ACT THE SECOND.
SCENE I.—Lord Hardy's Lodgings.
Enter Lord Hardy.
Ld. H. Now, indeed, I am utterly undone; but to expect an evil softens the weight of it when it happens, and pain no more than pleasure is in reality so great as in expectation. But what will become of me? How shall I keep myself even above worldly want? Shall I live at home a stiff, melancholy, poor man of quality, grow uneasy to my acquaintance as well as myself, by fancying I'm slighted where I am not; with all the thousand particularities which attend those whom low fortune and high spirit make malcontents? No! We've a brave prince on the throne, whose commission I bear, and a glorious war in an honest cause approaching [clapping his hand on his sword], in which this shall cut bread for me, and may perhaps equal that estate to which my birth entitled me. But what to do in present pressures—Ha! Trim. [Calling.
Enter Trim.
Trim. My lord.
Ld. H. How do the poor rogues that are to recruit my Company?
Trim. Do, sir! They've ate you to your last guinea.
Ld. H. Were you at the agent's?
Trim. Yes.
Ld. H. Well? And how?
Trim. Why, sir, for your arrears, you may have eleven shillings in the pound; but he'll not touch your growing subsistence under three shillings in the pound interest; besides which you must let his clerk, Jonathan Item, swear the peace against you to keep you from duelling—or insure your life, which you may do for eight per cent. On these terms he'll oblige you, which he would not do for anybody else in the regiment; but he has a friendship for you.
Ld. H. Oh, I'm his humble servant; but he must have his own terms. We can't starve, nor must my fellows want. But methinks this is a calm midnight, I've heard no duns to-day——
Trim. Duns, my lord? Why now your father's dead, and they can't arrest you. I shall grow a little less upon the smooth with 'em than I have been. Why, friend, says I, how often must I tell you my lord is not stirring: His lordship has not slept well, you must come some other time; your lordship will send for him when you are at leisure to look upon money-affairs; or if they are so saucy, so impertinent as to press to a man of your quality for their own—there are canes, there's Bridewell, there's the stocks for your ordinary tradesmen. But to an haughty, thriving Covent Garden mercer, silk or laceman, your lordship gives your most humble service to him, hopes his wife's well. You have letters to write, or you'd see him yourself, but you desire he would be with you punctually such a day, that is to say the day after you are gone out of town.
Ld. H. Go, sirrah, you're scurrilous; I won't believe there are such men of quality. D'ye hear, give my service this afternoon to Mr. Cutpurse, the agent, and tell him I'm obliged to him for his readiness to serve me, for I'm resolved to pay my debts forthwith——
[A voice without. I don't know whether he is within or not. Mr. Trim, is my lord within?]
Ld. H. Trim, see who it is. I ain't within, you know. [Exit Trim.
Trim. [Without.] Yes, sir, my lord's above; pray walk up——
Ld. H. Who can it be? he owns me, too.
Enter Campley and Trim.
Dear Tom Campley, this is kind! You are an extraordinary man indeed, who in the sudden accession of a noble fortune can be still yourself, and visit your less happy friends.
Cam. No; you are, my lord, the extraordinary man, who, on the loss of an almost princely fortune, can be master of a temper that makes you the envy, rather than pity, of your more fortunate, not more happy friends.
Ld. H. O, sir, your servant—but let me gaze on thee a little, I han't seen thee since I came home into England—most exactly, negligently, genteelly dressed! I know there's more than ordinary in this [beating Campley's breast]. Come, confess, who shares with me here? I must have her real and poetical name. Come; she's in sonnet, Cynthia; in prose, mistress.
Cam. One you little dream of, though she is in a manner of your placing there.
Ld. H. My placing there?
Cam. Why, my lord, all the fine things you've said to me in the camp of my Lady Sharlot, your father's ward, ran in my head so very much, that I made it my business to become acquainted in that family, which I did by Mr. Cabinet's means, and am now in love in the same place with your lordship.
Ld. H. How? in love in the same place with me, Mr. Campley?
Cam. Ay, my lord, with t'other sister—with t'other sister.
Ld. H. What a dunce was I, not to know which, without your naming her! Why, thou art the only man breathing fit to deal with her. But my Lady Sharlot, there's a woman—so easily virtuous! So agreeably severe! Her motion so unaffected, yet so composed! Her lips breathe nothing but truth, good sense, and flowing wit.
