own disposal, and before you had by your insinuations wheedled her out of a pretended settlement of the greatest part of her fortune Fain. Sir! pretended! Mira. Yes, sir, I say that this lady, while a widow, having, it seems, received some cautions respecting your inconstancy and tyranny of temper, which, from her own partial opinion and fondness of you she could never have suspected -She did, I say, by the wholesome advice of friends, and of sages learned in the laws of this land, deliver this same as her act and deed to me in trust, and to the uses within mentioned. You may read if you please-[Holding out the parchment]-though perhaps what is written on the back may serve your occasions. Fain. Very likely, sir. What's here? Damnation! [Reads.] “A deed of conveyance of the whole estate real of Arabella Languish, widow, in trust, to Edward Mirabell."-Confusion! Mira. Even so, sir: 'tis "The Way of the World,” sir; of the widows of the world. I sup- | pose this deed may bear an elder date than what you have obtained from your lady. Fain. Perfidious fiend! then thus I'll be revenged- [Offers to run at Mrs FAINALL. Sir Wil. Hold, sir; now you may make your Bear-garden flourish somewhere else, sir. Fain. Mirabell, you shall hear of this, sir, be sure you shall.-Let me pass, oaf. [Exit. Mrs Fain. Madam, you seem to stifle your resentment: you had better give it vent. Mrs Mar. Yes, it shall have vent-and to your confusion, or I'll perish in the attempt. [Exit. L. Wish. O, daughter, daughter! 'tis plain thou hast inherited thy mother's prudence. Mrs Fain. Thank Mr Mirabell, a cautious friend, to whose advice all is owing. L. Wish. Well, Mr Mirabell, you have kept your promise-and I must perform mine.-First, I pardon for your sake Sir Rowland there and Foible. The next thing is to break the matter to my nephew—and how to do that————— Mira. For that, madam, give yourself no trouble-let me have your consent -Sir Wilfull is my friend; he has had compassion upon lovers, and generously engaged a volunteer in this action, for our service, and now designs to prosecute his travels. Sir Wil. 'Sheart, aunt, I have no mind to mar Wait. 'Egad, I understand nothing of the matter.-I'm in a maze yet, like a dog in a dancingschool. L. Wish. Well, sir, take her, and with her all the joy I can give you. Mill. Why does not the man take me? Would you have me give myself to you over again? Mira. Ay, and over and over again; [Kisses her hand;] I would have you as often as possibly I can. Well, Heaven grant I love you not too well, that's all my fear. Sir Wil. 'Sheart, you'll have time enough to toy after you're married; or if you will toy now, let us have a dance in the mean time, that we who are not lovers may have some other employment, besides looking on. Mira. With all my heart, dear Sir Wilfull.What shall we do for music? Foi. O, sir, some that were provided for Sir Rowland's entertainment are yet within call. Mira. Madam, disquiet not yourself on that account; to my knowledge his circumstances are such, he must of force comply. For my part, I will contribute all that in me lies to a re-union: in the mean time, madam, [To Mrs FAINALL,] let me, before these witnesses, restore to you this deed of trust; it may be a means, well managed, to make you live easily together. From hence let those be warned who mean to wed, Lest mutual falsehood stain the bridal bed; EPILOGUE. AFTER our epilogue this crowd dismisses, There are some critics so with spleen diseased, Then all bad poets, we are sure, are foes, In shoals I've marked 'em judging in the pit, And turn to libel what was meant a satire. May such malicious fops this fortune find, And shining features in one portrait blend, Whole belles assemblées of coquettes and beaux. THE PROVOKED WIFE. BY VANBURGH. PROLOGUE. SINCE 'tis the intent and business of the stage And grant some ugly lady may indite; SCENE I.-Sir JOHN BRUTE'S House. Enter Sir JOHN solus. ACT I. Sir John. What cloying meat is love-when matrimony's the sauce to it! Two years marriage has debauched my five senses. Every thing I see, every thing I hear, every thing I feel, every thing I smell, and every thing I taste-methinks has wife in't.-No boy was ever so weary of his tutor, no girl of her bib, no nun of doing penance, or old maid of being chaste, as I am of being married. Sure there's a secret curse entailed upon the very name of wife. My lady is a young lady, a fine lady, a witty lady, a virtuous lady-and yet I hate her. There is but one thing on earth I loathe beyond her: that's fighting. Would my courage come up to a fourth part of my ill nature, I'd stand buff to her relations, and thrust her out of doors. But marriage has sunk me down to such an ebb of resolution, I dare not draw my sword, though even to get rid of my wife. But here she comes. Enter Lady BRUTE. L. Brute. Do you dine at home to-day, Sir John? Sir John. Why, do you expect I should tell you what I don't know myself? L. Brute. I thought there was no harm in asking you. Sir John. If thinking wrong were an excuse for impertinence, women might be justified in most things they say or do. L. Brute. I am sorry I have said any thing to displease you. Sir John. Sorrow for things past, is of as little importance to me, as my dining at home or abroad ought to be to you. L. Brute. My inquiry was only that I might have provided what you liked. Sir John. Six to four you had been in the wrong there again; for what I liked yesterday I don't like to-day, and what I like