Wit. Ay; but I like him for that now; for his want of words gives me the pleasure very often to explain his meaning. Fain. He's impudent. Wit. No, that's not it. Mira. Vain? Wit. No.

Mira. What, he speaks unseasonable truths sometimes, because he has not wit enough to invent an evasion?

Wit. Truth! ha, ha, ha! No, no; since you will have it-I mean, he never speaks truth at all, that's all. He will lie like a chambermaid, or a woman of quality's porter. Now that is a fault.

A Coachman enlers.

Coach Is Master Petulant here, mistress?
Betty. Yes.

Coach. Three gentlewomen in a coach would speak with him.

Fain. O brave Petulant! three!
Betty. I'll tell him.

Coach. You must bring two dishes of chocolate and a glass of cinnamon water.

[Exeunt Coachman and BETTY. Wit. That should be for two fasting bona robas, and a procuress troubled with wind. Now you may know what the three are.

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

Wit. Ay, ay, friendship without freedom is as dull as love without enjoyment, or wine without 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 won't go to 'em, because there's no more company here to take notice of him. Why this is nothing to what he used to do: before he found out this way, I have known him to 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 turn'd-whip he was gone; then trip to his lodging, clap on a hood and scarf, and a mask, slip 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.

PETULANT and BETTY enter.

Betty. 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 'em, I won't come-D'ye hear, tell 'em I won't come -Let 'em snivel and cry their hearts out. [Exit BETTY. Fain. You are very cruel, Petulant. Pet. All's one, let it pass--I have a humour to be cruel.

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 dear-By your whatd'ye-call-'ems he means sultana queens. Pet. Ay, 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-Hark'e, 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 cann't be angry with him, if he had said they were my mother and my sisters.

Mira. No?

Wit. No; the rogue's wit and readiness of invention charm me.-Dear Petulant!

BETTY enters.

Betty. They are gone, sir, in great anger. Pet. Enough, let 'em 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. Pet. Ay, ay, let that pass- -There are other 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 they may be rivals-What then, all's one for that

Mira. Now, hark'e, Petulant, come hitherExplain, or I shall call your interpreter.

Pet. Explain! I know nothing-Why 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?

5

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 hast but goodnature 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, hark'e. [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 Petulant is plain. And for my part-But that it is almost a fashion to admire her, I should-lark'e -To tell you a secret, but let it go no fartherBetween friends, I shall never break my heart for her.

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 an 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. Ay, tete-a-tête, but not in public, because I make remarks.

Mira. You do?

Pet. Ay, ay; I'm malicious, man. Now he's soft, you know; they are not in awe of himThe fellow's well-bred; he's what you call awhat-d'ye call-'em, a fine gentleman; but he's silly withal.

Mira. I thank you, I know as much as my curiosity requires. Fainall, are you for the Mall? Fain. Ay, I'll take a turn before dinner.

Wit. Ay, 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 Wilful's arrival.

Wit. No, no; he comes to his aunt's, my Lady Wishfort's; 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 am in a humour to be severe. Mira. Are you? Pray then walk by yourselves. Let not us be accessary to your putting the ladics 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 'em 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 understand.

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 counte nance?

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

Mira. I confess you ought to think so. You 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.

Mrs FAINALL and Mrs MARWOOD enter. Mrs Fuin. Ay, ay, dear Marwood, if we will be happy, we must find the means in ourselves, and among ourselves. Men are ever in extremes, either doting 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 loath: 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 pos

session.

Mrs Fain. Then it seems 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 apart from men. We may affect endearments to each other, profess eternal friendships, and seem to dote like lovers, but 'tis not in our natures long to persevere. Love will resume his empire in our breasts, and every heart, or soon or late, receive and re-admit him as its lawful tyrant.

Mrs Fuin. Bless me, how have I been deceived? Why, you're a professed libertine.

Mrs Mur. You see my friendship by my freedom. Come, be as sincere, acknowledge that your sentiments agree with mine.

Mrs Fain. Never.

Mrs Mar. You hate mankind?

Mrs Fain. Heartily, inveterately.

Mrs Mar. Your husband?

Mrs Fain. Most transcendently; ay, though I say it, meritoriously.

Mrs Mar. Give me your hand upon it.
Mrs Fain. There.

Mrs Mar. I join with you; what I have said has been to try you.

Mrs Fain. Is it possible? Dost thou hate those vipers men?

Mrs Mar. I have done hating 'em, and am now come to despise 'em. The next thing I have to do, is eternally to forget them.

Mrs Fain. There spoke the spirit of an Amazon, a Penthesilea.

Mrs Mar. And yet I am thinking sometimes to carry my aversion farther. Mrs Fain. How?

Mrs Mar. By marrying; if I could but find one that loved me very well, and would be thoroughly sensible of ill usage, I think I should do myself the violence of undergoing the ceremony. Mrs Fain. You would not dishonour him? Mrs Mar. No: but I'd make him believe I did, and that's as bad.

Mrs Fain. Why had you not as good do it? Mrs Mar. O if he should ever discover it, he would then know the worst, and be out of his pain; but I would have him ever to continue upon the rack of fear and jealousy.