Cam. Lady Harriot! there's the woman; such life, such spirit, such warmth in her eyes; such a lively commanding air in her glances; so spritely a mien, that carries in it the triumph of conscious beauty; her lips are made of gum and balm. There's something in that dear girl that fires my blood above—above—above——
Ld. H. Above what?
Cam. A grenadier's march.
Ld. H. A soft simile, I must confess! but oh that Sharlot! to recline this aching head, full of care, on that tender, snowy—faithful bosom!
Cam. O that Harriot! to embrace that beauteous[20]——
Ld. H. Ay, Tom; but methinks your head runs too much on the wedding night only, to make your happiness lasting; mine is fixed on the married state. I expect my felicity from Lady Sharlot, in her friendship, her constancy, her piety, her household cares, her maternal tenderness. You think not of any excellence of your mistress that is more than skin-deep——
Cam. When I know her further than skin-deep I'll tell you more of my mind.
Ld. H. O fie, Tom, how can you talk so lightly of a woman you love with honour.—But tell me, I wonder how you make your approaches in besieging such a sort of creature—she that loves addresses, gallantry, fiddles; that reigns and delights in a crowd of admirers. If I know her, she is one of those you may easily have a general acquaintance with, but hard to make particular.
Cam. You understand her very well. You must know I put her out of all her play by carrying it in a humourous manner. I took care in all my actions, before I discovered the lover, that she should in general have a good opinion of me; and have ever since behaved myself with all the good humour and ease I was able; so that she is now extremely at a loss how to throw me from the familiarity of an acquaintance into the distance of a lover; but I laugh her out of it. When she begins to frown and look grave at my mirth, I mimic her till she bursts out a-laughing.
Ld. H. That's ridiculous enough.
Cam. By Cabinet's interest over my Lady Brumpton, with gold and flattery to Mrs. Fardingale, an old maid her ladyship has placed about the young ladies, I have easy access at all times, and am this very day to be admitted by her into their apartment. I have found, you must know, that she is my relation.
Ld. H. Her ladyship has chose an odd companion for young ladies.
Cam. Oh, my lady's a politician. She told Tattleaid one day, that an old maid was the best guard for young ones, for they, like eunuchs in a seraglio, are vigilant out of envy of enjoyments they cannot themselves arrive at. But, as I was saying, I've sent my cousin Fardingale a song, which she and I are to practise to the spinet. The young ladies will be by; and I am to be left alone with Lady Harriot; then I design to make my grand attack, and to-day win or lose her. I know, sir, this is an opportunity you want. If you'll meet me at Tom's,[21] have a letter ready, I'll myself deliver it to your mistress, conduct you into the house, and tell her you are there—and find means to place you together. You must march under my command to-day, as I have many a one under yours.
Ld. H. But 'faith, Tom, I shall not behave myself with half the resolution you have under mine, for to confess my weakness, though I know she loves me, though I know she is as steadfastly mine as her heart can make her; I know not how, I have so sublime an idea of her high value, and such a melting tenderness dissolves my whole frame when I am near her, that my tongue falters, my nerves shake, and my heart so alternately sinks and rises, that my premeditated resolves vanish into confusion, down-cast eyes, and broken utterance——
Cam. Ha! ha! ha! this in a campaigner too! Why, my lord, that's the condition Harriot would have me in, and then she thinks she could have me; but I, that know her better than she does herself, know she'd insult me, and lead me a two years' dance longer, and perhaps in the end turn me into the herd of the many neglected men of better sense, who have been ridiculous for her sake. But I shall make her no such sacrifice. 'Tis well my Lady Sharlot's a woman of so solid an understanding; I don't know another that would not use you ill for your high value.
Ld. H. But, Tom, I must see your song you've sent your cousin Fardingale, as you call her.
Cam. This is lucky enough [Aside]. No; hang it, my lord, a man makes so silly a figure when his verses are reading. Trim—thou hast not left off thy loving and thy rhyming; Trim's a critic, I remember him a servitor at Oxon [Gives a paper to Trim]. I give myself into his hands, because you shan't see 'em till I'm gone. My lord, your servant, you shan't stir.
Ld. H. Nor you neither then. [Struggling.]
Cam. You will be obeyed. [Exeunt. Lord Hardy waits on him down.
