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joining in the argument, I rose, and, with a constrained smile, told her, I thought nothing was so easy as to know, when a visit began to be troublesome. She reddened, and I withdrew without expecting her reply.

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Mira. You pursue the argument with a distrust, that seems to be unaffected, and confesses you are conscious of a concern, for which the lady is more indebted to you, than is your wife. Fain. Fy, fy, friend! if you grow censorious,

Fain. You were to blame to resent what she I must leave you;- -I'll look upon the gamespoke only in compliance with her aunt.

Mira. She is more mistress of herself than to be under the necessity of such resignation.

Fain. What! though half her fortune depends upon her marrying with my lady's approbation?

Mira. I was then in such a humour, that I should have been better pleased, if she had been less discreet.

Fain. Now I remember, I wonder not they were weary of you: last night was one of their cabal nights; they have them three times a-week, and meet by turns at one another's apartments, where they come together, like the coroner's inquest, to sit upon the murdered reputations of the week. You and I are excluded; and it was once proposed, that all the male sex should be excepted; but somebody moved, that, to avoid scandal, there might be one man of the community; upon which motion Witwould and Petulant were enrolled members.

Mira. And who may have been the foundress of this sect? My lady Wishfort, I warrant, who publishes her detestation of mankind; and, full of the vigour of fifty-five, declares for a friend and ratafia; and let posterity shift for itself, she'll breed no more.

Fain. The discovery of your sham addresses to her, to conceal your love to her niece, has provoked this separation : had you dissembled better, things might have continued in the state of

nature.

Mira. I did as much as man could, with any reasonable conscience; I proceeded to the very last act of flattery with her, and was guilty of a song in her commendation. Nay, I got a friend to put her into a lampoon, and compliment her with the addresses of a young fellow. The devil's in't if an old woman is to be flattered farther. But for the discovery of this amour, I am indebted to your friend, or your wife's friend, Mrs Marwood.

Fain. What should provoke her to be your enemy, unless she has made you advances, which you have slighted? Women do not easily forgive omissions of that nature.

Mira. She was always civil to me, till of late. I confess, I am not one of those coxcombs, who are apt to interpret a woman's good manners to her prejudice; and think, that she, who does not refuse them every thing, can refuse them nothing. Fain. You are a gallant man, Mirabell; and though you may have cruelty enough not to answer a lady's advances, you have too much generosity, not to be tender of her honour. Yet, you speak with an indifference, which seems to be affected; and confesses you are conscious of a negligence.

sters in the next room.

Mira. Who are they?

Fain. Petulant and Witwould-Bring me some chocolate.

Mira. Betty, what says your clock?

[Exit.

Bet. Turned of the last canonical hour, sir. Mira. How pertinently the jade answers me! ha! almost one o'clock ! [Looking on his watch.] O, ye are come

Enter FOOTMAN.

Well, is the grand affair over? You have been something tedious.

Foot. Sir, there's such coupling at Pancras, that they stand behind one another, as 'twere in a country dance. Ours was the last couple to lead up; and no hopes appearing of dispatch, besides, the parson growing hoarse, we were afraid his lungs would have failed before it came to our turn; so we drove round to Duke's Place; and there they were rivetted in a trice.

Mira. So, so, you are sure they are married.
Foot. Incontestably, sir: I am witness.
Mira. Have you the certificate?

Foot. Here it is, sir.

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Fain. Joy of your success, Mirabell; you look pleased.

Mira. Ay, I have been engaged in a matter of some sort of mirth, which is not yet ripe for discovery. I am glad this is not a cabal-night. I wonder, Fainall, that you, who are married, and, of consequence, should be discreet, will suffer your wife to be of such a party.

Fain. Faith, I am not jealous. Besides, most, who are engaged, are women and relations; and, for the men, they are of a kind too contemptible to give scandal.

Mira. I am of another opinion. The greater the coxcomb, always the more the scandal: for, a woman, who is not a fool, can have but one reason for associating with a man, who is one.

Fain. Are you jealous as often as you see Witwould entertained by Millamant?

Mira. Of her understanding I am, if not of her person.