Mrs Fuin. Ingenious mischief! would thou wert married to Mirabell!

Mrs Mar. Would I were.
Mrs Fain. You change colour.
Mrs Mar. Because I hate him.

Mrs Fain. So do I ; but I can hear him named. -But what reason have you to hate him in particular?

Mrs Mar. I never loved him; he is, and always was, insufferably proud.

Mrs Fain. By the reason you give for your aversion, one would think it dissembled; for you have laid a fault to his charge, of which his enemies must acquit him.

Mrs Mar. O, then it seems you are one of his favourable enemies. Methinks you look a little pale, and now you flush again.

Mrs Fain. Do I? I think I am a little sick o' the sudden.

Mrs Mar. What ails you?

you see

Mrs Fain. My husband. Don't see him? He turned short upon me unawares, and has al

most overcome me.

FAINALL and MIRABELL enter.

Mrs Mar. Ha, ha, ha! he comes opportunely for you.

Mrs Fain. For you, for he has brought Mirabell with him.

Fain. My dear!

Mrs Fain. My soul!

Fain. You don't look well to-day, child.
Mrs Fain. D'ye think so?

Mira. He's the only man that does, madam. Mrs Fain. The only man that would tell me so at least; and the only man from whom I could hear it without mortification.

Fain. O, my dear, I am satisfied of your tenderness; I know you cannot resent any thing from me; especially what is an effect of my con

cern.

Mrs Fain. Mr Mirabell, my mother interrupted you in a pleasant relation last night; I could fain hear it out.

Mira. The persons concerned in this affair, have yet a tolerable reputation. I am afraid Mr Fainall will be censorious.

Mrs Fain. He has a humour more prevailing than his curiosity, and will willingly dispense with the hearing of one scandalous story, to avoid giving an occasion to make another, by being seen to walk with his wife. This way, Mr Mirabell, and I dare promise you will oblige us both.

[Exeunt Mrs FAINALL and MIRABELL. Fuin. Excellent creature! Well, sure, if I should live to be rid of my wife, I should be a miserable man.

Mrs Mar. Ay!

Fain. For, having only that one hope, the accomplishment of it, of consequence, must put an end to all my hopes; and what a wretch is he who must survive his hopes! Nothing remains when that day comes, but to sit down and weep like Alexander, when he wanted other worlds to conquer.

Mrs Mar. Will you not follow 'em?
Fain. No, I think not.

Mrs Mar. Pray let us; I have a reason.
Fain. You are not jealous?

Mrs Mur. Of whom?
Fain. Of Mirabell.

Fain. That I have been deceived, madam, and you are false.

Mrs Mar. That I am false ! What mean you? Fain. To let you know, I see through all your little arts-Come, you both love him; and both have equally dissembled your aversion. Your mutual jealousies of one another have made you clash till you have both struck fire. I have seen the warm confession reddening on your cheeks and sparkling from your eyes.

Mrs Mar. You do me wrong.

Fain. I do not- 'Twas for my ease to oversee and wilfully neglect the gross advances made him by my wife; that, by permitting her to be engaged, I might continue unsuspected in my pleasures, and take you oftener to my arms in full security. But could you think, because the nodding husband would not wake, that e'er the watchful lover slept?

Mrs Mar. And wherewithal can you reproach me?

Fain. With infidelity, with loving another, with love of Mirabell.

Mrs Mar. 'Tis false! I challenge you to shew an instance that can confirm your groundless accusation. I hate him.

Mrs Mar. Shame and ingratitude! Do you reproach me? You, you upbraid me? Have I been false to her through strict fidelity to you, and sacrificed my friendship to keep my love inviolate, and have you the baseness to charge me with the guilt, unmindful of the merit? To you it should be meritorious, that I have been vicious, and do you reflect that guilt upon me which should lie buried in your bosom?

Fain. You misinterpret my reproof. I meant but to remind you of the slight account you once could make of strictest ties, when set in competition with your love to me.

Mrs Mar. 'Tis false; you urged it with deliberate malice-'Twas spoke in scorn, and I never will forgive it.

Fain. Your guilt, not your resentment, begets your rage. If yet you loved, you could forgive a jealousy: but you are stung to find you are dis

covered.

Mrs Mar. It shall be all discovered. You too shall be discovered; be sure you shall. I can buț be exposed-If I do it myself, I shall prevent your baseness.

Fain. Why, what will you do?

Mrs Mar. Disclose it to your wife; own what has past between us.

Fuin. Frenzy!

Mrs Mar. By all my wrongs I'll do’t—I'll publish to the world the injuries you have done me, both in my fame and fortune; with both I trusted you! you, bankrupt in honour, as indigent of wealth!

Fain. Your fame I have preserved. Your for tune has been bestowed as the prodigality of your love would have it, in pleasures which we both have shared. Yet, had not you been false, I had ere this repaid it-'Tis true-had you permitted Mirabell with Millamant to have stolen their marriage, my lady had been incensed be yond all means of reconcilement; Millamant had forfeited the moiety of her fortune, which then would have descended to my wife-And wherefore did I marry, but to make lawful prize of a