Trim. What's in this song? Ha! don't my eyes deceive me—a bill of three hundred pounds——
"Mr. Cash,
"Pray pay to Mr. William Trim, or bearer, the sum of three hundred pounds, and place it to the account of,
"Sir,
"Your humble servant,
"Thomas Campley."
[Pulling off his hat and bowing.] Your very humble servant, good Mr. Campley. Ay, this is poetry—this is a song indeed! Faith, I'll set it, and sing it myself. Pray pay to Mr. William Trim—so far in recitativo—three hundred [singing ridiculously]—hun—dred—hundred—hundred thrice repeated, because 'tis three hundred pounds—I love repetitions in music, when there's a good reason for it,—po—unds after the Italian manner. If they'd bring me such sensible words as these, I'd outstrip all your composers for the music prize. This was honestly done of Mr. Campley, though I have carried him many a purse from my master when he was ensign to our Company in Flanders——
Enter Lord Hardy.
My lord, I am your lordship's humble servant.
Ld. H. Sir, your humble servant. But pray, my good familiar friend, how come you to be so very much my humble servant all of a sudden?
Trim. I beg pardon, dear sir, my lord, I am not your humble servant.
Ld. H. No!
Trim. Yes, my lord, I am, but not as you mean; but I am—I am, my lord—in short, I'm overjoyed.
Ld. H. Overjoyed! thou'rt distracted, what ails the fellow? Where's Campley's song?
Trim. Oh! my lord, one would not think 'twas in him. Mr. Campley's really a very great poet; as for the song, 'tis only as they all end in rhyme: Ow—woe—isses—kisses—boy—joy. But, my lord, the other in long heroic blank verse.
[Reading it with a great tone.
Pray pay to Mr. William Trim, or order, the sum of—How sweetly it runs! Pactolian guineas chink every line.
Ld. H. How very handsomely this was done in Campley! I wondered, indeed, he was so willing to show his verses. In how careless a manner that fellow does the greatest actions!
Trim. My lord, pray my lord, shan't I go immediately to Cutpurse's?
Ld. H. No, sirrah, now we have no occasion for it.
Trim. No, my lord, only to stare him full in the face after I have received this money, not say a word, but keep my hat on, and walk out. Or perhaps not hear, if any I meet with speak to me, but grow stiff, deaf, and shortsighted to all my old acquaintance, like a sudden rich man as I am. Or, perhaps, my lord, desire Cutpurse's clerk to let me leave fifty pounds at their house, payable to Mr. William Trim, or order, till I come that way, or, a month or two hence, may have occasion for it: I don't know what bills may be drawn upon me. Then when the clerk begins to stare at me, till he pulls the great goose-quill from behind his ear [Pulls a handfull of farthings out] I fall a-reckoning the pieces as I do these farthings.
Ld. H. Well, sirrah, you may have your humour, but be sure you take four score pounds, and pay my debts immediately. If you meet any officer you ever see me in company with, that looks grave at Cutpurse's house, tell him I'd speak with him: We must help our friends. But learn moderation, you rogue, in your good fortune; be at home all the evening after, while I wait at Tom's to meet Campley, in order to see Lady Sharlot.
My good or ill in her alone is found,
And in that thought all other cares are drowned.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.—Lord Brumpton's House.
Enter Sable, Lord Brumpton and Trusty.
Sab. Why, my lord, you can't in conscience put me off so. I must do according to my orders, cut you up, and embalm you, except you'll come down a little deeper than you talk of; you don't consider the charges I have been at already.
Ld. B. Charges! for what?
Sab. First, twenty guineas to my lady's woman for notice of your death (a fee I've, before now, known the widow herself go halves in), but no matter for that. In the next place, ten pounds for watching you all your long fit of sickness last winter.
Ld. B. Watching me? Why I had none but my own servants by turns.
Sab. I mean attending to give notice of your death. I had all your long fit of sickness last winter, at half-a-crown a day, a fellow waiting at your gate to bring me intelligence, but you unfortunately recovered, and I lost my obliging pains for your service.
Ld. B. Ha! ha! ha! Sable, thou art a very impudent fellow; half-a-crown a day to attend my decease, and dost thou reckon it to me?
Sab. Look you, gentlemen, don't stand staring at me. I have a book at home which I call my Doomsday book, where I have every man of quality's age and distemper in town, and know when you should drop. Nay, my lord, if you had reflected upon your mortality half so much as poor I have for you, you would not desire to return to life thus; in short, I cannot keep this a secret, under the whole money I am to have for burying you.
