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Bel. Dear aunt, have a better opinion of your niece'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 it self, the knowledge of the body's weakness.

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,

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 takes for granted, aim at her.

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

mov.

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? Madem. No, matam.

[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.

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 song, 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 aimerois ! [Embracing her. Lady Fan. Well, the French have strange obliging ways with them; you may take those two pair of gloves, mademoiselle.

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

Au

Madem. Matam, dey never complain. contraire. When one Frense laty have got a hundred lover-Den she do all she can to 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. Lady Fan. Fe, mademoiselle, fe! reputation is a jewel.

Madem. Qui coute bien chere, matam. Lady Fan. Why sure you would not sacrifice your honour to your pleasure?

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.

Madem. Turn me out of doors!-turn yourself out of doors, and go see what de gentleman have to say to you-Tenez. Voilà [giving her her things hastily.] votre esharpe, voilà votre coife, voilà votre masque, voilà tout. Hey, Mercure, Coquin: Call one chair for matam, and one oder [calling within] for me: Va t'en, vite.

[Turning to her lady, and helping her on hastily with her things.] Allons, matam; depechez vous donc. Mon Dieu, quelles scrupules!

But

Lady Fan. Well, for once, mademoiselle, I'll follow your advice, out of the intemperate desire I have to know who this ill-bred fellow is. I have too much delicatesse to make a practice on't.

Madem. Belle chose vrayment que la delicatesse, lors qu'il s'agit de se divertir

-à ça

Vous voilà équipée. Partons---Hé bien ?---qu'avez vous donc?

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Lady Fan. Je suis poltrone.

[Forcing her lady off.

SCENE I.--St. James's Park.

ACT II.

Enter LADY FANCYFUL and MADEMOISELLE. Lady Fan. WELL, I vow, mademoiselle, I'm strangely impatient to know who this confident fellow is.

Enter HEARTFREE.

Look, there's Heart free. But sure it can't be him he's a professed woman-hater. Yet who knows what my wicked eyes may have done !

Madem. Il nous approche, matam.

Lady Fan. Yes, 'tis he: Now he will be most intolerably cavalier, though he should be in love with me.

Heart. Madam, I'm your humble servant; I perceive you have more humility and good nature than I thought you had.

Lady Fan. What you attribute to humility and good nature, sir, may, perhaps, be only due to curiosity. I had a mind to know who 'twas, had ill manners enough to write that letter.

[Throwing him his letter. Heart. Well, and now I hope you are satisfied. Lady Fan. I am so, sir: Good-by t'ye. Heart. Nay, hold there; though you have done your business, I han't done mine: By your ladyship's leave, we must have one moment's prattle together. Have you a mind to be the prettiest woman about town, or not? How she stares upon me! What! this passes for an impertinent question with you now, because you think you are so already.

Lady Fan. Pray, sir, let me ask a question in my turn: By what right do you pretend to examine me?

Heart. By the same right that the strong govern the weak; because I have you in my power; for you cannot get so quickly to your coach, but I shall have time enough to make you hear every thing I have to say to you.

Lady Fan. These are strange liberties you take, Mr Heartfree.

Heart. They are so, madam, but there's no help for it; for know, that I have a design upon you. Lady Fan. Upon me, sir!

Heart. Yes; and one that will turn to your glory, and my comfort, if you will but be a little wiser than you use to be.

Lady Fan. Very well, sir.

Heart. Let me see-Your vanity, madam, I take to be about some eight degrees higher than any woman's in the town, let t'other be who she will; and my indifference is naturally about the same pitch. Now could you find the way to turn this indifference into fire and flames, methinks your vanity ought to be satisfied; and this, perhaps, you might bring about upon pretty reasonable terms.

Lady Fan. And pray, at what rate would this indifference be bought off, if one should have so depraved an appetite as to desire it?

Heart. Why, madam, to drive a quaker's bargain, and make but one word with you, if I do part with it-you must lay me down-your affectation.

Lady Fan. My affectation, sir! Heart. Why, I ask you nothing but what you may very well spare.

Lady Fan. You grow rude, sir. Come, mademoiselle, 'tis high time to be gone.

