one.

purpose?

-Well, now you are drest, pray, let's see to what

Lady G. I would visit—that is, my real friends; but as little for form as possible, I would go to court; sometimes to an assembly; nay, play at quadrille soberly. I would see all the good plays; and because 'tis the fashion, now and then go to an opera; but I would not expire there-for fear I should never go again. And lastly, I can't say, but for curiosity, if I liked my company, I might be drawn in once to a masquerade: and this, I think, is as far as any woman can go soberly. Lady T. Well if it had not been for that last piece of sobrie ty, I was just going to call for some surfeit water.

Lady G. Why, don't you think, with the farther aid of break. fasting, dining, taking the air, supping, sleeping, (not to say a word of devotion,) the four and twenty hours might roll over in a tolerable manner?

Lady T. Tolerable! deplorable-Why, child, all you pro pose is but to endure life: now I want to enjoy it.

III. Priuli and Jaffier.

Pri. No more! I'll hear no more! Begone, and leave me. Jaf. Not hear me! By my sufferings but you shall !

My lord my lord! I'm not that abject wretch

You think me. Patience where's the distance throws
Me back so far, but I may boldly speak

In right, tho' proud oppression will not hear me !
Pri. Have you not wrong'd me?

Jaf. Could my nature e'er

Have brook'd injustice or the doing wrong,

I need not now thus low have bent myself
To gain a hearing from a cruel father.

Wrong'd you?

Pri Yes, wrong'd-me. In the nicest point,
The honour of my house, you've done me wrong.
When you first came home from travel,
With such hopes as made you look'd on,
By all men's eyes, a youth of expectation,
Pleas'd with your seeming virtue, I receiv'd you;
Courted and sought to raise you to your merits;
My house, my table, nay, my fortune too,
My very self was yours; you might have us❜d me
To your best service: like an open friend
I treated, trusted you, and thought you mine:
When in requital of my best endeavours,
You treacherously practis'd to undo me; »
Seduc'd the weakness of my age's darling,
My only child, and stole her from my bosom.

Jaf. 'Tis to me you owe her

Childless you had been else, and in the grave
Your name extinct; no more Priuli heard of
You may remember, scarce five years are past,
Since in your brigantine you sail'd to see
The Adriatic wedded by our duke;
And I was with you. Your unskilful pilot
Dash'd us upon a rock; when to your boat
You made for safety, entered first yourself;
Th' affrighted Belvidera following next,
As she stood trembling on the vessel's side,
Was by a wave wash'd off into the deep;
When instantly, I plang'd into the sea,
And buffeting the billows to her rescue,
Redeem'd her life, with half the loss of mine.
Like a rich conquest in one hand I bore her,
And with the other dash'd the saucy waves,
That throng'd and press'd to rob me of
my prize.
I brought her; gave her to your despairing arms:
Indeed you thank'd me: but a nobler gratitude

Rose in her soul; for from that hour she lov'd me,
Till, for her life, she paid me with herself.

Pri. You stole her from me; like a thief you stole her At dead of night; that cursed hour you chose

To rifle me of all my heart held dear.

May all your joys in her prove false like mine;
A steril fortune and a barren bed

Attend you both; continued discord make
Your days and nights bitter and grievous still:
May the hard hand of a vexatious need
Oppress and grind you; till, at last, you find
The curse of disobedience all your portion.

Jaf. Half of your curse you have bestowed in vain.
Heaven has already crown'd our faithful loves
With a young boy sweet as his mother's beauty.
May he live to prove more gentle than his grandsire,
And happier than his father.

Pri. No more.

Jaf Yes, all, and then-adieu forever.

There's not a wretch that lives on common charity
But's happier than I: for I have known
The luscious sweets of plenty; every night
Have slept with soft content about my head,
And never wak’d but to a joyful morning;
Yet now must fall; like a full ear of corn,

Whose blossom 'scap'd, yet's wither'd in the ripenings
Home, and be humble, study to retrench;

Pri.

Discharge the lazy vermin of thy hall,

Those pageants of thy folly;

Reduce the glittering trappings of thy wife
To humble weeds, fit for thy little state:
Then to some lonely cottage both retire:

Drudge to feed loathsome life; get brats and starve.
Home, home, I say..

Jaf. Yes, if my heart would let me—
This proud, this swelling heart home I will go.
But that my doors are hateful to my eyes,
Fill'd and dam'd up with gaping creditors.
I've now not fifty ducats in the world,
Yet still I am in love and pleas'd with ruin.
Oh, Belvidera!-Oh! she is my wife-

And we will bear our wayward fate together-
But ne'er know comfort more.

IV. Boniface and Aimwell.

Bon. This way,

this way, sir.

Aim. You're my landlord, I suppose.

Bon. Yes, sir, I'm old Will Boniface; pretty well known upon this road, as the saying is.

Aim. O, Mr. Boniface, your servant.

Bon. O, sir,

as the saying is.

-What will your honour please to drink,

Aim. I have heard your town of Litchfield much famed for ale: I think I'll taste that.

Bon. Sir, I have now in my cellar, ten tun of the best ale in Staffordshire; 'tis smooth as oil, sweet as milk, clear as amber, and strong as brandy; and will be just fourteen years old the fifth day of next March, old style.

Aim. You're very exact, I find, in the age of your ale.