Ld. B. Trusty, if you think it safe in you to obey my orders after the deed Puzzle told his clerk of, pay it to him.
Tru. I should be glad to give it out of my own pocket, rather than be without the satisfaction of seeing you witness to it.
Ld. B. I heartily believe thee, dear Trusty.
Sab. Then, my lord, the secret of your being alive, is now safe with me.
Tru. I'll warrant I'll be revenged of this unconscionable dog [Aside]—My lord, you must to your closet, I fear somebody's coming. [Exeunt Sable one way, Ld. B. and Trusty another.]
SCENE III.—Lord Brumpton's House.
Lady Sharlot discovered reading at a table; Lady Harriot playing at a glass to and fro, and viewing herself.
L. Ha. Nay, good sage sister, you may as well talk to me [Looking at herself as she speaks], as sit staring at a book, which I know you can't attend. Good Dr. Lucas[22] may have writ there what he pleases, but there's no putting Francis Lord Hardy, now Earl of Brumpton, out of your head, or making him absent from your eyes; do but look at me now, and deny it if you can.
L. Sh. You are the maddest girl——[Smiling.
L. Ha. Look ye, I knew you could not say it and forbear laughing [Looking over Sharlot]. Oh, I see his name as plain as you do—F—r—a—n Fran, c—i—s cis, Francis, 'tis in every line of the book.
L. Sh. [Rising] 'Tis in vain, I see, to mind anything in such impertinent company, but granting 'twere as you say as to my Lord Hardy, 'tis more excusable to admire another than one's self.
L. Ha. No, I think not; yes, I grant you than really to be vain at one's person, but I don't admire myself. Pish! I don't believe my eyes have that softness [Looking in the glass], they ain't so piercing. No, 'tis only stuff the men will be talking. Some people are such admirers of teeth. Lord, what signifies teeth? [Showing her teeth.] A very black-a-moor has as white teeth as I. No, sister, I don't admire myself, but I've a spirit of contradiction in me; I don't know I'm in love myself, only to rival the men.
L. Sh. Ay, but Mr. Campley will gain ground even of that rival of his, your dear self.
L. Ha. Oh! what have I done to you, that you should name that insolent intruder, a confident opinionative fop. No indeed, if I am, as a poetical lover of mine sighed and sung of both sexes—
The public envy, and the public care,
I shan't be so easily catched—I thank him—I want but to be sure I should heartily torment him, by banishing him, and then consider whether he should depart this life, or not.
L. Sh. Indeed, sister, to be serious with you, this vanity in your humour does not at all become you!
La. H. Vanity! All the matter is we gay people are more sincere than you wise folks: All your life's an art. Speak your soul—look you there—[Haling her to the glass] are not you struck with a secret pleasure, when you view that bloom in your looks, that harmony in your shape, that promptitude of your mien?
L. Sh. Well, simpleton, if I am at first so silly, as to be a little taken with myself, I know it a fault, and take pains to correct it.
L. Ha. Pshaw! pshaw! talk this musty tale to old Mrs. Fardingale, 'tis too soon for me to think at that rate.
L. Sh. They that think it too soon to understand themselves, will very soon find it too late. But tell me honestly, don't you like Campley?
L. Ha. The fellow is not to be abhorred, if the forward thing did not think of getting me so easily. Oh! I hate a heart I can't break when I please. What makes the value of dear china, but that 'tis so brittle? Were it not for that, you might as well have stone mugs in your closet.
L. Sh. Hist, hist, here's Fardingale.
Enter Fardingale.
Far. Lady Harriot, Lady Sharlot! I'll entertain you now, I've a new song just come hot out of the poet's brain. Lady Sharlot, my cousin Campley writ it, and 'tis set to a pretty air, I warrant you.
L. Ha. 'Tis like to be pretty indeed, of his writing. [Flings away.
Far. Come, come, this is not one of your tringham trangham witty things, that your poor poets write; no, 'tis well known my cousin Campley has two thousand pounds a year. But this is all dissimulation in you.
L. Sh. 'Tis so, indeed, for your cousin's song is very pretty, Mrs. Fardingale.
[Reads.]