Madem. Allons, allons, allons! Heart. [stopping them.] Nay, you may as well stand still; for hear me you shall, walk which way you please.

Lady Fan. What mean you, sir?

Heart. I mean to tell you, that you are the most ungrateful woman upon earth.

Lady Fan. Ungrateful! To whom?
Heart. To nature.

Lady Fan. Why, what has nature done to me? Heart. What you have undone by art! It made you handsome; it gave you beauty to a miracle, a shape without a fault, wit enough to make them relish, and so turned you loose to your own discretion, which has made such work with you, that you are become the pity of our sex, and the jest of your own. There is not a feature in your face, but you have found the way to teach it some affected convulsion; your feet, your hands, your very finger ends are directed never to move without some ridiculous air or other; and your language is a suitable trumpet, to draw people's eyes upon the raree show. Madem. [aside.] Est ce qu'on fait l'amour en Angleterre comme ça ?

Lady Fan. [aside.] Now could I cry for madness, but that I know he'd laugh at me for it!

Heart. Now do you hate me for telling you the truth, but that's because you don't believe 'tis so; for, were you once convinced of that, you'd reform for your own sake.

Lady Fan. Every circumstance of nice breeding must needs appear ridiculous to one, who has so natural an antipathy to good manners.

Heart. But suppose I could find the means to convince you, that the whole world is of my opinion?

Lady Fan. Sir, though you, and all the world you talk of, should be so impertinently officious, as to think to persuade me I don't know how to behave myself; I should still have charity enough for my own understanding, to believe myself in the right, and all you in the wrong.

Madem. Le voilà mort. [Exeunt Lady FANCIFUL, and MADEMOISELLE.] Heart. [gazing after her.] There her single clapper has published the sense of the whole sex. Well, this once I have endeavoured to wash the black-moor white, but henceforward I'll sooner undertake to teach sincerity to a courtier, generosity to an usurer, honesty to a lawyer, than discretion to a woman, I see has once set her heart upon playing the fool.

Enter CONSTANT.

'Morrow, Constant.

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Con. A pretty endeavour truly!

Heart. I have told her in as plain English as I could speak, both what the town says of her, and what I think of her. In short, I have used her as an absolute king would do Magna Charta. Con. And how does she take it?

Heart. As children do pills; bite them, but can't swallow them.

Con. But, prithee, what has put it into your head, of all mankind, to turn reformer?

Heart. Why, one thing was, the morning hung upon my hands, I did not know what to do with myself: and another was, that as little as I care for women, I could not see with patience one, that Heaven had taken such wondrous pains about, be so very industrious to make herself the jack-pudding of the creation.

Con. Well, now could I almost wish to see my cruel mistress make the self-same use of what Heaven has done for her, that so I might be cured of the same disease, that makes me so very uneasy; for love, love is the devil, Heartfree.

Heart. And why do you let the devil govern

you?

Con. Because I have more flesh and blood than grace and self-denial. My dear, dear mistress-'sdeath! that so genteel a woman should be a saint, when religion's out of fashion.

Heart. Nay, she's much in the wrong, truly; but who knows how far time and good example may prevail?

Con. O! they have played their parts in vain already: Tis now two years since the damned fellow her husband invited me to his wedding; and that was the first time I saw that charming woman, whom I have loved ever since; but she is cold, my friend, still cold as the northern star.

Heart. So are all women by nature, which makes them so willing to be warmed.

Con. O don't profane the sex! prithee think them all angels for her sake; for she's virtuous even to a fault.

Heart. A lover's head is a good accountable thing truly; he adores his mistress for being virtuous, and yet is very angry with her, because she won't be lewd.

Con. Well, the only relief I expect in my miscry is to see thee, some day or other, as deeply engaged as myself, which will force me to be merry in the midst of all my misfor

tunes.

Heart. That day will never come, be assured, Ned. Not but that I can pass a night with a woman. Nay, I can court a woman too, call her

Con. Good-morrow, Jack: What are you nymph, angel, goddess, what you please: But

here's the difference between you and I; I persuade a woman she's an angel, and she persuades you she's one. Prithee, let me tell you how I avoid falling in love; that, which serves me for prevention, may chance to serve you for a

cure.

