Dupe. Who, in the name of curiosity, is she | be had, you need not be in such haste about that bears this romantic title? for your letter them-Mercy on us! my fête has turned this was a mere eclogue; the devil a thing could I poor fellow's head already, he will certainly get make out, but a rhapsody upon rural inno- a fever. cence, and an invitation from a gentleman I did not know, to an entertainment I never saw What, are we to have a representation of the pastor-fido in a garden. Sir Har. The pastor-fido is before you in propria persona; the business of the day is a wedding-and Charles Dupeley is invited to see his friend, Sir Harry Groveby, united to the most charming of her sex. Dupe. The devil it is! What a young fellow of your hopes and fortune, sacrificed to a marriage of romance!-But, pr'ythee, relieve my impatience, and tell me who she is. Sir Har. An orphan ward of the worthy old gentleman, at whose seat you now are: his character is singular, and as amiable in its way as her's. Inheriting a great estate, and liberally educated, his disposition led him early to a country life, where his benevolence and hospitality are boundless; and these qualities, joined with an imagination bordering upon the whimsical, have given a peculiar turn to the manners of the neighbourhood, that, in my opinion, degrades the polish of courts-but judge of the original. Enter OLDWORTH. Mr. Oldworth, I present you my friend; he is just arrived from abroad; I will not repeat how much he is worthy of your friendship. -Sir, Old. To be worthy of your's, Sir Harry, is the best recommendation. [To DUPELEY.]your friend, is going to receive from my hands, a lovely girl, whose merit he has discerned and loved for its own sake: Such nuptials should recall the ideas of a better age, he has permitted me to celebrate them upon my own plan, and shall be happy to receive the judgment of an accomplished critic. I Hurry. Get a favour, sir!—why there has not been one left these three hours; all the girls in the parish have been scrambling for them, and I must get a hundred yards more-Lord a mercy! there is so much to do at once, and nobody to do it, that it is enough to moider one's head. [OLDWORTH and HURRY talk together. Dupe. Ha, ha, ha! is this one of the examples you produce, Sir Harry, to degrade the polish of courts? Sir Har. If I did, have you never met with a courtier in your travels, as busy, as important, and as insignificant, upon yet more trifling occasions?-Why, my friend Hurry is the true bustle of an anti-chamber, with this difference, that there is rather more attachment and fidelity to the master at the bottom of it. [During this speech HURRY is expressing, by his action, his impatience for OLDWORTH to go. Hurry. La, sir, if you loiter longer, I tell you, they will all be at loggerheads-they were [Exit. very near it when I came away. Ŏld. Mr. Dupely, you'll excuse me-Hurry convinces me my presence is necessary elsewhere-this is a busy day! me, Dupe. The greatest compliment you can pay is not to look upon me as a stranger. Old. I forgot to tell you, Sir Harry, that Lady Bab Lardoon is in the neighbourhood, and Í expect her every moment she promised to be with us long before the hour of general invi tation. Dupe. Who is she, pray? Sir Har. Oh, she's a superior!—a phoenix!more worthy your curiosity than any object of your travels!-She is an epitome, or rather a caricature of what is called very fine life, and the first female gamester of the time. Old. For all that, she is amiable--one cannot Dupe. Sir, by what I already see of Old-help discerning and admiring the natural excelworth's Oaks, and know of the character of the master, I am persuaded the talent most necessary for the company will be that of giving due praise. Enter HURRY. Hurry. Lord, sir, come down to the building directly all the trades are together by the ears -it is for all the world like the tower of Babylon-they have drove a broad-wheel waggon over two hampers of wine, and it is all running among lilies and honey-suckles-one of the cooks stumbled over one of the clouds, and threw a ham and chickens into a tub of white wash-a lamplighter spilt a gallon of oil into a creamed apple-tart, and they have sent for more roses, and there is not one left within twenty miles. Old. Why, honest Hurry, if there is none to lence of her heart and understanding; though she is an example, that neither is proof against a false education, and a rage for fashionable excesses-But when you see her, she will best explain herself-This fellow will give me no rest. Enter HURRY. Hurry. Rest, sir, why I have not slept this fortnight; come along, sir, pray make hastenothing's to be done without it. Old. Nor with it, honest Hurry. [Exit with HURRY. Dupe. A cunning old fellow, I warrant !with his ward, and his love of merit for its own sake'-ha, ha, ha!