Fain. You do her wrong; for, to give her her due, she has wit.

Mira. She has beauty enough to make any man think so; and complaisance enough not to contradict him, who shall tell her so.

Fain. For a passionate lover, methinks you are a man somewhat too discerning in the failings of your mistress.

Mira. And for a discerning man, somewhat too passionate a lover; for I like her with all her faults; nay, like her for her faults. Her follies are so natural, or so artful, that they become her; and those affectations, which, in another woman, would be odious, serve but to make her more agreeable. I'll tell thee, Fainall; she once used me with that insolence, that, in revenge, I took her to pieces; sifted her, and separated her failings; I studied them, and got them by rote. The catalogue was so large, that I was not without hopes, one day or other, to hate her heartily; to which end I so used myself to think of them, that at length, contrary to my design and expectation, they gave me every hour less disturbance, till, in a few days, it became habitual to me to remember them without being displeased. They are now grown as familiar to me as my own frailties; and, in all probability, in a little time longer I shall like them as well.

Fain. Marry her, marry her; be half as well acquainted with her charms as you are with her defects, and my life on't you are your own man again.

Mira. Say you so?

of England, that all Europe should know we have blockheads of all ages.

Mira. I wonder there is not an act of parliament to save the credit of the nation, and prohibit the exportation of fools.

Fain. By no means, 'tis better as it is; 'tis better to trade with a little loss, than to be quite eaten up with being overstocked.

Mira. Pray, are the follies of this knight-errant, and those of the 'squire his brother, any thing related?

Fain. Not at all; Witwould grows by the knight, like a medlar grafted on a crab. One will melt in your mouth, and t'other set your teeth on edge; one is all pulp, and the other all

core.

Mira. So, one will be rotten before he be ripe, and the other will be rotten without ever being ripe at all.

Fain. Sir Wilful is an odd mixture of bashfulness and obstinacy. But when he's drunk, he's as loving as the monster in the tempest; and much after the same manner. To give t'other his due, he has something of good-nature, and does not always want wit.

Mira. Not always but as often as his memory fails him, and his common-place of comparisons. He is a fool with a good memory, and some few scraps of other folks wit. He is one, whose conversation can never be approved, yet it is now and then to be endured. He has, indeed, one good quality—he is not exceptious; for he so so passionately affects the reputation of un

Fain. I have experience: I have a wife, and derstanding raillery, that he will construe an af

so forth.

Enter Messenger.

Mes. Is one 'squire Witwould here?
Bet. Yes; what's your business?

Mes. I have a letter for him, from his brother, sir Wilful, which I am charged to deliver into his own hands.

way.

Bet. He's in the next room, friend-That [Erit Messenger. Mira. What, is the chief of that noble family in town? sir Wilful Witwould?

Fain. He is expected to-day. Do you know him?

Mira. I have seen him; he promises to be an extraordinary person; I think you have the honour to be related to him?

Fain. Yes, he is half-brother to this Witwould by a former wife, who was sister to my lady Wishfort, my wife's mother. If you marry Millamant, you must call cousins too.

Mira. I would rather be his relation than his acquaintance.

Fain. He comes to town in order to equip himself for travel.

Mira. For travel! Why, the man, that I mean, is above forty.

Fain. No matter for that; 'tis for the honour

front into a jest; and call downright rudeness and ill language, satire and fire.

Fain. If you have a mind to finish his picture, you have an opportunity to do it at full length. Behold the original.

Enter WITWOULD.

Wit. Afford me your compassion, my dears;
pity me, Fainall! Mirabell, pity me!
Mira. I do, from my soul.

Fain. Why, what's the matter?
Wit. No letters for me, Betty?

Bet. Did not a messenger bring you one but now, sir?

Wit. Aye, but no other?"

Bet. No, sir.

Wit. That's hard, that's very hard; a messenger, a mule, a beast of burden; he has brought me a letter from the fool, my brother, as heavy as a panegyric in a funeral sermon, or a copy of commendatory verses from one poet to another. And what's worse, 'tis as sure a forerunner of the author, as an epistle dedicatory.