Con. Well, use the ladies moderately, then, and I'll hear you.

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Heurt. Not strange at all; she don't like you, that's all the business.

Con. Prithee, don't distract me.

Heart. Nay, you are a good handsome young fellow, she might use you better Come, will you go see her? perhaps, she may have changed her mind; there's some hopes as long as she's a

woman.

Con. O, 'tis in vain to visit her: sometimes, to get a sight of her, I visit that beast her husband, but she certainly finds some pretence to quit the room as soon as I enter.

Heart. It's much she don't tell him you have made love to her, too; for that's another goodnatured thing usual amongst women, in which they have several ends. Sometimes 'tis to re

Heart. That using them moderately undoes us all; but I'll use them justly, and that you ought to be satisfied with. I always consider a woman, not as the taylor, the shoemaker, the tire-woman, the sempstress, and (which is more than all that) the poet makes her; but I consider her as pure nature has contrived her, and that more strictly than I should have done our old grandmother Eve, had I seen her naked in the garden; for I consider her turned inside out. Her heart well examined, I find there pride, vanity, covetousness, indiscretion; but, above all things, malice: plots eternally forging to de-commend their virtue, that they may sin with stroy one another's reputations, and as honestly to charge the levity of mens' tongues with the scandal; hourly debates how to make poor gentlemen in love with them, with no other intent but to use them like dogs when they have done; a constant desire of doing more mischief, and an everlasting war waged against truth and good-nature.

Con. Very well, sir; an admirable composition, truly!

Heart. Then for her outside, I consider it merely as an outside; she has a thin tiffany covering over just such stuff as you and I are made of. As for her motion, her mien, her airs, and all those tricks, I know they affect you mightily. If you should see your mistress at a coronation, dragging her peacock's train, with all her state and insolence about her, 'twould strike you with all the awful thoughts, that heaven itself could pretend to from you: whereas, I turn the whole matter into a jest, and suppose her strutting in the self-same stately manner, with nothing on but her stays, and her under scanty quilted petticoat.

Con. Hold thy profane tongue; for I'll hear

no more.

Heart. What, you'll love on then?

Con. Yes, to eternity.

Heart. Yet you have no hopes at all?
Con. None.

Heart. Nay, the resolution may be discreet enough; perhaps you have found out some new philosophy, that love, like virtue, is its own reward: So you and your mistress will be as well content at a distance, as others that have less learning are in coming together.

Con. No; but if she should prove kind at last,
my dear Heartfree!
[Embracing him.
Heart. Nay, prithee don't take me for your
mistress; for lovers are very troublesome.

Con. Well, who knows what time may do?
VOL. II.

the greater security. Sometimes 'tis to make their husbands fight, in hopes they may be killed, when their affairs require it should be so: but most commonly 'tis to engage two men in a quarrel, that they may have the credit of being fought for; and if the lover's killed in the business, they cry, Poor fellow! he had ill luck-and so they go to cards.

Con. Thy injuries to women are not to be forgiven. Look to it, if ever you fall into their hands

Heart. They can't use me worse than they do you, that speak well of them. O ho! here comes the knight.

Enter SIR JOHN BRUTE.

Your humble servant, sir John.
Sir John. Servant, sir.

Heart. How does all your family?
Sir John. Pox on my family!

Con, How does your lady? I han't seen her abroad a good while.

Sir John. Do? I don't know how she does, not I; she was well enough yesterday; I han't been at home to-night.

Con. What, were you out of town?

Sir John. Out of town! No, I was drinking. Con. You are a true Englishman; don't know your own happiness. If I were married to such a woman, I would not be from her a night for all the wine in France.

Sir John. Not from her!-'Oons-what a time should a man have of that!

Heart. Why, there's no division, I hope.

Sir John. No; but there's a conjunction, and that's worse; a pox of the parson-Why the plague don't you two marry! I fancy I look like the devil to you.

Heart. Why, you don't think you have horns, do you?

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