—pr'ythee, how came your acquaintance in this odd family? Sir Har. Don't sneer, and I will tell you By mere chance, in a progress of amusement to drama from the days of Terence, to those of this side of the country: The story is too deli- Congreve; though not perhaps with quite so cate for thy relish, suffice it, that I came, saw, much good humour, and so little obstinacy as my and loved-I laid my rank and fortune at the uncle shews. He is ever most impetuous, when fair one's feet, and would have married instant-most kind; and I dare trust his resentment will ly; but that Oldworth opposed my precipitancy, and insisted upon a probation of six months absence-It has been a purgatory! Dupe. All this is perfectly en regle for a man of home education-I should like to see the woman that could entangle me in this manner. end with a dramatic forgiveness. Should it not, I may have pride in the sacrifice of his estate, but no regret-So much for fortune, Charlesare there any other means to reconcile me to your approbation? -Have Dupe. 'Gad, I know but one moreyou laid any plan for succeeding at the divorceshop next winter?- It would be some comfort to your friends, to see you had a retreat in your head. Sir Har. There is not a fellow in England has a more susceptible heart: you may have learnt in your foreign tour to disguise it, but if you have lost it, put all your acquisitions together, and the balance will be against you. Sir Har. Charles, I have listened to your railDupe. I have learned at least, not to have itlery with more patience than it deserves, and imposed upon-Shew me but a woman, from an should at last be out of humour with such an Italian princess, to a figurante at the French importation of conceit and affectation, if I was opera; or change the scene, and carry me to the not sure your good sense would soon get the betrural nymphs from a vintage in Burgundy, to a ter of it. This is called knowing the world-to dance round a maypole at Oldworth's Oaks form notions without, perhaps, ever seeing a and, at the first glance, I will discover the man in his natural character, or conversing with whole extent of their artifice, find their truc a woman of principle; and then, for fear of belure, and bring them to my hand as easily as a ing imposed upon, be really duped out of the sparrow. most valuable feelings in human nature, confidence in friendship, and esteem in love. Sir Har. And, pray, my sagacious friend, upon what circumstances have you formed your suspicions, that I am more likely to be imposed upon than yourself? Dupe. Upon every one I have seen and heard; but above all, upon that natural propensity of every true home-bred Englishman, to think one woman different to another-Now I hold there is but one woman in the world. Sir Har. I perfectly agree, and Maria is that charming one. Dupe. Ay, but Maria, and Lady Bab, and Pamela Andrews, and Clarissa Harlowe, and the girl that steals a heart in a country church, or she that picks your pocket in Covent-Garden, are one and the same creature for all that-I am always too quick for them, and make fools of them first-Oh do but try them by the principle I have laid down, you'll find them as transparent as glass. Sir Har. My own principle will answer my purpose just as well; with that perspective I have looked through the woman, and discovered the angel; and you will do the same, when you see her, or never brag of your eyesight more. Dupe. Rhapsody and enthusiasm!—I should as soon discover Mahomet's seventh heaven; but what says your uncle, Old Groveby, to this match? Sir Har. Faith, I have asked him no questions, and why should I? when I know what must be his answer. Dupe. Oh, he can never disapprove a passion -that soars above the stars! Enter HURRY. Hurry. Lord, sir, I am out of breath to find you-why, almost every thing is ready, except yourself; and, Madam Maria, is gone to the Grove, and she is so dressed, and looks so charming. Sir Har. Propititious be the hour!-Here, find out this gentleman's servant, and shew him where he is to dress.. [Exit. Dupe. Oh, take care of yourself, Corydon, the first--I shall be time enough; Hurry shall first shew me a little of the preparation-what is go ing forward here? [Approaching the side scene. Hurry. Hold, sir, not that way-my master lets nobody see his devices and figaries there. Dupe. Why, what is he doing there, Hurry? Hurry. Doing!-as you are a gentleman, I will tell you what he is doing-I hope nobody hears us. [Looking about.] Why, he is going to make the sun shine at midnight, and he is covering it with a thousand yards of sail cloth, for fear the rain should put it out-Lord, such doings!-here, this way, your honour. Dupe. But, harkye, honest Hurry, do stand still a moment to oblige me. Hurry. Stand still, sir!—lord, sir, if I stand still, every thing stands still, and then what a fine sham-peter should we make of it! [Always restless. Dupe. You seem to know every thing here? Hurry. To be sure I do-I am no fool, 1 believe-what think you, sir? Sir Har. He has all the prejudices of his years, Dupe. He that takes you for a fool, is not over and worldly knowledge; the common old gen-wise, I warrant him; therefore let me ask you a tleman's character-You may see it in every question or two. Harry. To-morrow, sir, with all my heart; | I shan't have enough to make the sky clear in but I have so many questions to ask myself, the saloon-that damned Irish painter has made and so many answers to give, that I have not his ground so dingy, one might as soon make his five minutes to spare. head transparent as his portico. Dupe. Three minutes will do my business: Who is this Maid of the Oaks, friend Hurry? Hurry. A young lady, sir. Dupe. I thought as much. [Smiling.] You are a courtier, friend Hurry. Hurry. I court her!