Mira. A fool, and your brother, Witwould! Wit. Aye, aye, my half brother. My half brother he is; no nearer, upon honour.

Mira. Then, 'tis possible he may be but half

a fool.

Wit. Good, good, Mirabell, le drole! Good, | good! hang him! don't let us talk of him. Fainall, how does your lady? gad, I say any thing in the world to get this fellow out of my head. I beg pardon, that I should ask a man of pleasure, and the town, a question at once so foreign and domestic. But I talk like an old maid at a marriage; I don't know what I say: but she is the best woman in the world.

Fain. Twas well you don't know what you say, or else your commendation would go near to make me either vain or jealous.

Wit. No man in town lives well with a wife but Fainall. Your judgment, Mirabell?

fore he speaks; we have all our failings: you are too hard upon him; you are, faith. Let me excuse him—I can defend most of his faults, except one or two; one he has, that's the truth on't; if he were my brother, I could not acquit him—that, indeed, I could wish were otherwise.

Mira. Aye marry, what's that, Witwould? Wit. O pardon me ! expose the infirmities of a friend! No, my dear, excuse me there.

Fain. What, I warrant he's insincere, or 'tis some such trifle.

Wit. No, no; what if he be? 'tis no matter for that; his wit will excuse that; a wit should

Mira. You had better step and ask his wife, no more be sincere, than a woman constant; one

if you would be credibly informed.

Wit. Mirabell

Mira. Aye

Wit. My dear, I ask ten thousand pardons; gad, I have forgot what I was going to say to you.

Mira. I thank you heartily, heartily.

Wit. No, but prithee, excuse me-my memory is such a memory.

Mira. Have you a care of such apologies, Witwould; for I never knew a fool but he affected to complain, either of the spleen or his me

mory.

Fain. What have you done with Petulant? Wit. He's reckoning his money; my money it was- -I have had no luck to-day.

Fain. You may allow him to win of you at play; for you are sure to be too hard for him at repartee: Since you monopolize the wit, that is between you, the fortune must be his of

course.

Mira. I don't find, that Petulant confesses the superiority of wit to be your talent, Witwould.

Wit. Come, come, you are malicious now, and would breed debates-Petulant's my friend, and a very pretty fellow, and a very honest fellow, and has a smattering- -faith and troth a pretty deal of an odd sort of small wit: nay, I do him justice, I'm his friend, I won't wrong him. And, if he had any judgement in the world, he would not be altogether contemptible. Come, come, don't detract from the merits of my friend.

Fain. You don't take your friend to be overnicely bred?

argues a want of parts, as t'other of beauty.
Mira. May be you think him too positive?
Wit. No, no, his being positive is an incentive
to argument, and keeps up conversation.
Fain. Too illiterate.

Wit. That! that's his happiness-his want of learning gives him the more opportunity to shew his natural parts.

Mira. He wants words.

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Wit. No, no, hang him, the rogue has no man-bas, and a procuress troubled with wind. Now, ners at all, that I must own-No more breed-you may know what the three are. ing than a bum-baily, that I grant you-'Tis pity; the fellow has fire and life.

Mira. What, courage?

Mira. You are very free with your friend's acquaintance.

Wit. Aye, aye, friendship without freedom is Wit. Hum, faith I don't know as to that, as dull as love without enjoyment, or wine withcan't say as to that. Yes, faith, in controversy, he'll contradict any body.

Mira. Though it were a man, whom he feared; or a woman, whom he loved.

Wit. Well, well, he does not always think be

out toasting; but, to tell you a secret, these are trulls, whom he allows coach-hire, and something more, by the week, to call on him once a day at public places.

Mira. How!

Wit. You shall see he wont go to them, because there's no more company here to take no- | tice of him. Why this is nothing to what he used to do: before he found out this way, I have known him call for himself

Fain. Call for himself! what dost thou mean? Wit. Mean! why he would slip you out of this chocolate-house, just when you had been talking to him. As soon as your back was turnedwhip he was gone; then trip to his lodging, clap on a hood and a scarf, and a mask, slap into a hackney-coach, and drive hither to the door again in a trice; where he would send in for himself, that is, I mean, call for himself, wait for himself, nay, and what's more, not finding himself, sometimes leave a letter for himself.