to-day, 'tis odds I mayn't like to-morrow. L. Brute. But if I had asked you what you liked? Sir John. Why, then there would be more asking about it than the thing is worth. L. Brute. I wish I did but know how I might please you. Sir John. Ay, but that sort of knowledge is not a wife's talent. L. Brute. Whate'er my talent is, I'm sure my will has ever been to make you easy. Sir John. If women were to have their wills, the world would be finely governed. L. Brute. What reason have I given you to use me as you do of late? It once was otherwise: you married me for love. Sir John. And you me for money; so you have your reward, and I have mine. L. Brute. What is it that disturbs you? L. Brute. Why, what has he done to you? L. Brute. Good morrow, dear cousin. Bel. Good morrow, madam; you look pleased this morning. L. Brute. I am so. Bel. With what, pray? L. Brute. With my husband. Bel. Drown husbands; for yours is a provoking fellow. As he went out just now, I prayed him to tell me what time of day it was, and he asked me if I took him for the church clock, that was obliged to tell all the parish. L. Brute. He has been saying some good obliging things to me too. In short, Belinda, he has used me so barbarously of late, that I could almost resolve to play the downright wife-and 5 cuckold him. Bel. That would be downright indeed. .or L. Brute. Why, after all, there's more to see said for't than you'd imagine, child. He is Oui, first aggressor, not I. Bel. Ah, but you know we must returroiselle, for evil. L. Brute. That may be a mistake in th fois perlation. Pr'ythee, be of my opinion, Bel I'm positive I'm in the right, and if yputation is a up the prerogative of a woman, you'll positive you are in the right, whernatam. L. Brute. Alas, my dear, I have no secrets. My heart could ne'er yet confine my tongue. Bel. Your eyes, you mean, for I am sure I have seen them gadding, when your tongue has been locked up safe enough. L. Brute. My eyes gadding! Pr'ythee after who, child? Bel. Why, after one that thinks you hate him, as much as I know you love him. L. Brute. Constant, you mean. L. Brute. Lord, what should put such a thing into your head? Bel. That which puts things into most people's heads,-observation. L. Brute. Why, what have you observed, in the name of wonder? Bel. I have observed you blush when you met him; force yourself away from him; and then be out of humour with every thing about you: in a word, never was a poor creature so spurr'd on by desire, or so reined in with fear. L. Brute. How strong is fancy! L. Brute. Pr'ythee, niece, have a better opinion of your aunt's inclination. Bel. Ďear aunt, have a better opinion of your niece's understanding. L. Brute. You'll make me angry. Bel. You'll make me laugh. L. Brute. Then you are resolved to persist? Bel. Positively. L. Brute. And all I can say Bel. Will signify nothing. me to revenge; and Satan, catching 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 on to the assault. L. 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 coquette, Belinda; and if you'll follow my advice, you'll never be one neither. 'Tis truc, coquetry is one of the main ingredients in the natural composition of a woman; and 1, 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 'em push on, even to hanging or drowning, why-faithif I should let pure woman alone, I should e'en be too well pleased with it. Bel. I'll swear 'twould tickle me strangely. L. 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 'tis an unreasonable thing to engage a man in a disease, which we before-hand resolve we will never apply a cure to. Bel. 'Tis 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 gallanting a mistress, as a woman has in jilting a gallant. L. Brute. The happiest woman then on earth must be our neighbour. Bel. Oh, the impertinent composition! She has vanity and affectation enough to make her a ridiculous original, and in spite of all that art and nature ever furnished to any of her sex before her. L. Brute. She concludes all men her captives; and whatever course they take, it serves to con L. Brute. Though I should swear it were firm her in that opinion. false Bel. I should think it truc. L. 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 t'other. L. 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 vhen our nature prompts us to a thing our hoour and religion forbid us, we would (were it ssible) conceal, even from the soul itself, the wledge of the body's weakness. 7. Well, I hope, to make your friend amends, hide nothing from her for the future, though ly should still grow weaker and weaker. ute. No, from this moment I have no erve; and as proof of my repentance, I nda, I am in danger. Merit and wit from without, nature and love solicit my husband's barbarous usage piques Bel. If they shun her, she thinks 'tis modesty, and takes it for a proof of their passion. L. Brute. And if they are rude to her, 'tis conduct, and done to prevent town-talk. Bel. When her folly makes 'em laugh, she thinks they are pleased with her wit. L. Brute. And when her impertinence makes 'em dull, concludes they are jealous of her favours. Bel. All their actions and their words, she takes for granted, aim at her. L. 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'm weary of this.-Do you think your husband inclined to jealousy? L. 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 'em; 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. L. Brute. Nay, I believe we should outdo 'em |