. This letter, sir, which I tear in pieces to conceal the person that sent it, informs me that Plume has a design upon Sylvia, and that you are privy to it. Wor. Nay, then, sir, I must do myself justice and endeavour to find out the author.-[Takes up a bit.]-Sir, I know the hand, and, if you refuse to discover the contents, Melinda shall tell me. [Going. Bal. Hold, sir! the contents I have told you already; only with this circumstance, that her intimacy with Mr Worthy had drawn the secret from him. Wor. Her intimacy with me! Dear sir! Let me pick up the pieces of this letter, 'twill give me such a power over her pride, to have her own an intimacy under her hand- -This was the luckiest accident!-[Gathering up the letter.]— The aspersion, sir, was nothing but malice, the effect of a little quarrel between her and Mrs Sylvia. Bal. Are you sure of that, sir? Wor. Her maid gave me the history of part of the battle, just now, as she overheard it: But I hope, sir, your daughter has suffered nothing upon the account? Bal. No, no, poor girl; she's so afflicted with the news of her brother's death, that, to avoid company, she begged leave to go into the country. Wor. And is she gone? Bal. I could not refuse her, she was so pressing the coach went from the door the minute before you came. Wor. So pressing to be gone, sir! I find her fortune will give her the same airs with Melinda, and then Plume and I may laugh at one another. Bal. Like enough; women are as subject to pride as men are; and why mayn't great women, as well as great men, forget their old acquaintance? But come, where's this young fellow? I love him so well, it would break the heart of me to think him a rascal- -I am glad my daughter's gone fairly off, though-[Aside.]-Where does the captain quarter? Wor. At Horton's; I am to meet him there two hours hence, and we should be glad of your company. SCENE III.-The street. Enter KITE, with COSTAR PEARMAIN in one hand, and THOMAS APPLETREE in the other, drunk. KITE sings. Our 'prentice Tom may now refuse -Over, &c. We shall lead more happy lives, Kite. Hey, boys! thus we soldiers live! drink, sing, dance, play-we live, us one should say we live 'tis impossible to tell how we live-we are all princes-why-why, you are a king-you are an emperor, and I'm a prince-now-an't we? Tho. No, serjeant; I'll be no emperor. Kite. No! Tho. I'll be a justice of peace. Kite. A justice of peace, man! Tho. Aye, wauns, will I; for, since this pressing act, they are greater than any emperor under the sun. Kite. Done; you are a justice of peace, and you are a king; and I am a duke, and a rum duke, an't I? Cos. Aye, but I'll be no king. Cos. I'll be a queen. Cos. Aye, of England, that's greater than any king of them all. Kite. Bravely said, faith! Huzza for the queen!-[Huzza.]-But, hark'e, you, Mr Justice, and you, Mr Queen, did you ever see the king's picture? Both. No, no, no! Kite. I wonder at that; I have two of them set in gold, and as like his majesty, God bless the mark! see here, they are set in gold. [Takes two broad pieces out of his pocket; presents one to each. Tho. The wonderful works of nature! [Looking at it. Cos. What's this written about? Here's a posy, I believe. Ca-ro-lus? What's that, serjeant? Bal. Your pardon, dear Worthy! I must al- Kite. O! Carolus! Why, Carolus is Latin for low a day or two to the death of my son; after-king George; that's all. wards, I'm yours over a bottle, or how you will. Wor. Sir, I'm your humble servant. [Exeunt apart. Cos. 'Tis a fine thing to be a scollard !-Serjeant, will you part with this? I'll buy it of you, if it come within the compass of a crown. Kite. A crown! never talk of buying; 'tis the same thing among friends, you know; I'll present them to ye both: you shall give me as good a thing. Put them up, and remember your old friend when I am over the hills and far away. [They sing, and put up the money. Enter PLUME, singing. Over the hills and over the main, Come on, my men of mirth; away with it; I'll make one among ye. Who are these hearty lads? Kite. Off with your hats; 'ounds! off with your hats; this is the captain, the captain! Tho. We have seen captains afore now, mun. Cos. Aye, and lieutenant-captains, too. 