-heaven forbid !- she's going to be married, sir. Dupe. Well said, simplicity! If you won't tell me who she is, tell me what she is? Hurry. She is one of the most charmingest, sweetest, delightfulest, mildest, beautifulest, modestest, genteelest, never to be praised enough, young creature all in the world! Dupe. True courtier again! Who is her father, pray? Hurry. It is a wise child that knows its own father-Lord bless her! she does not want a ther. Dupe. Not while Mr. Oldworth lives. Enter Irish Painter. Paint. Arrah! what is it you say of my headMr. Lamp-lighter? 2d Lamp. I say you have spoil'd the transparency by putting black, where you should have put blue. Paint. [Dabbing his brush across his face.] There's a black eye for you; and you may be thankful you got it so easily-Trot away with your ladder upon your shoulder, or the devil fire me but you shall have black and blue both my dear. Arch. [Returning] Good words, good words, gentlemen; no quarrelling-Your servant, Mr. fa-O'Daub; upon my word you have hit off those ornaments very well-the first painter we have here could not have done better. Hurry. Nor when he is dead neither; every body would be glad to be her father, and every body wishes to be her husband; and so, sir if you have more questions to ask, I'll answer them another time, for I am wanted here, and there, and every where. [Bustles about. Dupe. Shew me my chamber to dress, and I'll desire no more of you at present. Harry. Bless your honour for letting me go; I have been very miserable all the while you were talking to me-this way, this way, sir. [Exit. Dupe. What a character!-yet he has his cunning, though the simplest swain in this region of perfect innocence, as Sir Harry calls itha, ba, ha! [Exit. Arch. You a scene painter! Paint. Ay, by my soul was I, and for foreign countries too. Arch. Where was that, pray. Paint. Faith, I painted a whole set for the Swish, who carries the temple of Jerusalem about upon his back, and it made his fortune, though he got but a halfpenny a-piece for his shew Arch. [Ironically.] I wish we had known your merits, you should certainly have been employed in greater parts of the work. Paint. And by my soul, it would have been better for you if you had—I would have put out Mr. Lanterbug's stars with one dash of my pen SCENE II.—An outside Building, Workmen of cil, by making them five times more bright-Ho! all sorts passing to-and-fro. if you had seen the sign of a setting sun, that I painted for a linen draper, in Bread-street, in Dublin-Devil burn me but the Auroree of Architect as speaking to Persons at work behind | O'Guide was a fool to it. the Side Scenes. Arch. Come, bustle away, my lads, strike the scaffold, and then for the twelve o'clock tankard; up with the rest of the festoons there on the top of the columns. 1st Gard. Holloa! you, sir, where are you running with those flowers? 2d Gard. They're wanted for the arcades; we can have no deceit there-if you want more here, you may make them of paper-any thing will go off by candle-light. 1st Lamp. [Running.] They want above a hundred more lamps yonder, for the illumination of the portico. 2d Lamp. Then they may get tallow-candles; Arch. O'Guide!-Who is he? Guido, I suppose you mean. Paint. And if he has an O to his name, what signifies whether it comes before or behindFaith I put it like my own of O'Daub, on the right side, to make him sound more like a gentleman-besides it is more melodious in the mouth, honey. Enter Carpenters, &c. 1st Car. Well. Sir, the scaffold's down, and we are woundy dry-we have toil'd like horses. Arch. Rest you merry, Master Carpentertake a draught of the Squire's liquor, and welcome, you shall swim in it, when all is over. lovely queen; Paint. Fait, let me have one merry quarter | Heav'n bless her sweet face! 'tis a sight for the of an hour before we at it again, and it will be no loss of time neither—we will make the next quarter after, as good as an hour-and so his honour and the sham-pater will gain by the loss. 1st Gar. Well said, O’Daub! and if you will give us the song you made, the quarter of an hour will be merrier still. Arch. Can you rhime, O'Daub? Paint. Yes, fait, as well as paint-all the difference is, I do one with a brush, and t'other with a pen; I do one with my head, and both with my hands—and if any of the poets of them all can produce better rhymes and raisins too within the gardens, I'll be content to have one of my own brushes rammed down my throat, and so spoil me for a singer, as well as a poet, hereafter. Arch. Well said, master Painter! For lords, and for earls, and for gentlefolks too, my