Bon. As punctual, sir, as I-am in the age of my children; I'll show you such ale!-Here, Tapster, broach number 1706, as the saying is.-Sir, you shall taste my anno domini.-I have lived in Litchfield, man and boy, above eight-and-fifty years, and I believe, have not consumed eight-and-fifty ounces of meat. Aim. At a meal, you mean, if one may guess by your bulk." Bon. Not in my life, sir; I have fed purely upon ale; I have eat my ale, drank my ale, and I always sleep upon ale. [Enter Tapster with a tankard.] Now sir, you shall see Your worship's health; [drinks.]-Ha! delicious! delicious!-Fancy it Burgundy, only fancy it, and 'tis worth ten shillings a quart.

Aim. [drinks.] 'Tis confounded strong.

Bon. Strong! it must be so, or how should we be strong that drink it.

Aim. And have you lived so long upon this ale, landlord? Bon. Eight-and-fifty years, upon my credit, sir; but it killed my wife, poor woman, as the saying is.

Aim. How came that to pass?

Bon. I don't know how, sir,she would not let the ale take its natural course, sir: she was for qualifying it every now and then with a dram as the saying is: and an honest gentleman that came this way from Ireland made her a present of a dozen bottles of usquebaugh--but the poor woman was never well afterbut, however, I was obliged to the gentleman, you know.

Aim. Why was it the usquebaugh that killed her.

Bon. My lady Bountiful said so-she, good lady, did what could be done; she cured her of three tympanies; but the fourth carried her off. But she's happy, and I'm contented, as the saying is.

Aim. Who's that lady Bountiful you mention?

Bon. Odd's my life, sir, we'll drink her health;-[drinks.] -My lady Bountiful is one of the best of women. Her last husband, sir Charles Bountiful, left her worth a thousand pounds a year and I believe she lays out one half on't in charitable uses, for the good of her neighbours.

Aim. Has the lady been any other way useful in her genera. tion.

Bon. Yes, sir, she has a daughter by sir Charles: the finest woman in all our country, and the greatest fortune. She has a soft too, by her first husband; squire Sullen, who married a fine lady from London t'other day; if you please sir, we'll drink his health. [drinks.]

Aim. What sort of a man is he?

Bon. Why, sir, the man's well enough; says little, thinks less, and does nothing at all, faith; but he's a man of good estate, and values nobody.

Aim A sportsman, I suppose?

Bon. Yes, he's a man of pleasure, he plays at whist, and smokes his pipe eight-and-forty hours together sometimes.

Aim. A fine sportsman, truly and married you say?

Bon Ay; and to curious woman, sir-But he's my landlord; and so a man, you know, would not- -Sir, my humble service to you. [drinks.]-Though I value not a farthing what he can do to me; I pay him his rent at quarter-day. I have a good running trade; I have but one daughter, and I can give her-but no matter for that.

Aim. You're very happy, Mr. Boniface; pray what other company have you in town?

Bon. A power of fine ladies, and then we have the French officers.

Aim. O, that's right, you have a good many of those gentle men pray how do you like their company?

Bon So well, as the saying is, that I could wish we had as many more of them. They're full of money, and pay double for every thing they have. They know sir, that we pair good round taxes for the taking of 'em ; and so they are willing to re

imburse us a little; one of 'em lodges in my house, [Bell rings.] -I beg your worship's pardon-I'll wait on you again in half a minute.

V. Lovegold and Lappet.

Lov. ALL'S well hitherto, my dear money is safe,-is it you, Lappet?

Lap. I should rather ask if it be you, sir: why, you look so young and vigorous

Lov. Do I, do I?

Lap. Why, you grow younger and younger every day, sir: you never looked half so young in your life, sir, as you do now. Why, sir, I know fifty young fellows of five-and-twenty that are older than you are.

Lov. That may be, that may be, Lappet, considering the lives they lead; and yet I am a good ten years above fifty.

Lap. Well, and what's ten years above fifty! 'tis the very flower of a man's age. Why, sir, you are now in the very prime of your life.

Lov. Very true, that's very true, as to understanding : but I am afraid, could I take off twenty years, it would do me no harm with the ladies, Lappet-How goes on our affair with Mariana? Have you mentioned any thing about what her mother can give her? For, now-a-days, nobody marries a woman, unless she bring something with her besides a petticoat.

Lap, Sir, why, sir, this young lady will be worth to you as good a thousand pounds a year as ever was told.

Lov. How a thousand pounds a year?

Lap. Yes, sir. There's in the first place, the articles of a table; she has a very little stomach, she does not eat above an ounce in a fortnight; and then, as to the quality of what she eats, you'll have no need of a French cook upon her account. As for sweetmeats, she mortally hates them; so there is the article of deserts wiped off all at once. You'll have no need of a confectioner, who would be eternally bringing in bills for preserves, conserves, biscuits, comfits, and jellies, of which half a dozen ladies would swallow you ten pounds worth at a meal. This, I think, we may very moderately reckon at two hundred pounds, a year, at least. For clothes, she has been bred up at such a plainness in them, that should we allow for but three birth-night-suits, a year, saved, which are the least a town-lady would expect, there go a good two hundred pounds a year more. For jewels (of which she hates the very sight,) the yearly interest of what you must lay out in them would amount to one hundred pounds.-Lastly, she has an utter detestation to play, at which I have known several moderate ladies lose a good two thousand pounds a year. Now, let us, only take a fourth part of that, which amounts to five hundred, to which