Let not love on me bestow
Soft distress and tender woe;
I know none but substantial blisses,
Eager glances, solid kisses;
I know not what the lovers feign,
Of finer pleasure mixed with pain.
Then prithee give me, gentle boy,
None of thy grief, but all thy joy.[23]
But Harriot thinks that a little unreasonable, to expect one without enduring t'other.
Enter Servant.
Ser. There's your cousin Campley to wait on you without.
Far. Let him come in, we shall have the song now.
Enter Campley.
Cam. Ladies, your most obedient servant; your servant, Lady Sharlot—servant Lady Harriot—[Harriot looks grave upon him] What's the matter, dear Lady Harriot, not well? I protest to you I'm mightily concerned [Pulls out a bottle]. This is a most excellent spirit, snuff it up, madam.
L. Ha. Pish—the familiar coxcomb frets me heartily.
Cam. 'Twill over, I hope, immediately.
L. Sh. Your cousin Fardingale has shown us some of your poetry; there's the spinet, Mr. Campley, I know you're musical.
Cam. She should not have called it my poetry.
Far. No—who waits there—pray bring my lute out of the next room.
Enter Servant with a Lute.
You must know I conned this song before I came in, and find it will go to an excellent air of old Mr. Lawes's[24], who was my mother's intimate acquaintance; my mother's, what do I talk of? I mean my grandmother's. Oh, here's the lute; cousin Campley, hold the song upon your hat.—[Aside to him] 'Tis a pretty gallantry to a relation.
[Sings and Squalls.]
Let not love, &c.
Oh! I have left off these things many a day.
Cam. No; I profess, madam, you do it admirably, but are not assured enough. Take it higher [in her own squall]. Thus—I know your voice will bear it.
L. Ha. O hideous! O the gross flatterer—I shall burst. Mrs. Fardingale, pray go on, the music fits the words most aptly. Take it higher, as your cousin advises.
Far. Oh! dear madam, do you really like it? I do it purely to please you, for I can't sing, alas!
L. Sh. We know it, good madam, we know it. But pray——
Far. "Let not love," and "substantial blisses," is lively enough, and ran accordingly in the tune. [Curtsies to the company.] Now I took it higher.
L. Ha. Incomparably done! Nothing can equal it, except your cousin sang his own poetry.
Cam. Madam, from my Lord Hardy. [Delivers a letter to Lady Sharlot.]—How do you say, my Lady Harriot, except I sing it myself? Then I assure you I will——
L. Sh. I han't patience. I must go read my letter. [Exit.
Cam. [Sings] Let not love, &c.
Far. Bless me, what's become of Lady Sharlot? [Exit.
L. Ha. Mrs. Fardingale, Mrs. Fardingale, what, must we lose you? [Going after her.
Campley runs to the door, takes the key out, and locks her in.
What means this insolence? a plot upon me—Do you know who I am?
Cam. Yes, madam, you're my Lady Harriot Lovely, with ten thousand pounds in your pocket; and I am Mr. Campley, with two thousand a year, of quality enough to pretend to you. And I do design, before I leave this room, to hear you talk like a reasonable woman, as nature has made you. Nay, 'tis in vain to flounce, and discompose yourself and your dress.
L. Ha. If there are swords, if they are men of honour, and not all dastards, cowards that pretend to this injured person——[Running round the room.
Cam. Ay, ay, madam, let 'em come. That's putting me in my way, fighting's my trade; but you've used all mankind too ill to expect so much service. In short, madam, were you a fool I should not desire to expostulate with you. [Seizing her hand.] But——
L. Ha. Unhand me, ravisher. [Pulls her hand from him, chases round the room, Campley after her.
Cam. But madam, madam, madam, why madam!
Prithee Cynthia look behind you, [Sings.
Age and wrinkles will o'ertake you.
L. Ha. Age, wrinkles, small-pox, nay, anything that's most abhorrent to youth and bloom, were welcome in the place of so detested a creature.
Cam. No such matter, Lady Harriot. I would not be a vain coxcomb, but I know I am not detestable, nay, know where you've said as much before you understood me for your servant. Was I immediately transformed because I became your lover?