power to gratify, I hope, in this last hour of my cares, I shall not be a stranger to it. Maria. If I have a wish you have not indulged, sir, I fear it must have been an improper one, or it would not have escaped you. Old. You seem disconcerted, Maria, be more explicit. Maria. My mind is incapable of reserve with you; the most generous of men, is on the point of giving his hand to your what shall I call myself? I am almost nameless, but as the creature of your bounty and cares, this title gives me a value in my own eyes; but I fear it is all I have to boast. The mystery you have kept, makes me apprehensive there is something in my origin ought to be concealed -what am I to interpret from your smiles? Old. Every thing that is contrary to your surmises: be patient, sweet Maid of the Oaks; before night, all mysteries shall be cleared. It is not an ordinary wedding I celebrate, I prepare a feast for the heart-Lady Bab Lardoon, as I live!-the princess of dissipation! catch an observation of her while you can, Maria; for though she has been but three days out of London, she is as uneasy as a mole in sunshine, and would expire, if she did not soon dive into her old element again, Enter LADY BAB, Lady Bab. Dear Maria, I am happy to be the first of your company to congratulate youWell, Mr. Oldworth, I am delighted with the idea of your fête; it is so novel, so French, so expressive of what every body understands, and no body can explain; then there is something so spirited in an undertaking of expense, where a shower of rain would spoil it all. Old. I did not expect to escape from so fine a lady, but you and the world have free leave to comment upon all you see here. Laugh where you must, be candid where you can. I only hope that to celebrate a joyful event upon any plan, that neither hurts the morals, or politeness of the company, and at the same time, sets thousands of the industrious to work, cannot be thought blame worthy. Lady Bab. Oh, quite the contrary, and I am sure it will have a run; a force upon the seasons and the manners is the true test of a refined tast, and it holds good from a cucumber at Christmas, to on Italian opera: Maria. Is the rule the same among the ladies, Lady Bab? is it also a definition of their refinement to act in all things contrary to nature? Lady Bab. Not absolutely in all things, though more so than people are apt to imagine; for even in circumstances that seem most natural, fashion prompts ten times, where inclination prompts once; and there would be an end of gallantry at once in this country, if it was not for the sake of reputation. Old. What do you mean? Lady Bab. Why, that a woman, without a connection, grows every day a more awkward personage; one might as well go into company without powder-if one does not really despise old vulgar prejudices, it is absolutely necessary to affect it, or one must sit at home alone. Old. Indeed! Lady Bab. Yes, like Lady Sprose, and talk morals to the parrot. Maria. This is new, indeed; I always supposed, that in places where freedom of manners was most countenanced, a woman of unimpeached conduct carried a certain respect. Lady Bab. Only fit for sheepwalks and oakeries!-I beg your pardon, Mr. Oldworthin town it would just raise you to the whist party of old Lady Cypher, Mrs. Squabble, and Lord Flimzy; and at every public place, you would stand amongst the footmen to call your own chair, while all the macaronies passed by, whistling a song through their toothpicks, and giving a shrug dem it, 'tis pity that so fine a woman should be lost to all common decency.' Maria. [Smiling.] I believe I had better stay in the oakery, as you call it; for I am afraid I shall never procure any civility in town, upon the terms required. Lady Bab. Oh, my dear, you have chose a horrid word to express the intercourse of the bon ton; civility may be very proper in a mercer, when one is chusing a silk, but familiarity is the life of good company. I believe this is quite new since your time, Mr. Oldworth, but 'tis by far the greatest improvement the beau monde ever made. Old. A certain ease was always an essential part of good breeding; but Lady Bab must explain her meaning a little further, before we can decide upon the improvement. Lady Bab. I mean that participation of society, in which the French used to excel, and we have now so much outdone our modelsI maintain, that among the superior set—mind, only speak of them-our men and women are put more upon a footing together in London, than they ever were before in any age or country. Old. And, pray, how has this happy revolu tion been effected? Lady Bab. By the most charming of all institutions, wherein we shew the world, that liberty is as well understood by our women, as by our men; we have our Bill of Rights and our Constitution too, as well as they—we drop in at all hours, play at all parties, pay our own reckonings, and in every circumstance (petticoats excepted) are true, lively, jolly fellows. Maria, But does not this give occasion to a thousand malicious insinuations? Lady Bab. Ten thousand, my dear-but no |