'Sflesh! I'll keep on my nab. Tho. And I'se scarcely d'off mine for any captain in England. My vether's a freeholder. Plume. Who are those jolly lads, serjeant? Kite. A couple of honest, brave fellows, that are willing to serve the king: I have entertained them, just now, as volunteers under your honour's command. Plume. And good entertainment they shall have: volunteers are the men I want; those are the men fit to make soldiers, captains, generals. Cos. Wounds, Tummas, what's this? Are you listed? Tho. Flesh! not I: are you, Costar? Cos. Wounds! not I. it, neither; that we dare not do, for fear of being shot; but we humbly conceive, in a civil way, and begging your worship's pardon, that we may go home. Plume. That's easily known. Have either of you received any of the king's money? Cos. Not a brass farthing, sir. Kite. They have each of them received oneand-twenty shillings, and 'tis now in their pock ets. Cos. Wounds! if I have a penny in my pocket but a bent sixpence, I'll be content to be listed, and shot into the bargain. Tho. And I look ye, here, sir. Cos. Nothing but the king's picture that the serjeant gave me, just now. Kite. See there, a guinea, one-and-twenty shillings; t'other has the fellow on't. Plume. The case is plain, gentlemen; the goods are found upon you: those pieces of gold are worth one-and-twenty shillings, each. Cos. So it seems that Carolus is one-and-twenty shillings in Latin. Tho. 'Tis the same thing in Greek; for we are listed. Cos. Flesh! But we an't, Tummas; I desire to be carried before the mayor, captain. [Captain and serjeant whisper the while. Plume. Twill never do, Kite-your damned tricks will ruin me at last-I won't lose the fel lows, though, if I can help it-Well, gentlemen, there must be some trick in this; my serjeant offers to take his oath, that you are fairly listed. Tho. Why, captain, we know that you soldiers have more liberty of conscience than other folks; but, for me, or neighbour Costar here, to take Kite. What! Not listed? Ha, ha, ha! a very such an oath, 'twould be downright perjuration. good jest, i'faith! Cos. Come, Tummas, we'll go home. Tho. Aye, aye, come. Kite. Home! for shame, gentlemen; behave yourselves better before your captain. Tummas, honest Costar! Tho. No, no, we'll be gone. Dear Kite. Nay, then, I command you to stay; I place you both centinels in this place for two hours, to watch the motion of St Mary's clock, you-and you the motion of St Chad's; and he that dares stir from his post, till he be relieved, shall have my sword in his guts the next minute. Plume. What's the matter, serjeant? I'm afraid you are too rough with these gentlemen. Kite. I'm too mild, sir; they disobey command, sir; and one of them should be shot for an example to the other. Cos. Shot! Tummas? Plume. Come, gentlemen, what's the matter? Tho. We don't know; the noble serjeant is pleased to be in a passion, sir-but Kite. They disobey command; they deny their being listed. Tho. Nay, serjeant, we don't downright deny Plyme. Look'e, rascal, you villain! If I find, that you have imposed upon these two honest fellows, I'll trample you to death, you dogCome, how was't? Tho. Nay, then, we'll speak. Your serjeant, as you say, is a rogue, an't like your worship, begging your worship's pardon-and Cost. Nay, Tummas, let me speak; you know I can read. And so, sir, he gave us those two pieces of money for pictures of the king, by way of a present. Plume. How! by way of a present? the son of a whore! I'll teach him to abuse honest fellows like you! scoundrel! rogue! villain! [Beats off the serjeant, and follows. Both. O brave, noble captain! huzza! A brave captain, faith! Cos. Now, Tummas, Carolus is Latin for a beating. This is the bravest captain I ever saw Wounds! I have a month's mind to go with him. Enter PLUME. Plume. A dog, to abuse two such honest fellows as you-Look'e, gentlemen, I love a pretty |