L. Ha. My lover, sir! did I ever give you reason to think I admitted you as such?
Cam. Yes, you did in your using me ill; for if you did not assume upon the score of my pretending to you, how do you answer to yourself some parts of your behaviour to me as a gentleman? 'Tis trivial, all this, in you, and derogates from the good sense I know you mistress of. Do but consider, madam, I have long loved you, bore with your fantastic humour through all its mazes. Nay, do not frown, for 'tis no better. I say I have bore with this humour, but would you have me with an unmanly servitude feed it? No, I love you with too sincere, too honest a devotion, and would have your mind as faultless as your person, which 'twould be, if you'd lay aside this vanity of being pursued with sighs, with flatteries, with nonsense [She walks about less violently, but more confused.]—Oh! my heart aches at the disturbance which I give her, but she must not see it. [Aside.]—Had I not better tell you of it now, than when your are in my power? I should be then too generous to thwart your inclination.
L. Ha. That is indeed very handsomely said. Why should I not obey reason as soon as I see it? [Aside.]—Since so, Mr. Campley, I can as ingenuously as I should then, acknowledge that I have been in an error. [Looking down on her fan.
Cam. Nay, that's too great a condescension. Oh! excellence! I repent! I see 'twas but justice in you to demand my knees [kneeling], my sighs, my constant, tenderest regard and service. And you shall have 'em, since you are above 'em.
L. Ha. Nay, Mr. Campley, you won't recall me to a fault you have so lately shown me. I will not suffer this—no more ecstasies! But pray, sir, what was't you did to get my sister out of the room?
Cam. You may know it, and I must desire you to assist my Lord Hardy there, who writ to her by me; for he is no ravisher, as you called me just now. He is now in the house, and I would fain gain an interview.
L. Ha. That they may have, but they'll make little use of it; for the tongue is the instrument of speech to us of a lower form: They are of that high order of lovers, who know none but eloquent silence, and can utter themselves only by a gesture that speaks their passion inexpressible, and what not fine things.
Cam. But pray let's go into your sister's closet while they are together.
L. Ha. I swear I don't know how to see my sister—she'll laugh me to death to see me out of my pantofles,[25] and you and I thus familiar. However, I know she'll approve it.
Cam. You may boast yourself an heroine to her, and the first woman that was ever vanquished by hearing truth, and had sincerity enough to receive so rough an obligation as being made acquainted with her faults. Come, madam, stand your ground bravely, we'll march in to her thus. [She leaning on Campley.
L. Ha. Who'll believe a woman's anger more? I've betrayed the whole sex to you, Mr. Campley. [Exeunt.
Re-enter Lord Hardy and Campley.
Cam. My lord, her sister, who now is mine, will immediately send her hither. But be yourself: Charge her bravely. I wish she were a cannon, an eighteen-pounder, for your sake. Then I know, were there occasion, you'd be in the mouth of her.
Ld. H. I long, yet fear to see her. I know I am unable to utter myself.
Cam. Come, retire here till she appears. [They go back to the door.
Enter Lady Sharlot.
L. Sh. Now is the tender moment now approaching. [Aside.] There he is. [They approach and salute each other trembling.] Your lordship will please to sit. [After a very long pause, stolen glances, and irresolute gesture.] Your lordship, I think, has travelled those parts of Italy where the armies are.
Ld. H. Yes, madam.
L. Sh. I think I have letters from you, dated Mantua.
Ld. H. I hope you have, madam, and that their purpose——
L. Sh. My lord? [Looking serious and confused.
Ld. H. Was not your ladyship going to say something?
L. Sh. I only attended to what your lordship was going to say—That is, my lord—But you were, I believe, going to say something of that garden of the world, Italy. I am very sorry your misfortunes in England are such as make you justly regret your leaving that place.
Ld. H. There is a person in England may make those losses insensible to me.
L. Sh. Indeed, my lord, there have so very few of quality attended his Majesty in the war, that your birth and merit may well hope for his favour.
Ld. H. I have, indeed, all the zeal in the world for his Majesty's service, and most grateful affection for his person, but did not then mean him.
L. Sh. But can you indeed impartially say that our island is really preferable to the rest of the world, or is it an arrogance only in us to think so?
Ld. H. I profess, madam, that little I have seen has but more endeared England to me; for that medley of humours which perhaps distracts our public affairs, does, methinks, improve our private lives, and makes conversation more various, and consequently more pleasing. Everywhere else both men and things have the same countenance. In France you meet much civility and little friendship; in Holland, deep attention, but little reflection; in Italy, all pleasure, but no mirth. But here with us, where you have everywhere pretenders or masters in everything, you can't fall into company wherein you shall not be instructed or diverted.