Mira. I confess this is something extraordinary. I believe he waits for himself now, he is so long a coming: O, I ask his pardon.

Enter PETULANT and BETTY. Bet. Sir, the coach stays.

Pet. Well, well; I come-'Sbud, a man had as good be a professed midwife, as a professed gallant, at this rate; to be knocked up, and raised at all hours, and in all places. Deuce on them, I wont come-D'ye hear, tell them I wont come -Let them snivel and cry their hearts [Erit BETTY. Fain. You are very cruel, Petulant. Pet. All's one, let it pass―I have a humour to be cruel.

out.

Mira. I hope they are not persons of condition, that you use at this rate.

Pet. Condition! condition's a dried fig, if I am not in humour- -By this hand, if they were your- -a- -a-your what-d'ye-call-'ems themselves, they must wait, or rub off, if I am not in the vein.

Mira. What-d'ye-call-'ems! what are they, Witwould?

Wit. Empresses, my dearBy your what-
d'ye-call-'ems he means Sultana queens.
Pet. Aye, Roxalanas!

Mira. Cry you mercy.
Fain. Witwould says they are-
Pet. What does he say they are ?
Wit. I? fine ladies, I say.

Pet. Pass on, Witwould-Harkee, by this light his relations-Two co-heiresses, his cousins, and an old aunt, who loves intriguing better than a conventicle.

Wit. Ha, ha, ha! I had a mind to see how the rogue would come off-Ha, ha, ha! gad, I can't be angry with him, if he had said they were my mother and my sisters.

Mira. No!

|

Pet. Enough, let them trundle. Anger helps complexion, saves paint.

Fain. This continence is all dissembled; this is in order to have something to brag of the next time he makes court to Millamant, and swear he has abandoned the whole sex for her sake.

Mira. Have you not left off your impudent pretensions there yet? I shall cut your throat, some time or other, Petulant, about that business. -There are

Pet. Aye, aye, let that passother throats to be cut

Mira. Meaning mine, sir?

Pet. Not I; I mean nobody; I know nothing; But there are uncles and nephews in the world; and there may be rivals-What, then? all's one for that

|
Mira. Now, harkee, Petulant, come hither-
Explain, or I shall call your interpreter,

Pet. Explain ! I know nothingWhy you have an uncle, have you not, lately come to town, and lodges by my lady Wishfort's?

Mira. True.

Pet. Why that's enough; you and he are not friends: and if he should marry and have a child, you may be disinherited, ha !

Mira. Where hast thou stumbled upon all this truth!

Pet, All's one for that; why, then, say I know something.

Mira. Come, thou art an honest fellow, Petulant, and shalt make love to my mistress; thou shalt, faith. What hast thou heard of my uncle?

Pet. I ! nothing; I! If throats are to be cut, let swords clash: snug's the word; I shrug and am silent.

Mira. O raillery, raillery! Come, I know thou art in the women's secrets—what, you're a cabalist? I know you staid at Millamant's last night, after I went. Was there any mention made of my uncle or me? tell me. If thou hadst but good nature equal to thy wit, Petulant, Tony Witwould, who is now thy competitor in fame, would shew as dim by thee as a dead whiting's eye by a pearl of orient; he would no more be seen by thee, than Mercury is by the sun. Come, I'm sure thou wo't tell me.

Pet. If I do, will you grant me common sense, then, for the future?

Mira. Faith I'll do what I can for thee; and I'll pray that it may be granted thee in the mean time.

Pet. Well, harkee.

[They talk apart. Fain. Petulant and you, both, will find Mirabell as warm a rival as a lover.

Wit. 'Pshaw, 'pshaw! that she laughs at Pe

Wit. No; the rogue's wit and readiness of in- tulant, is plain. And, for my part-but that it is vention charm me, dear Petulant.

Enter BETTY.

Bet. They are gone, sir, in great anger.

almost a fashion to admire her, I shouldharkee-to tell you a secret, but let it go no farther-between friends, I shall never break my heart for her.

