Tru. It was all art, sir, or indifference to you, for what I say is downright matter of fact.
Ld. B. Why didst thou ever tell me it? or why not in my lifetime, for I must call it so, nor can I date a minute mine, after her being false; all past that moment is death and darkness: Why didst thou not tell me then, I say?
Tru. Because you were too much in love with her to be informed; nor did I ever know a man that touched on conjugal affairs could ever reconcile the jarring humours but in a common hatred of the intermeddler. But on this most extraordinary occasion, which seems pointed out by Heaven itself to disengage you from your cruelty and banishment of an innocent child, I must, I will conjure you to be concealed, and but contain yourself, in hearing one discourse with that cursed instrument of all her secrets, that Tattleaid, and you'll see what I tell you; you'll call me then your guardian and good genius.
Ld. B. Well, you shall govern me, but would I had died in earnest ere I'd known it; my head swims, as it did when I fell into my fit, at the thoughts of it——How dizzy a place is this world you live in! All human life's a mere vertigo!
Tru. Ay, ay, my lord, fine reflections—fine reflections,—but that does no business. Thus, sir, we'll stand concealed, and hear, I doubt not, a much sincerer dialogue than usual between vicious persons; for a late accident has given a little jealousy, which makes 'em over-act their love and confidence in each other. [They retire.
Enter Widow and Tattleaid meeting, and running to each other.
Wid. O, Tattleaid! His and our hour is come!
Tat. I always said, by his churchyard cough, you'd bury him, but still you were impatient——
Wid. Nay, thou hast ever been my comfort, my confidant, my friend, and my servant; and now I'll reward thy pains; for though I scorn the whole sex of fellows, I'll give 'em hopes for thy sake; every smile, every frown, every gesture, humour, caprice and whimsey of mine shall be gold to thee, girl; thou shalt feel all the sweet and wealth of being a fine rich widow's woman. Oh! how my head runs my first year out, and jumps to all the joys of widowhood! If thirteen months hence a friend should haul one to a play one has a mind to see, what pleasure 'twill be when my Lady Brumpton's footman's called (who kept a place for that very purpose) to make a sudden insurrection of fine wigs in the pit and side-boxes. Then, with a pretty sorrow in one's face and a willing blush for being stared at, one ventures to look round and bow to one of one's own quality. Thus [very directly] to a smug pretending fellow of no fortune: Thus [as scarce seeing him] to one that writes lampoons: Thus [fearfully] to one one really loves: Thus [looking down] to one's woman-acquaintance; from box to box thus [with looks differently familiar]: And when one has done one's part, observe the actors do their's, but with my mind fixed not on those I look at, but those that look at me——Then the serenades! The lovers!
Tat. O, madam, you make my heart bound within me. I'll warrant you, madam, I'll manage 'em all; and indeed, madam, the men are really very silly creatures, 'tis no such hard matter——They rulers! They governors! I warrant you indeed!