L. Sh. I never had an account of anything from you, my lord, but I mourned the loss of my brother; you would have been so happy a companion for him, with that right sense of yours. My lord, you need not bow so obsequiously, for I do you but justice. But you sent me word of your seeing a lady in Italy very like me. Did you visit her often?
Ld. H. Once or twice, but I observed her so loose a creature, that I could have killed her for having your person.
L. Sh. I thank you, sir; but Heaven that preserves me unlike her, will, I hope, make her more like me. But your fellow traveller—his relations themselves know not a just account of him.
Ld. H. The original cause of his fever was a violent passion for a fine young woman he had not power to speak to, but I told her his regard for her as passionately as possible.
L. Sh. You were to him what Mr. Campley has been to you—Whither am I running?—Poor, your friend—poor gentleman——
Ld. H. I hope then as Campley's eloquence is greater, so has been his success.
L. Sh. My lord?
Ld. H. Your ladyship's——
Enter Lady Harriot.
L. Ha. Undone! Undone! Tattleaid has found, by some means or other, that Campley brought my Lord Hardy hither; we are utterly ruined, my lady's coming.
Ld. H. I'll stay and confront her.
L. Sh. It must not be; we are too much in her power.
Enter Campley.
Cam. Come, come, my lord, we're routed horse and foot. Down the back stairs, and so out.
Ladies. Ay, ay. [Exeunt.
L. Ha. I tremble every joint of me.
L. Sh. I'm at a stand a little, but rage will recover me; she's coming in.
Enter Widow.
Wid. Ladies, your servant. I fear I interrupt you; have you company? Lady Harriot, your servant; Lady Sharlot, your servant. What, not a word? Oh, I beg your ladyship's pardon. Lady Sharlot, did I say? My young Lady Brumpton, I wish you joy.
L. Sh. Oh, your servant, Lady Dowager Brumpton. That's an appellation of much more joy to you.
Wid. So smart, madam! but you should, methinks, have made one acquainted—Yet, madam, your conduct is seen through.
L. Sh. My conduct, Lady Brumpton!
Wid. Your conduct, Lady Sharlot! [Coming up to each other.
L. Sh. Madam, 'tis you are seen through all your thin disguises.
Wid. I seen? By whom?
L. Sh. By an all-piercing eye, nay, by what you much more fear, the eye of the world. The world sees you, or shall see you. It shall know your secret intemperance, your public fasting—Loose poems in your closet, an homily on your toilet—Your easy, skilful, practised hypocrisy, by which you wrought upon your husband, basely to transfer the trust and ward of us, two helpless virgins, into the hands and care of—I cannot name it. You're a wicked woman.
L. Ha. [Aside.] O rare sister! 'Tis a fine thing to keep one's anger in stock by one. We that are angry and pleased every half-hour have nothing at all of all this high-flown fury! Why, she rages like a princess in a tragedy! Blessings on her tongue.
Wid. Is this the effect of your morning lectures, your self-examination, all this fury?
L. Sh. Yes it is, madam; if I take pains to govern my passions, it shall not give licence to others to govern them for me.
Wid. Well, Lady Sharlot, however you ill deserve it of me, I shall take care, while there are locks and bars, to keep you from Lord Hardy—from being a leager lady, from carrying a knapsack.
L. Sh. Knapsack! Do you upbraid the poverty your own wicked arts have brought him to? Knapsack! O grant me patience! Can I hear this of the man I love? Knapsack! I have not words. [Stamps about the room.
Wid. I leave you to cool upon it; love and anger are very warm passions. [Exit.
L. Ha. She has locked us in.
L. Sh. Knapsack? Well, I will break walls to go to him. I could sit down and cry my eyes out! Dear sister, what a rage have I been in? Knapsack! I'll give vent to my just resentment. Oh, how shall I avoid this base woman; how meet that excellent man! What an helpless condition are you and I in now! If we run into the world, that youth and innocence which should demand assistance does but attract invaders. Will Providence guard us? How do I see that our sex is naturally indigent of protection! I hope 'tis in fate to crown our loves; for 'tis only in the protection of men of honour that we are naturally truly safe—
And woman's happiness, for all her scorn,
Is only by that side whence she was born.