Fain. How!

Mira. I thank you, I know as much as my

Wit. She's handsome; but she's a sort of an curiosity requires. Fainall, are you for the

uncertain woman.

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Wit. 'Tis what she will hardly allow any body else-now, I should hate that, if she were as handsome as Cleopatra. Mirabell is not so sure of her, as he thinks for.

Fain. Why do you think so?

Wit. We staid pretty late there last night; and heard something of an uncle to Mirabell, who is lately come to town, and is between him and the best part of his estate; Mirabell and he are at some distance, as my lady Wishfort has been told; and, you know, she hates Mirabell worse than a quaker hates a parrot, or than a fishmonger hates a hard frost. Whether this uncle has seen Mrs Millamant or not, I cannot say; but there were items of such a treaty being in embryo; and, if it should come to life, poor Mirabell would be, in some sort, unfortunately fobbed, i'faith!

Fain. Tis impossible Millamant should hearken to it.

Wit. Faith, my dear, I can't tell; she's a woman, and a kind of a humourist.

Mira. And this is the sum of what you could collect last night?

Pet. The quintessence. May be Witwould knows more; he staid longer-besides, they never mind him; they say any thing before him. Mira. I thought you had been the greatest favourite.

Pet. Aye, tête à tête; but not in public, because I make remarks.

Mira. You do?

Pet. Aye, aye; I'm malicious, man. Now, he's soft, you know; they are not in awe of him -the fellow's well-bred; he's what you call a— what d'ye-call them, a fine gentleman; but he's silly withal.

Mall?

Fain. Aye, I'll take a turn before dinner. Wit. Aye, we'll all walk in the park; the ladies talk of being there.

Mira. I thought you were obliged to watch for your brother sir Wilfull's arrival.

Wit. No, no; he comes to his aunt's, my lady Wishfort: plague on him, I shall be troubled with him, too; what shall I do with the fool?

Pet. Beg him for his estate, that I may beg you afterwards; and so have but one trouble with you both.

Wit. O rare Petulant! thou art as quick as fire in a frosty morning; thou shalt to the Mall with us, and we'll be very severe.

Pet. Enough, I'm in a humour to be severe. Mira. Are you? Pray, then, walk by your selves-let not us be accessary to your putting the ladies out of countenance with your senseless ribaldry, which you roar out aloud as often as they pass by you; and, when you have made a handsome woman blush, then you think you have been severe.

Pet. What, what? then let them either shew their innocence, by not understanding what they hear, or else shew their discretion by not hearing what they would not be thought to under

stand.

Mira. But hast not thou, then, sense enough to know, that thou ought'st to be most ashamed thyself, when thou hast put another out of countenance?

Pet. Not I, by this hand- -I always take blushing either for a sign of guilt, or ill-breeding. You

Mira. I confess you ought to think so. are in the right, that you may plead the error of your judgment, in defence of your practice. Where modesty's ill manners, 'tis but fit That impudence and malice pass for wit. [Exeunt,

SCENE I-St James's Park.

ACT II.

Enter MRS FAINALL, and MRS MARWOOD. Mrs Fain. AYE, aye, dear Marwood, if we will be happy, we must find the means in ourselves, and among ourselves. Men are ever in extremes; either doating, or averse. While they are lovers, if they have fire and sense, their jealousies are insupportable: and, when they cease to love, (we ought to think at least) they lothe they look upon us with horror and distaste; they meet us like the ghosts of what we were, and, as from such, fly from us.

Mrs Mar. True; 'tis an unhappy circumstance of life, that love should ever die before

us; and that the man so often should outlive the lover. But, say what you will, 'tis better to be left, than never to have been loved. To pass our youth in dull indifference, to refuse the sweets of life, because they once must leave us, is as preposterous, as to wish to have been born old, because we one day must be old. For my part, my youth may wear and waste, but it shall never rust in my possession.

Mrs Fain. Then, it scems, you dissemble an aversion to mankind, only in compliance to my mother's humour.

Mrs Mar. Certainly. To be free; I have no taste of those insipid, dry discourses, with which our sex, of force, must entertain themselves

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